Back to the Mountains

The Trigger 01: Overview

2011-06-05T15:28:00.000-07:00

Yes, it's our old friend the three-part review, only with some tweaks. The Trigger: A Novel on the Revelation by Hon Hoh, is not the usual End Times novel, and it has some peculiar strengths and weaknesses. Since these are often complementary (a strength in one area becomes a weakness in another area), my usual format of separating positives and negatives won't work. Also, since the story is more theologically motivated than most, the theology needs more of a look.

Anyway...

Properly beginning in 2032, the story concerns a rather different take on the Tribulation period and stars mostly Pastor Josh McGuire and his friends and family, though we quickly pick up a highly placed Chinese couple who, along with a senator in Pastor McGuire's congregation, gives us our mandatory VIP characters. This is one of the few genre clichés Hoh follows. (As a rule, in this genre the main characters are international figures: diplomats, politicians, and invariably journalists. Hoh doesn't follow this rule at all closely, which gives the story a certain freshness.) The pastor has been divinely chosen to evangelize the last unreached people group on the planet, thus triggering the return of Christ. According to Satan (though the point is echoed by more godly beings as well), if this effort is stymied, the Tribulation can go into major overtime (i.e., a diabolical version of the Millennium).

BWA-HA-Huh?

Matthew 24:22 and Mark 13:20 both quote Jesus as saying that the Tribulation would be shortened, not lengthened. So there are some exegetical and theological problems here, though probably not as many as these stories usually have. I'll dedicate a post or so to the more troubling ones.

Anyway again, the Antichrist pops up from an unexpected (and vaguely amusing) quarter, and Nasty Things Begin to Happen, in particular persecution and the occasional Apocalyptic plague. And throughout the piece we keep getting scenes of angelic and infernal plotting in Perettivision, which actually isn't a bad innovation. In fact, this is a more explicitly spiritual tale than any others I'm aware of in the genre.

Will the Antichrist obliterate the Christians before the final converts can come in?

Read The Trigger: A Novel on the Revelation.

As for me, I'll address some non-theological quirks of the story next time.

Yet another hiatus...

2011-06-05T15:17:00.000-07:00

In case you haven't noticed, this is my first post this year.

I hope to resume free book reviews in the near future, and I apologize for leaving Dark World hanging. But first I have a non-free book to review--a couple, actually, but one I have as a print book and was able to finish while hanging about away from my computer. The second book review will be a bit less formal, for reasons that should become obvious.

Christmas Free Books

2010-12-23T16:41:00.000-08:00

I wanted to list some Christmas books that are available free online--audio versions too.

The Christmas Angel (audiobook here) is generally comparable to A Chritsmas Carol, but the Scrooge is an embittered old woman who decides to test the Christmas spirit on Christmas Eve by dropping childhood toys out her window for passersby. (She had meant to simply burn them.) Will she see honesty and altruism or greed and deceit? The trials seem to confirm her cynicism, but one of the remaining items, an angel that topped a childhood Christmas tree, becomes the Christmas Angel and shows her the rest of the stories--the events she didn't see. The theology is a little quirky in spots, but no worse than that of A Christmas Carol. And the reader for the audio version is especially good for this kind of work. It's short--under two hours for the audiobook.

A couple of stories by Kate Douglas Wiggin, best known for Rebecca of Sunnybrook Farm:

The Old Peabody Pew (audiobook here) is about an aborted romance between a small-town failure who left to make his fortune and the girl he left behind. It's rather low-key but moving.

The Romance of a Christmas Card (audiobook here) concerns a pair of Christmas cards produced by a minister's wife and their unforeseen effects.

Both stories are a bit slow-moving at first by modern standards, but they're worth the time.

(Technically there's also The Birds' Christmas Carol--audiobook here or here. It's an engaging story of the doomed-pious-waif variety. Such things don't bother me as much now as they used to, but I thought I should warn you.)

If you don't mind a Catholic touch--and I hope you don't--there are two short stories by Francis J. Finn (audio):

"Looking for Santa Claus" in My Strange Friend (audio version is 17 here) has innocent, pious munchkins inadvertently overcoming evil.

"The Wager of Gerald O’Rourke: A Christmas Story"--no e-text, but it's number 26 on the same page--involve's a sleepyhead's bet about getting up early and how it changes some lives for the better. This is a good intro to Finn.

On a purely humorous level, there's "The Thin Santa Claus" by Ellis Parker Butler. There are audio versions, but this is dialect humor, which requires specialized skills. You can try these, but I haven't heard them and can't vouch for them (you will have to search the pages):

Version 1
Version 2

Thanksgiving in the Church

2010-11-25T20:26:00.000-08:00

I had a disquieting experience last Sunday. The church I attend had its Thanksgiving meal after service, and I remarked to a few friends that it was fitting to celebrate Thanksgiving in a church, considering that "Eucharist" means "thanksgiving." I was astonished to find they did not know that. They weren't ignorant, really, though I suspect a Catholic or Orthodox would've been better informed.

So what does it matter? Much or little, depending on your view. It could be regarded as trivia; I've already written about a case of trivializing the Eucharist, and I doubt most Evangelical Protestants would even notice the problem. But even they would likely admit that Thanksgiving alone isn't as good as Thanksgiving with family and friends.

But thanksgiving is an important feature of the Christian life. I suspect if we were truly thankful for the Atonement, we would take the Eucharist more seriously. We have forgotten that ingratitude was involved in the first sin: would Adam and Eve have considered disobeying God if they had been truly grateful for all he had given them? Wasn't ingratitude the hallmark of the Israelites who grumbled against Moses and God?

The holiday season creates special problems. In the US, Thanksgiving leads into the Christmas season, and all the partying hinders proper focus. Are we really thankful now? Will we really focus on preparing ourselves for Advent? Probably not.

Perhaps we could learn from the Catholics and especially the Orthodox. They have a fast before their main feasts (Easter and Christmas), so by the time the feast arrives, they feel proper anticipation. If we did that, all the noise about the commercial aspect of Christmas would wither up: the consumerist orgy probably couldn't survive a good fast.

Or at the very least we could wait until the proper time. Christmas parties begin early in December. What if we followed the older route and waited until Christmas itself? The Christmas season used to run twelve days--from Christmas through Epiphany. That's enough time for some good parties, and as children know, the anticipation is half the fun. Patience produces gratitude, and both should be welcome in the church.

Tales of the Dim Knight

2010-11-22T10:06:00.000-08:00

No, not one of my stories, though it's similar. Nor is this the review proper--I meant to do that on Monday, the 22nd, but this has been an even more hectic week than I imagined. So I'm using my amazing powers to reset the post date to Monday. (Yes, that does make me a pre-dater--without dreadlocks, yet! Please don't tell the cops.)

Anyway, this is basically a blurb; I hope to get to the review as such, guest starring the League of Superheroes, of course, in a day or so.

In the meantime, Tales of the Dim Knight is a superhero spoof by Andrea and Adam Graham. (Adam is the primary author, but I believe in ladies first, and he's no lady. Ask anyone.) Click here for the publisher's Dim Knight page. Click here for Laser & Sword Magazine, another Graham product. Click here for the Wikipedia article on salt-cured meat. It has no bearing on the Grahams or their story, but there aren't any articles on them yet.

A brief synopsis: Superhero spoof.

A less brief, more informative synopsis: Clueless superhero fanboy Dave Johnson, a janitor for the FBI, finds himself paired with an alien fashion accessory. It's actually a shape-changing alien named Zolgron. (His mother dressed him funny, too.) Zolgron is being punished for being a cosmic jerk, with the result that he must help out whoever he becomes attached to. He confers numerous super powers on Dave, who becomes even more immersed in superhero fantasies and real-world implications, including increased family and marital problems. Since Dave has a poor learning curve anyway, there's a lot of comical flailing about as he tries to gain legal standing as a superhero, find some crime to fight, and stay married to a woman who thinks he's gone from mildly delusional to full-bore looney.

Will Dave grow up? Will Zolgron finally get out of Purgatory? Will Success Spoil Rock Hunter? Okay, you're on your own for the last one, but for the first two, read the book and find out!

Dark World: The Homing Signal

2010-11-21T22:52:00.000-08:00

“That’s Darren’s signal,” Dr. Fleming told Lassiter. “Our new friend is somewhere just outside. All going well, he will give up and go home, and Darren can track him. Then we can pay him a visit. I hope he’ll be in a talkative mood.”

“Why doesn’t Darren grab him here and save us a trip?” Lassiter asked.

“First, because the quarry will be on his guard here and thus will be harder to catch. Second, there may be items of interest wherever he’s staying, and I’ll want to examine them.”

“And third, he may have friends who will be watching for him.”

“Unlikely. I admit, however, that I’d like to know in advance whether he really is Edward Henry. That would tell me a lot—and puzzle me even more.”

“Who is Edward Henry?”

“He was a weasel desperately trying to be a successful quack, armed with several unorthodox ideas and a perverse desire to turn them to his advantage. I always suspected his medical degree was a fake, which is why I never called him ‘doctor.’ I knew him briefly when I was making my first discoveries some years ago and a relative of one of his patients called me in to undo some damage. He left town in a hurry, and I didn’t see him again for some years. I almost didn’t recognize him when I did: he had undergone several physical changes, to say nothing of changing his name. But the changes hadn’t gone nearly as far as they have since, and close scrutiny enabled me to identify him. He admitted the truth, though not happily, but I decided to let bygones be bygones, especially as he seemed to have reformed. He still had the same bizarre ideas, but he had somehow made them work—at least for himself. And he was beginning to have some undeniable success with some other people—cases no one else could cure.”

“He sounds like Dr. Newman. Is that how you met him—through Henry?”

“In a manner of speaking,” Dr. Fleming replied, turning away to gaze out the window into the gloom. “I mentioned a name change. When we met the second time, Edward Henry called himself Dr. Adam Newman.”

Another ding.

“And that means Darren is ready for us to follow him and his quarry.”

Next: At Loose Ends

Dark World: New Nemesis or Old

2010-11-11T20:01:00.000-08:00

(The story begins here.)
(The last recap is here.)

“Who's Edward Henry?” Darren whispered. “Not a friend, presumably.”

“Probably not,” Dr. Fleming muttered. “He looks like Edward... But it can't be—not now. I haven't seen him like this for years...” He paused. “He's definitely watching us, though, and that makes him irresistibly interesting to me. I'd rather follow him to see where he goes, but we may be forced to capture him instead. Let's break up the meeting; I'll go out to the car, and Darren can follow. I think he is one of Lassiter's many admirers, so Lassiter and Miss FitzHugh should linger at the table and follow us out after about two minutes.”

Without waiting for a response, he got up from the table and left, paying the bill with a somewhat larger bill and telling the cashier to keep the change. Darren pursued him almost immediately with the air of a man impatient to discuss something, and Lassiter and Clio collected their gear, tidied up the table slightly, and glared after their companions with unfeigned annoyance.

Nonetheless they were evidently in no hurry to leave. Indeed, they seemed to dawdle almost out of spite as they worked their way out of the room. Clio started to leave the building as well, but Lassiter pointed out that she had a room there and it was getting too late for her to wander about outside inconspicuously.

Dr. Fleming entered, interrupting the budding argument. “Come on, Lassiter; we're ready to leave. Miss FitzHugh, I bid you good night. Lock your door and window, and keep your gun handy. We shall call for you at eight.”

Clio scowled but retreated up the stairs, and Lassiter smiled. “She already dislikes you, and you're making it worse.”

“I haven't time to care.”

“You will. She believes in revenge. Just because we had to work together to defeat the Shiny One doesn't excuse you.”

“I'll take my chances. Now let's get out to the car. Darren's waiting.”

Lassiter followed the doctor outside, and he took his usual position in the back. He started briefly when he realized that Darren wasn't all there, but then he settled back as the car set out toward the doctor's lab.

“We can talk, I think,” Dr. Fleming said. “Just not loudly, perhaps. I suspect Edward, or whoever he is, is acting alone.”

“And Darren?”

“Darren has plenty of hunting experience. He's probably a better tracker than you are, and anyway, our new friend seems interested in you, so you can't very well follow him. We'll head for home and make a show of retiring early—I wish I could actually do so, but I'll have to wait. Then we'll see what Darren discovers.”

“I wonder if Rick Shafer knows the guy,” Lassiter mused. “If Darren's right, the two of them were practically taking turns watching us.”

“Kindly refrain from mentioning your lunatic friend. I suppose I owe him my life for bringing you to help me, but I'd rather not think about him just now. I'm likely to have nightmares as it is.”

They made the rest of the trip in silence. The doctor sped up near the end to make sure any pursuers weren't close enough to see them remove the coat and hat that substituted for Darren. They were barely inside when a package the doctor was carrying dinged.

Next: The Homing Signal

Dark World: Council of War

2010-11-10T20:07:00.000-08:00

(The story begins here.)
(The last recap is here.)

“The first order of business,” Dr. Fleming said, “is to pool our experiences and determine our goals. Or are we satisfied with the stories we swapped in the Shiny One's lair?” A quick glance at the others confirmed this, and he continued, “Enemies and problems, then. By my count, excluding people we've merely annoyed but who aren't likely to harm us, we have the dark witch, assorted Nazis, whoever tried to kill Dvorak, possibly Dr. Newman, and some Tehros—at least until they realize that Lassiter isn't changing to a werewolf anymore. It seems to me that the witch is the worst threat, since she can appear without warning practically anywhere and overcome even an armed force.”

“You should leave her to me,” Clio said. “I could deal with her easily.”

“Why do you say that?”

“Because I lack your masculine weakness for women.”

“That doesn't matter,” Darren stated. “Her power is not sexual, at least not primarily, and it would affect you as strongly as any man.”

“What do you mean?” Lassiter demanded. “Of course it's sexual.”

“Spoken like a former wolf,” Dr. Fleming said. “Nevertheless, Darren is right: despite her striking appearance, her attraction is primarily...well, psychological, really, though I'm sure Darren would call it spiritual: she appeals to any perceived void or desire. A little careful introspection will confirm that.”

“And she's the only one on your list that really scares you.”

“She's the only one worth being scared of, except perhaps the murderous mastermind of Dvorak Manor, and we haven't heard from him since he tried to kill us with perhaps the world's largest fragmentation grenade. The other threats we can guard against without much difficulty.”

“None of that matters to me,” Clio stated flatly. “I just want to find Father and bring him back.”

“I doubt you can bring him against his will,” Darren said. “And anyway, we have to deal with at least some of these enemies like it or not.” He glanced back into the dining room toward the entrance and continued casually, “Lassiter, call the waiter over to refill your beer, and examine the man by the door as closely as you can without especially noticing him.”

Lassiter did so, and when he turned back to the group, he frowned with puzzlement. “He looks familiar, somehow, but I can't place him.”

Darren smiled. “I think I can. Remember when you thought you saw Shafer and I thought it was someone else? That's the man I saw.”

“Hardly Shafer's twin,” Clio commented.

“He was concealed by trees and dim light.”

Dr. Fleming studied the man carefully yet inconspicuously for a moment. Then his eyes grew widen and he forced himself to look away. “Edward Henry?” he murmured.

Next: New Nemesis or Old

A Matter of Life and (Un)Death

2010-10-31T19:21:00.000-07:00

As I've noted before, vampirism is a tricky plot device, and the modern tendency to extend cheap grace to all and sundry makes it worse. The usual way out is to have a creature that is merely vampiric without being an actual vampire(see the first link again). The "Twilight" series goes beyond that by trying to redeem vampires.

It doesn't work. The main theological problem is that vampirism involves drinking blood, which is always under a curse. Leviticus 17: 12–14 mentions this, and it’s echoed for Christians in Acts 15: 20, 29. The point is that the blood of a creature (human or not) represents its life, so drinking its blood means appropriating its life, which is how vampires work. It’s also a parody of the Atonement, because just as we live eternally by spiritually partaking of Christ’s blood and life, so the vampire prolongs its existence by partaking of a creature’s life. This is true even when the blood is taken from an animal: the idea of "good" vampires using rodents instead of people doesn't eliminate the problem.

Yet the unique idea of the "Twilight" series is that the change is effectively good, or anyway not evil. Instead of "Choose life" we have "Choose (un)death." Considering how confused zand outright persverse our culture is concerning abortion and euthanasia, such an attempt to make death a positive shouldn't come as a surprise.

And there is a point of theological interest in putting a spiritual or allegorical spin on vampirism. Early Christians were considered vampiric because they drank the blood of Christ in their rituals.

But that's the rub: Christian "vampires" would be a eucharistic crowd; they would subsist on the only blood freely given for that purpose. And while Christian theology stresses dying yet living, it won't fit well in the undeath category. We are not less alive than before; we are overflowing with the life of God Himself.

In fact, it would be nearer true to say that we are all vampires by birth, lacking life and trying to suck it from things around us that can never truly fill or cure the void. It is only in Christ that we find sufficient life to do the job, restoring us to true life from our twilight of undeath.

Another Status Report

2010-10-28T20:37:00.000-07:00

In case anyone wonders why my posting has been so sporadic lately, there are several reasons. One on-going problem is that I'm using Gmail now, so I can no longer blog and check mail at the same time. Since checking mail is a bit more important to me, I'm not quite as apt to spend time blogging. I used to pre-write my posts, and I still prefer to do so, but it's harder to fit into my current schedule.

Anyway, I've also been dealing with some theological issues lately, and I'm not sure whether to post about them here. I try to stick with what I call "basic Christianity"--not to be confused with "Mere Christianity," which is the body of doctrines held by most Christians at most times. Basic Christianity has to do with points of agreement among the various Christian confessions. There are more of them than you might think, and they tend to be the fundamental truths of the faith, unlike the denomination-specific ideas that we tend to idolize. Mere Christianity includes some non-basic doctrines that might actually be incorrect, though not dangerously so. Basic Christianity does not.

Yet the topics I've been considering aren't in this basic group, so they are more controversial. As my tagline indicates, I have investigated Christianity beyond the confines of the views I was raised with, and I am in the odd position of being strongly ecumenical (I accept the validity of all the historic Christian groups, Catholic, Orthodox, and Protestant in particular) yet without a home: theologically I'm very close to Orthodox, but on a few grounds I don't believe I could ever become Orthodox. Catholicism wouldn't be a good fit either. Anglicanism and Methodism are possibilities, though both have theologically liberal tendencies. (There are exceptions, however.) I'm tempted to post about all that, but I'm not sure it's a good idea.

Anyway, I need to get back to Dark World; I hadn't intended so long a break. God helping me, I'll try to get back to regular posting.

The Crevice: A Free Book review

2010-10-17T20:02:00.000-07:00

I've pretty much decided not to bother with negative reviews, except that I may occasionally list free books worth avoiding along with a quick explanation of why.

The Crevice (audiobook here) by William J. Burns and Isabel Ostrander is exceptional, however, so I'll explain why in a sense it's a good example of a bad example. For a start, a quick perusal of the audiobook summary and the article on William J. Burns should give you a justifiable suspicion: yes, this is an ego trip for Burns, who, as Henry Blaine ("the Master Mind," yet!), is even more heroic than he thinks, if possible.

Now, that's annoying, but what tempted me to stop almost as soon as I started was the stereotypical portrayal of a minister as obsequious and hypocritical. It's possible to have such a character without stooping to stereotype--for example, the Rev. William Collins in Pride and Prejudice. And he's present at the end, too, just to reinforce the point that he still hasn't learned anything and is a far less noble character than Blaine, who has magnanimously chosen to reform a minor criminal the reverend would have preferred to rot in prison. And in case we're too oblivious to comprehend an already ham-handed bit of propaganda, it's spelled out for us:

"If I'd gone to any Sunday school he presided over, when I was a
kiddie, I'd have been a train-robber now!" he observed darkly.

There are of course some perfunctory references to God, but Blaine himself is too modern for that. But what is his track record, even taking the story on its own terms?

1. He manages to cow a subordinate who has an attack of conscience (he's called on to lie a lot and betray confidences) with the observation that, sure, the man is betraying an innocent girl, but Blaine's own client is an innocent girl who has been betrayed. So two wrongs do make a right, apparently.

2. He talks a woman into abandoning her scruples against a villain's advances, the better to obtain information from him. This leads to considerable tragedy--a pair of deaths, among other things--and he doesn't even get much information out of it. Them's the breaks, though, and the silly minister probably couldn't have done it.

And I'll skip some essentially criminal activities such as chloroforming a night watchman and burgling a safe to get evidence--that was occasionally done at this period, sometimes even by cops, it seems.

In short, Blaine came across to me at least as a rather repugnant object, and that put me off the story. But the mystery itself is somewhat pedestrian. I figured out most of the mystery easily enough as information became available, and what wasn't fairly obvious came across as hokum. Oddly, we don't even find out what "the crevice" is until late in the story, and it's not convincing either. (I supposed it would be the villains' lair.)

About the only point of interest is a cryptographic anticipation of Leet:

"...we find that '3' when viewed from the
under side of the paper will look very much like an English _E_; 7
like _T_; 9 like _P_; 2 like _S_, and so forth."

On the other hand, if you're interested to see how far back attitudes like Blaine's go--well, they go back beyond this book, but this is a good example of the preening self-assurance of an early modern thinker, blind to his faults and contradictions.

Who is this Verne person, anyway?

2010-10-15T21:45:00.000-07:00

A bit of a depressing post this time. I recently encountered someone (yes, an adult) who didn't know who Jules Verne was. Now, when I mentioned Twenty Thousand Leagues Beneath the Sea, among others, recognition dawned. But still, given that most people in the US at least only know Verne from movies, and hardly any of the movies are faithful adaptations. A lot of people think the Nautilus was nuclear powered, for example. It wasn't, and Verne was clear about that. It was electric, run on batteries that were in turn powered by old-fashioned coal-generated electricity. In the early days especially, Verne tended to merely extend current technology; he didn't do the weird, visionary stuff until later, as in Facing the Flag, with its weapon of mass destruction--a kind of guided missile.

Also, Verne dealt more in adventure stories than in sci-fi: practically all of his stories are adventures, but many aren't sci-fi. (The only non-sci-fi work by Verne that is well-known in the US is Around the World in Eighty Days.) So we've seriously skewed his work. Even putative fans are sometimes off: The Secret Adventures of Jules Verne displayed considerable ignorance of Verne's work, portraying the modern legend more than the reality. Comparatively few of the episodes fit Verne or his work at all well; most were modeled after The X-Files instead: there was a tendency toward supernatural and occult themes generally foreign to Verne's actual work.

I've done some tinkering with Verne's work myself, and perhaps we'll get a look at Ty Addison's "I Am Called No Man" on the blog in the not-too-distant future.

The Planet Strappers: A Free Book review

2010-10-12T20:27:00.000-07:00

The Planet Strappers (free audiobook here) by Raymond Z. Gallun is a tale of the awkward age of space exploration from the awkward age of sci-fi. We were beginning to realize that maybe it wasn't quite so simple after all, that Mars probably didn't have any canals or ancient sages, that Venus was more hellhole than paradise.

A bit of a disappointment, really. I think that's why there's so much interest in retro science-fantasy where it really is as easy to get into space as the comic strips implied.

Anyway, in The Planet Strappers, the Solar System is still being explored: men have personally visited everything within Jupiter's orbit, and probes have reached much of the rest. Mars used to have an advanced civilization, but it and a rival civilization from what is now the asteroids wiped each other out, and now only plants rule the Red Planet.

It's the tech angle that I found interesting. Space travel (beyond escaping earth's gravity well) is managed on the cheap, thanks to Archers, space suits so thoroughly self-sufficient that they double as spaceships for fairly short trips, and bubs, or space bubbles, which are essentially large, spinnable plastic bags with ion drives that can take you from planet to planet in a few months. I couldn't help thinking what a little genetic engineering and nanotechnology could do to make bubs self-maintaining. The main problem (outside of shifting orbits, which I think would take more power than Gallun allowed for) would be psychological: even in a convoy of bubs where you could visit or call others, the isolation would get to most people. Still, it's an attractive idea, if only for fiction.

As to the story itself, it concerns a group of would-be space travelers who are more diverse than the crew of the Enterprise: woman who wants to make it in a man's world? Check! Black guy? Yup. Hispanic? ¡Por supuesto! Jock? Take two; they're big. Mama's boy? Don't make me cry! Rich kid? Ka-ching! Rebel without a clue? Why, soit'n'y! We've even got a handicapped guy--two if you count the innumerate goof who needs mathematical and other nursemaiding. Against all odds--well, except for the rich kid, whose odds are pretty good--they get a shot at the Big Vacuum, though there are washouts along the way--and some surprise returns. They go their separate ways, and we get a tour of space with a few of them.

It's a good yarn on the whole--a transition from the early gee-whiz sci-fi into the more realistic kind.

The Planet Strappers
E-book
Audiobook

Let 'Em Breathe Space: A Free Book Review

2010-10-11T19:57:00.000-07:00

Let 'Em Breathe Space (free audiobook here) is a novella by Lester del Rey. It's a space-borne murder mystery in which an expedition to Saturn finds itself plagued by potentially harmful accidents and eventually a series of murders and the destruction of plants that maintain the air supply. Who would be foolish enough to endanger the entire ship? Why would anyone be so desperate to abort the trip to Saturn?

The mystery is fairly good, though I had a general idea who had done it (but not exactly why) somewhat before the narrator. In addition to the mystery proper, there is the problem of getting enough breathable air to reach any destination but the grave--the alternative being a death lottery to cut down the number aboard ship to something the remaining plants can support. Even if the narrator, a former engineer washed up by an accident and reduced to a glorified handyman, can find the murderer, there's still the matter of the missing oxygen.

I was surprised, even given del Rey's gifts, at how well the story worked--not only as a mystery, but as a kind of engineering problem and even (in small part) as a kind of romance. Let 'Em Breathe Space is short--just under two hours--and would go quite well with chili or burritos and popcorn. (That will more or less make sense after you've read it.)

Again, that's

Let 'Em Breathe Space
E-book
Audiobook

The Problem with Lateral Converts

2010-09-14T19:42:00.000-07:00

By "lateral convert" I mean someone who moves from one branch of Christianity to another: Catholics who become Protestants (and vice versa), Protestants or Catholics who become Orthodox (and vice versa again), and so on. I may explain my own view of ecclesiology at some point, but for now I'll just say that I consider the main groups just mentioned valid forms of Christianity; I just don't consider any of them the One True Church.

Anyway, my own background is Protestant--Evangelical and Pentecostal, in fact--but I make a point of learning from other Christians. My theology is actually closer to Eastern Orthodox than Protestant in many ways, and I have studied Catholic and Orthodox positions as well as those of other Protestant groups. Within Protestantism, my best match would probably be a conservative Methodist group.

End of disclosure.

The problem is that in studying these various groups, I tend to run into converts from some other group who have gone the True Believer route. (Note: I am not a particular fan of Hoffer's, though some of his points are valid.) This is particularly annoying when one of them starts pontificating about what some group, usually the one he left, believes.

They are typically wrong.

This leads to an observation: the lateral converts I've encountered (personally or through media) tend to be ignorant of the beliefs they left behind. The Catholics-turned-Protestant I've met have been remarkably ignorant of Catholic doctrine. The Protestants-turned-whatever regularly demonstrate abysmal ignorance of Protestant views, often lumping very different groups together.

Even the scholars goof. I've recently encountered people who ought to know better claiming that the Protestant idea of "sola fides" (salvation by faith alone) meant a rejection of works of any kind: just believe you're saved; you don't have to live out your salvation. But anyone familiar with Protestantism can trace the opposite view easily, from Philipp Melancthon ("Sola fides iustificat, sed fides non est sola"--"Faith alone justifies, but faith is not alone") to the modern idea that "if you're gonna talk the talk, you gotta walk the walk." And I frequently hear Protestants claim that Catholics (more rarely Orthodox) believe in salvation by works. (Properly speaking, they don't.)

Nicodemus asked the Sanhedrin, "Does our law condemn anyone without first hearing him to find out what he is doing?" (John 7:51) It's still a good question--even if you're talking about the group you left.

Dark World: Back on the Trail

2010-09-13T16:09:00.000-07:00

(The story begins here.)
(The last recap is here.)

When they got home—when they reached the subterranean terminus, that is—Dr. Fleming looked around. “I had little opportunity for sightseeing last time.”

“Once we’ve rested up, I’d like to go exploring,” Darren said.

“No,” Clio replied. “Not unless we can reach Father from here. Can we, Shafer?”

“Call me Rick. No, you can go a lot of places from here, but the Dark World is different.”

“But the Tehros know about it, don’t they?”

“Not the new guys. The original group maybe did, but they died out, and the next group—the Veuti—found out, because they went exploring in the Dark World and never came back. But these guys don’t even know the old language. I think only Mantong did.”

“He didn’t even know English well,” Dr. Fleming said.

“He knew it; he just talked funny to bug people. He hated English-speakers.”

“How is it you’re stupid and well-informed by turns?”

“I’m not stupid. My momma used to tell me, ‘stupid is as stupid does.’”

With that, he selected a destination and left in the cart.

“Diplomatic to the last, Victor?” Darren said.

“He is stupid and well-informed—”

“Most people are. He just thinks it’s all a game. If you think about it, he’s knowledgeable most of the time; the information simply doesn’t matter to him.”

“It’s still infuriating. Let’s go get our bearings and figure out our next move.”

It was early evening when they emerged, and Dr. Fleming decided the first order of business was to find Miss FitzHugh a place to stay the night. “There’s a hotel a mile down the road. From what you’ve said, I doubt you bothered getting a room before coming out here.”

“I didn’t, but I don’t need your help. I can get my own room.”

“You could sleep in a tree, as is likely your wont, but you’re a friend of a friend, so I’ll treat you like a lady regardless of my feelings. Unless you brought cash, you may find it useful to have someone of good local reputation vouch for you.”

Thus only a few minutes later, a lady from out of town got a room courtesy of a good word and fifty dollars cash from Dr. Fleming, whose wealth was better known locally than his character, and a council of war convened in a corner of the hotel dining room.

Next: Council of War

I'm going to do another recap, and I'll also wander into some theological topics for a little while. Then we'll get into a bit of a long arc in Dark World.

Dark World: An Arrow Escape

2010-09-12T20:18:00.000-07:00

(The story begins here.)
(The last recap is here.)

“Hold your fire until the thing actually reaches the filaments,” Dr. Fleming warned Clio. “The whole point is to make sure our filament connects the thing with the power source above.”

“What if that just strengthens it?” Lassiter asked.

“It won’t. If it did, the thing wouldn’t bother with the globe. No, it needs the power to be converted into a more usable form.”

The Shiny One rose slowly with its load.

“Keep going,” the doctor muttered. “That’s a good monster.”

“Go toward the light,” Shafer said.

“Idiot—there’s no light up there.”

“There will be when she shoots that arrow.” Shafer spat again for good measure, and the doctor said, “Fire!”

The arrow’s trajectory brought it slightly through the Shiny One, and the damp filament left a strange and visible trail before it connected with another filament. Multicolored lightning blazed through the misty creature, which glowed brilliantly.

“The wall’s open!” Shafer called, and the others piled through just before a blast of incandescence filled the cavern.

Darren blinked as he tried to regain his vision. “Did that destroy it?”

“And the cave too, no doubt,” the doctor replied.

“Wall won’t open,” Shafer observed.

“Can’t blame it,” Lassiter said. “Is the thing really dead this time?”

“Yeah,” Shafer said. “Blew the whole thing that time. Besides, you can feel when a Dehros dies.”

“You’ve done this before?” Lassiter asked.

“Yeah. The Tehros use me as a decoy. I don’t mind—you get a better view that way.”

“So now what?” Dr. Fleming asked. “Can we go home?”

“Sure. And when we get back, you’ll have enough miles to come through yourself next time. Try it! It’s more fun to figure out for yourself.”

So saying, Shafer did something near the cart and directed them to get in. This time even he didn’t seem inclined to raise his arms and yell.

Next: Back on the Trail

Dark World: I Spit My Last Breath At Thee

2010-09-11T20:58:00.000-07:00

(The story begins here.)
(The last recap is here.)

They switched the flashlights off while everyone got reoriented. It was somehow easier in the dark. Finally a brief discussion established that they would try to leave the way they had come, so they turned on the flashlights and moved carefully toward the section of wall that led to the cart home.

Dr. Fleming examined the spot where the globes had been, only to find blackened shreds of something. A quick inspection of the floor revealed filaments of an unknown material. The doctor carefully collected samples, warning the others to avoid the crystalline shards on the floor.

“Don’t touch anything! It could very well be poisonous.”

“If it is,” Lassiter remarked, “there’s probably enough harmful material floating around as dust to kill us all.”

“Some dangers we can’t avoid, but there’s no point in multiplying them.”

“What are those filaments, anyway?”

“I suspect they are the wiring of the globes. They may not conduct electricity, but they probably carried whatever energy the globes used. Perhaps I can bring the equipment here someday to analyze all this properly.”

They reached the wall. Shafer was leading, Dr. Fleming and Lassiter lagged behind, still absorbed in studying the debris, and Darren urged Clio along; she was busily adjusting her bow to its normal draw weight. But they all stopped short as Shafer muttered, “Uh-oh.”

“What do you mean, ‘uh-oh’?” Dr. Fleming demanded.

“The wall won’t open. The Shiny One is holding it shut. I don’t think it likes us.”

“The Shiny One is the Dead One now.”

“Not dead, just terribly, terribly hurt. Pretty angry, too. It’s using a lot of power to hold the wall shut. We might be able to get through anyway, but it would just track us down.”

“Victor,” Darren said, “there’s luminescence in the pool that wasn’t there before.”

It didn’t take long to verify this: the glow was increasing slightly but noticeably. Soon a faint light emerged from the pool. It carried a globe as it slowly rose toward the roof of the cavern.

“It’s got a replacement bulb!” Shafer cried.

“That means there’s still power up there,” Dr. Fleming said. “Clio—Miss FitzHugh—could you hit those shreds up there with an arrow?”

“Yes.”

“Even if I glue one of these filaments to it?”

“Probably.”

He uncapped a bottle, dipped an arrow in it, then poked a filament and handed the assemblage to her. As she was fitting it to the string, Shafer walked up and spat on the filament.

“What are you doing?” she demanded.

“Gotta have spit. It messes the creature up.”

“Like the guy in the diary,” Darren muttered.

Clio added her spit, and said, “‘From hell's heart, I stab at thee. For hate's sake, I spit my last breath at thee.’”

“Aye-aye, Captain Ahab,” Darren murmured. She grinned and prepared to release the arrow.

Next: An Arrow Escape

Dark World: The Shiny One

2010-09-10T20:22:00.000-07:00

(The story begins here.)
(The last recap is here.)

Darren had scarcely prepared his next arrow when a mist filled with corruscating colors and angry, discordant jangling rose from the pool. Though only a faint shadow of the thing described in the journal, it was definitely the same, and it was still so full of terrible, awesome glory that Darren and his friends all murmured, “Oooh! Shiny!”

Then Dr. Fleming broke the spell. “Right. Now we’re done with that, let’s kill the thing.”

Darren raised the arrow, vaguely surprised that the creature was rising toward the globes as well. It probably was drawing closer to absorb more power, but he had the odd feeling it was also going to wipe off the doctor’s concoction. He released the arrow without thinking, and it struck its target with a deafening din that shook the misty creature like smoke caught in a violent gust.

Darren himself had scarcely recovered when Dr. Fleming pressed another arrow into his hand. A quick glance showed Shafer and Clio trying to find their way off the floor and Lassiter rising painfully with the help of a wall. Darren targeted the second available globe and fired.

A typhoon was raging through a synesthetic sea that only gradually and painfully began to coalesce into a familiar order. Pain was the one great constant: everything else might be an illusion, but the pain was undeniably real. Eventually other sensations tagged along and organized themselves, and some memories and thoughts also emerged. Finally a sensation turned out to be the name “Darren,” and it was being repeated. The recognition of his own name prepared Darren to identify the speaker as Dr. Victor Fleming.

“Victor?”

“Ah, good. Then we aren’t dead. At least I can’t imagine us sharing an afterlife.”

Darren had arrived at the same conclusion, but he decided not to pursue the topic. “Can you see?”

“Yes. Or hallucinate, anyway. That second shot must have overloaded the system: its harmonics converged and probably almost destroyed the place—and us. I’d like to see what’s left.”

“Are you sure we can see? Most of the light came from the globes; it was getting pretty dim at the end.”

An inarticulate noise of disgust followed. “I should have thought of that. I’ve still got my flashlight...”

Darren found his about the same time. A quick check revealed that their companions were still alive. Lassiter was attempting to crawl. Clio was evidently running through a mental checklist prior to exerting herself. And Shafer was sitting up unsteadily and babbling, “Let’s do it again!”

The next look showed that the giant chamber still existed, though the floor was strewn with debris. There was no sign of the Shiny One.

Next: I Spit My Last Breath At Thee

Dark World: Assault on the Globes

2010-09-09T20:07:00.000-07:00

(The story begins here.)
(The last recap is here.)

Dr. Fleming got what he wished for, and Darren what he prayed for. The globes did not pulse, and eventually everyone agreed it had to be daylight. So they did the best possible thing; they ate some of their provisions and slept as best they could.

The doctor said it was probably early afternoon when they got up, and he eyed the globes warily. “On the one hand, it would be a good idea to cover them now and try to prevent the monster’s formation. On the other hand, I’d prefer to wait until they begin pulsing so the solution will be fresh and the energy can perhaps help harden it. I’ll definitely want everyone as close to the stairs as possible: if those globes do explode, even one of them, it will be infinitely worse than when Darren struck the globe last night.”

“You realize,” Darren said, “that there’s a flaw in your brilliant plan.”

Dr. Fleming didn’t even scowl; in fact, he half smiled. “Which is?”

“Those are spheres. I doubt I could achieve better than fifty percent coverage on even a remarkably good shot. It will take at least two shots to cover any one of them more than that, and at least one of those shots will be unprotected: I’ll have to fire on the inner side sometime.”

“You’ll fire on it first. The globes are fairly close together; this arrow has a larger charge than the others, and you’ll aim it at the center point of their circle. It shouldn’t create the murderous din of a direct hit, and it should largely cover the inner surfaces. You can shoot from cover at the outer surfaces of at least two of the globes, so the overall coverage should either prevent the Shiny One from forming or overload the globes.”

“But everyone else will be on the stairs, ready to run outside?”

“I am confident, not foolhardy.”

“Good to know. When do we do it?”

“In a few hours. I noticed that the globes glowed last night, probably at moonrise, and I have a fair idea when they’re likely to start tonight. We’ll strike just before that. I wish I could use rockets to get complete, simultaneous coverage with fuses for delayed action, but I didn’t pack any.”

And so it was that some hours later Darren fired a heavily wrapped arrow almost straight up into the midst of the globes. The detonation caused at least as thunderous a reverberation as the previous night’s direct hit, and Dr. Fleming recovered in time to help Darren to his feet. Darren gazed up at the darkened inner surfaces of the globes, but the doctor directed his attention to the usually placid surface of the pool, now strangely turbulent even after the aftershocks had mostly died away.

“The Shiny One has had a wake-up call, and I don’t think it likes it a bit.”

The globes began to pulse and the pool to shimmer, and the doctor added, “I’d been going to ask you to hit the center again, but all things considered, I think our work here is done. Head for the stairs and prepare to fire on the globes from there.”

They ran for cover, but they couldn’t help looking back at the pool’s choppy, scintillating surface.

Next: The Shiny One

Dark World: Another Fine Plan

2010-09-08T14:51:00.000-07:00

(The story begins here.)
(The last recap is here.)

Dr. Fleming examined the chemicals critically. “I should’ve packed more,” he muttered, “but even one or two successes should be enough.” He began concocting something with occasional help from Lassiter while the others watched.

Soon Darren decided to have a look at the journal the doctor had mentioned, and that only left Clio and Shafer unoccupied, which was bad enough. Clio eventually joined Darren, and Shafer started wandering around the area.

“Find anything interesting?” Clio asked Darren.

“Depressing is more the word. The first few had no idea what was going on, but eventually a couple of people wandered in together and the survivor chronicled what happened. They were mostly scientists, so they tried to find a solution. Only one came at all close, and that was an accident.”

“Yes?”

“He got mad and spat at the thing. He said it recoiled briefly and its colors changed in a way that made him think he’d hurt it a bit. But it must’ve gotten him anyway: the entry breaks off suddenly.”

“I think my strategy shall prove more effective,” the doctor said. “I am going to use those arrows to send a chemical solution up to the globes. If I can coat the globes, even one or two of them, that should destroy them all. They appear to be harmonically linked, so hitting one should stress the rest.”

“What does the solution do?” Darren asked.

“It’s a general insulator. When the affected globe tries to send energy to the pool, the coating should block the energy, producing an overload. At the very least, the lack of one globe may be enough to keep the monster from forming or emerging. But I hope that overloading one globe will destroy the rest as well.”

“You said it might show tonight. Will you be ready if it does?”

“Not entirely. I’m rushing the first few; if we see the globes begin pulsing, we’ll have to use whatever we have and hope for the best. Since you’re going to pray anyway, pray that it will be punctual.”

Next: Assault on the Globes

Dark World: Expecting the Worst

2010-09-07T23:40:00.000-07:00

(The story begins here.)
(The last recap is here.)

“The key appears to be those globes,” Dr. Fleming said, pointing upward. Seven globes hung high above them, each a different color. “When the full moon rises, those globes light up and somehow energize the pool—and the Shiny One within it. A door at the upper end of those stairs”—he gestured toward an arch through which steps leading up could be seen—“opens, and the Shiny One goes out to seek its prey. I was hoping merely to be ready by that door and simply bolt outside and try to escape or hide before the Shiny One appeared. But now that you are here with some of my equipment, I think I shall try to destroy the menace.”

Lassiter brought out his gun and inspected the globes. “If they’re just glass—”

“It won’t work,” the doctor said. “I tried that right after reading about the globes. Whether it’s the range or the material, a bullet is not the answer.”

“Perhaps an arrow is,” Clio suggested, readying her weapon. “A bow has greater range and accuracy than a handgun.” She aimed briefly and released the arrow, which flew upward and struck one of the globes with a faint clink. She scowled. “Do you want a try, Darren?”

Darren took the bow and an arrow, and she went off to retrieve her first shot. “I’m stronger, but she has better aim,” he explained. “Still, those things aren’t much of a challenge.” He adjusted the tension on the string, increasing the draw weight, nocked an arrow, and fired.

This time the sound was more noticeable. In fact, it was impossible to ignore, as if Darren had struck a crystal bell with such force that all the neighboring bells resounded in sympathy. Darren and his friends fell to their knees before the acoustic onslaught.

“Darren,” Lassiter gasped, “do…not…do…that…again!”

“I didn’t do it,” Darren said. “Did I?”

Dr. Fleming was on his feet, gazing imperturbably up at the globe. “If you mean, did you generate all that force directly, no. I think the impact caused the globe to release a little pent-up energy, which set up a general resonance. Were it not for the extreme unpleasantness involved, I’d almost like to keep hitting the globes to see whether they would eventually break under the strain.”

“I think we’d break first,” Lassiter grumbled.

“Perhaps. Still… Darren, could you hit it even if the arrow were heavier—say, five to seven times heavier?”

“I think so. I couldn’t hit it very hard—”

“The general area should be sufficient. And how many arrows are there?”

“Twenty-five,” Clio answered, bringing Darren’s arrow back.

“And you re-packed the chemicals, Lassiter?”

“Yes, Doctor.”

Dr. Fleming smiled. “Then I think I have an idea.”

Next: Another Fine Plan

Dark World: Lair of the Shiny One

2010-09-06T22:09:00.000-07:00

(The story begins here.)
(The last recap is here.)

Darren had no proper sense of time, but he was beginning to get tired of holding the bar and listening to Shafer’s whoops and singing well before he saw something ahead that he took to be their destination. Sure enough, the cart was headed for a large subterranean vault with a kind of pool or well that seemed to go down for miles. But as they drew closer, the most important point was a familiar figure sitting on some steps reading.

Shafer reached over and took control of the bar, much to Darren’s relief, and the cart soon slid gently to a stop. The group got out and without thinking passed through a wall and entered the cavern.

Dr. Fleming got up and ran to them. “You all came?”

Darren smiled happily. “Of course, Victor. We’re all your friends, more or less, so we all—”

“No, I mean you all left that infernal vehicle! That means you’re stuck here, too, as I understand it.”

Clio was in the rear, and she turned and touched what was now clearly a solid wall. “Mr. Shafer,” she began, and Darren thought her face might crack with the smile she forced on it, “you can get us back through, can’t you?”

“Mostly.”

“Mostly?” Her tone was flat, and so was her smile. “What does that mean?”

“Well, the Shiny One can block us a bit. The Dehros guys can really mess up Tehros; that’s why the Tehros players dislike them. The Shiny One will keep at least one of us from going back unless we destroy it or something, and it’ll eat whoever stays behind.”

“When?” asked Darren.

“At the rising of the full moon,” Dr. Fleming muttered. “Does anyone know where we are so I can try to estimate when that is likely to be?”

“Shafer said you were on the other side of the world,” Darren replied, “so I guess we’re in the neighborhood of New Guinea.”

Shafer nodded, and Dr. Fleming checked his watch and scowled as he performed some rapid mental calculations. “If this is the southern hemisphere, it’s springtime, and the days are getting longer. Still, it’s already afternoon. If that thing is punctual, we have a little more than a day to prepare; otherwise it might show up in six hours or so.”

“What is it?” Darren asked, and though he was staring at Shafer, it was the doctor who answered.

“Apparently it’s some kind of energy creature that rises out of that pool. The delightful savages who brought me here left a journal from one of the thing’s previous meals as a guidebook. It’s been here for a while—I guess you could say it’s more of a guest book—and each person or group to try its luck signs in. At least they’ve told me what to expect.”

Next: Expecting the Worst

Dark World: Choice of Tehros

2010-09-05T19:44:00.000-07:00

(The story begins here.)
(The last recap is here.)

Shafer led the group to a multilingual display with pictograms next to writing in more languages than Darren could even recognize. Clio, who knew ancient as well as modern languages, peered at the display.

“Wait—Atlantis? The real Atlantis?”

“Wet place,” Shafer said. “Hardly worth the bother.”

“This one with the lion looks fairly recent,” Darren said. “Huh. ‘Narnia.’ Never heard of it, but somehow I’d like to go there.”

“Winter all the time,” Shafer remarked. “And a really grouchy witch. I didn’t mean to hit her with that snowball; I was aiming at her stupid dwarf.”

“Well, we’ve had enough of witches anyhow,” Darren muttered, “and we need to find Victor. Where’s that symbol?”

“Over here,” Shafer replied. “It’s the Shiny One.” He paused. “Of course, we could go somewhere else instead.”

“No. The Shiny One it is. Do you press something, or…”

Shafer sighed and passed his hand over the symbol, not touching it, then circled it. A strange object like a metal cart without wheels drew up beside them, and Shafer motioned for them to get in.

“The one up front has to hold that bar. You don’t have to steer; you just control the speed.”

“You don’t want to do that?”

“No, it’s more fun sitting next to the guy who does it. That way I’m up front with my hands free.”

Darren suddenly noticed that Lassiter and Clio had taken seats in the back, so he resigned himself to holding the bar.

“Why is it important to sit up front with your hands free?” he asked as he got in.

Shafer just gave him a troubling grin and motioned for him to push the bar forward. He did, and the car lurched forward. After the initial surprise, however, Darren was able to hold the bar steady, and they began accelerating smoothly right through the wall as though it didn’t exist.

Darren glanced back. “Imagine all that being so close to Victor’s place.”

“It isn’t,” Shafer said. “I don’t know where it is. But you can reach it from any cave if you know what you’re doing. But don’t talk; this is time for whee.”

“For what?”

But they were now passing through what should have been solid rock, and for no reason Darren could imagine, he could see it rushing toward him and around him and even through him, all at incredible speed. And Shafer called to the others, “You have to hold your arms straight up! Whee!”

Next: Lair of the Shiny One

Dark World: Delvings Deep

2010-09-04T20:05:00.000-07:00

(The story begins here.)
(The last recap is here.)

Once they were outside, Lassiter asked Shafer, “Are we driving or walking?”

“Oh, walking’s okay. I guess we’ll do this the quick way.”

Shafer led them into a nearby copse and with the aid of some flashlights soon found a rocky outcropping. “You see, the classy way is to go to one of the 500 or so buildings in the country with an elevator that goes below the basement. But this is quicker, and you avoid the crowds.”

He pushed through some greenery and into a small tunnel or cave.

“You mean there are 500 buildings in this country that are specially constructed for...” Darren stopped, unwilling to guess at the arcane purpose.

“I think so. Let’s see—fifty states, though Alaska and Hawaii—”

“Forty-eight states, and Alaska and Hawaii aren’t among them,” Clio corrected.

Shafer paused briefly; then he laughed. “Oh, yeah: nineteen thirties. Yeah.” He continued into the cave.

The entrance opened out slightly—just enough for them to all crowd into the slightly subterranean chamber.

“It’s got to be underground, and it’s better if it’s natural, not a building. If you’re really into Tehros, you could get in from a mountaintop or maybe even a skyscraper roof, but it burns miles.” He looked around at the others. “Okay, this is where you close your eyes and hold hands and sing.”

“Sing?” Clio asked. “Sing what?”

“It doesn’t matter. You don’t even have to sing; it’s just more fun. Come on: ‘Merrily we stroll along, stroll along, stroll along...’”

Darren counted the steps they were taking. The chamber had been large enough for perhaps four steps forward. They had gone twelve when they stopped. “Why twelve steps? And how?”

“Well, ’cause thirteen’s unlucky. You can open your eyes now.”

Darren did. They were standing before a large, actual room—not a cavern—and an odd device barred the entrance. A glance back hinted dimly at the small cave they had come through.

“How did you know this was here? And how do we get past that thing up ahead?”

“I can’t remember how it all works; it gives me a headache. You’re supposed to use a mystical talisman to pass the barrier—a to-ken. But I usually just jump the thing.”

He demonstrated, and the others followed suit.

“Now what?” Darren asked.

“Now we choose,” Shafer said, and he seemed suddenly serious, more awed than odd for once. “This is the entry to Tehros.”

Next: Choice of Tehros

Dark World: The Horror Sign

2010-09-03T20:31:00.000-07:00

(The story begins here.)
(The last recap is here.)

“Clio!” Darren cried. “Where did you come from?”

“A small village called Deephaven, where my mother had relatives. Rosa took me there, hoping it would help me forget what happened. But I slipped away—stranded her there, unfortunately—and came looking for your friend the doctor. And now I find someone else has beaten me to him.”

“Why couldn’t you make an appointment like everyone else? We’re trying to rescue him.”

“So am I.” At Darren’s incredulous expression she explained, “I can’t get my revenge until he’s safe. Besides, I’m beginning to think I shall need help reaching Father or getting him back.”

“What we’re learning now may help us find your father. Mr. Shafer, you said you didn’t know exactly where they took Dr. Fleming. What do you know about his whereabouts?”

“They took him a long way off. I hope it isn’t where I think. They’re probably going to let the Dehros deal with him though.”

“Wait! Does this piece of of paper mean anything?” Darren showed the man the scrap with the odd symbol. “I don’t know why, but it fills me with loathing.”

Shafer looked at it and shuddered. “Yeah, it makes everyone feel like that. Too bad. That doctor guy was a nice enough jerk.”

“Where is he?”

“Other side of the world by now.”

“What? How could he get there so quickly? And more to the point, can we get there and help him?”

“You can try. But you’ll never get out of there alive.”

“Just get us there. You don’t have to stay and fight.”

“Oh, that’s okay. I haven’t been killed in ages. I could use something to eat, though.”

“Lassiter, round up some travel supplies while I get your friend a sandwich. We need to leave as soon as possible.”

Since Lassiter had unpacked when they returned from Boston, he was able to re-pack quickly enough. He collected food and water for an overnight trip, and he got the doctor’s pack of equipment just in case.

Meanwhile, Clio ducked out and returned carrying a bow and a few arrows. “Quieter than a gun and every bit as lethal,” she muttered in response to the stares.

Darren helped Lassiter pack as Shafer began eating, and soon the strange vagrant was ready to take his sandwich along. Lassiter started for the door, Darren right behind him. But for a reason Darren himself couldn’t quite understand, he paused to scan the room: What was it? A faint, unaccountable darkness? A slight breeze where no current of air should have stirred? Something…

“Coming?” Lassiter called from the doorway.

The scan became a glance. “Yes, coming.” Unsure and unsatisfied, Darren headed for the door and the familiar darkness and breeze beyond.

Next: Delvings Deep

Dark World: The Straight Dope

2010-09-02T20:26:00.000-07:00

(The story begins here.)
(The last recap is here.)

“Well, at least we know it’s Shafer,” Lassiter said after examining the unconscious man.

“What I want to know is where Victor went—or was taken,” Darren replied. “I can’t make anything of the tracks; they end at the road, and there might have been a car waiting, though I didn’t hear anything.”

“Let’s take Shafer inside and bring him around. With a little luck, he’ll tell us what we want to know.” So saying, Lassiter picked the man up and carried him inside, and Darren followed, puzzling over the strange sign on the scrap of paper.

Darren found Dr. Fleming’s medical kit and produced some smelling salts, but the results were not what they might have hoped.

“Put that away,” Shafer mumbled. “Try food. I always wake up for food.”

“Do you wake up for a thrashing?” Darren asked.

“No, that puts me to sleep.”

Lassiter growled something unintelligible and grasped the foil cap that was still clinging to Shafer’s head. “Wake up, or I’ll take this off and tear it up.”

Shafer’s eyes opened wide. “You wouldn’t!”

“I would, and so would Darren, here. We could each take an end and make a wish. Now talk! What happened to Dr. Fleming?”

“The guys who followed me caught him. It was really funny: they figured you would come out to see me, so they grabbed that doctor guy when he came instead.”

“They’re still after me? Why? And who are they, anyway? Mantong’s people?”

“Yeah—the Tehros. They’re pretty nice, except when they hit me in the head.”

“So Mantong’s a Tehro?”

“No, ‘Tehros’ is their game. There are two groups underground, and each one has a favorite game. Tehros is about crossing distances and mountains and stuff, and Dehros is about tearing people limb from limb. The guys who play Tehros are okay, but the guys who play Dehros are monsters. The Tehros—the guys who play it—hate the Dehros, and they think the Dehros came from the dark world. So they try to shut any openings to it and kill any Dehros that come through.”

“Then they think I’m a Dehros?”

“Well, yeah—you know, the werewolf bit, the Nazis... I try to tell them, but they won’t listen. They’d throw me out, but I got as many miles playing Tehros as they do, so they have to let me keep playing.”

Darren’s patience finally gave out. “So where is Dr. Fleming?”

“I don’t know, exactly.”

“But I’m sure you’ll find out,” said a familiar voice from the doorway, where Clio FitzHugh stood with gun in hand.

Next: The Horror Sign

Dark World: Vanished

2010-08-31T19:36:00.000-07:00

(The story begins here.)
(The last recap is here.)

Darren decided not to wait to secure the house, but as the shutters swung into place, Lassiter again said, “It is Shafer. I could see his face plainly in the moonlight.”

Darren reversed the shutters slightly and peeked through a crack. “It is,” he announced, confused.

“I told you so.”

“This isn’t the man I saw before. That man skulked; Shafer doesn’t seem to know how. But in any case, it is Shafer now.”

“Excellent. I’m going to talk to him—try to get him to come inside. If we can get him to talk, he could tell us everything, or at least more than we know now. Do you want to come along?”

“I’m not sure either of us should go. There is the other man at least—maybe more. We don’t know who is out there or why, and I’d rather not do anything without telling…”

A gunshot cut Darren short, and he whirled around. “Victor!”

The next moment they were in the doctor’s bedroom, where they encountered a very belligerent would-be sleeper. His temper melted away as the lights came on, however.

“You’re wounded!” Darren said.

With a somewhat shaky calm, the doctor walked over to a cabinet and removed bandages and dressings. “Not really. I grazed my arm slightly, that’s all.”

“You did it? Why?”

“I had a dream—or something. The witch came for me, and the only way to break loose was to graze myself. I thought the pain and/or noise would rouse me, and it did. Of course, if it had been only a dream, the gunshot might not have worked.”

“We heard the shot; that’s why we came. And your gun has been recently fired. But considering how you would have been lying, the bullet should have hit the wall about here, and there’s no trace of it.”

Dr. Fleming inspected the wall minutely. “So you think it really happened?”

“Yes, though I don’t know how.”

“Shafer might know,” Lassiter interjected. “He is outside. Darren admits it.”

“Then I’ll get answers out of him if I have to drill and blast,” the doctor said. “This is simply too much. I refuse to be accosted in my own room.” With that, he left at high speed.

Darren followed, at first merely walking, but soon the potential danger pressed him to run. The front door was easier to exit than to enter, and the doctor was already out of sight by the time Darren got outside.

Unfortunately he remained out of sight even after Darren and Lassiter had searched the area. They found only three clues: tracks of a small group that had evidently intercepted the doctor, a strange symbol scrawled on a scrap of paper, and an unconscious and annoying enigma.

Next: The Straight Dope

Dark World: What Dreams May Come

2010-08-30T21:10:00.000-07:00

As usual, mousing over non-English text will reveal a translation.

(The story begins here.)
(The last recap is here.)

The first two weeks were the worst. Both Darren and Lassiter had roving habits, while Dr. Fleming preferred to stay at home—alone. But they couldn’t leave Lassiter on his own, and the fact that they lacked a fourth person to make two groups of two effectively confined them to the doctor’s lab regardless. Lassiter claimed to have seen Shafer lurking around, but Dr. Fleming said he was merely being paranoid. Darren thought he saw a short man on one occasion, but he didn’t think it was either Shafer or a member of Mantong’s group. Dr. Fleming suggested settling the matter by putting up a sign inviting any hidden watchers in for tea.

As the third week arrived, the thought of finally resolving the question of the full moon and just getting on with life buoyed them somewhat. Darren considered trying to summon up the priest again, but he didn’t want to risk getting someone else instead. The door was better left as shut as possible.

However, as the moon waxed, Dr. Fleming began watching Lassiter more closely, which was not well received. “Do you feel anything?” he asked one night as the moon looked especially large, just a few days before it would be full.

“No. I never felt anything unusual until the full moon rose.”

The doctor turned away, muttering, but Lassiter casually looked out the window—not up at the moon, but toward the ground, which was already well lighted by the pale, cold orb. “Darren, come quick!” he called stiffly. As Darren approached, followed closely by Dr. Fleming, Lassiter continued, “Just Darren. It’s Shafer again, and I don’t want him to know I’ve seen him.”

“I don’t know why not,” Darren said. “From what I’ve seen of him, Victor’s plan to put out an invitation to tea would probably work.” Still, Darren meandered over to Lassiter and strained his peripheral vision. “I think there is someone out there, but I’m not sure it’s Shafer.”

“Who else could it be? The height and build are right; it’s not stocky enough for Mantong’s people, and I can’t think of anyone else who fits the description.”

“Neither can I, but this man is furtive; Shafer isn’t. You have secured the place, haven’t you, Victor?”

“Not only secured, but defended with some painfully discouraging traps. I hope it is Shafer, and he’s in an inquisitive mood. I am in dormose mood, and I intend to indulge it. Shutter the window when you’re through gawking.”

With that, the doctor retired to his room. He swiftly changed his clothes, but the pajamas he chose, though comfortable, could also take a fair amount of abuse, and his robe and shoes were handy in case he needed to spring out of bed and into action. Then he lay down and shut his eyes.

Unlike many people of that time, Dr. Fleming never wore a sleep mask; he deplored sensory deprivation of any kind. He did have the window shuttered, however, and the only light source was from the door he had left cracked open.

So when a steady light shone in his face, he at first assumed the door had come further open. He could have slept anyway, but a wide-open door implied unacceptable potential noise. He opened his eyes and found the light came not from an open door but a full moon shining down on the ground where he was lying. He knew what or whom he would see when he looked at the hilltop, but he could not help looking anyway.

“Yo ha venit por te, amico,” the dark woman said.

“This is a dream,” the doctor stated, trying desperately to believe it.

“To ne fa nequo,” she replied. “Tu desir ha advocat me, e tu va sequer me.”

Dr. Fleming found himself standing up, and he knew walking toward her was next. He could think of only one chance: by a supreme effort of will, he drew his gun and fired.

Next: Vanished

Dark World: The Calm

2010-08-29T13:48:00.000-07:00

(The story begins here.)
(The last recap is here.)

After an uneventful night, Dr. Fleming proved as good as his word, much to Lassiter’s annoyance. The latter found himself poked, prodded, and wired until he said he wished he could turn werewolf just to make it worth their while. To make himself useful and escape the fulminations inside, Darren decided to service the doctor’s car. He knew the doctor would insist on fine-tuning his work, but after all the driving they had done the last few days, a tune-up was called for.

Unfortunately, the peace of mechanics was short-lived, and Darren eventually had to go back inside, where the patient’s patience had deteriorated and taken the doctor’s with it. Lassiter showed “no discernable sign of significant anomalies,” Dr. Fleming said, and the insignificant anomalies were probably from the silver therapy.

“So am I cured?” Lassiter demanded. From the look on the doctor’s face, it wasn’t the first time, and the query had already worn out its welcome.

“I won’t know until the next full moon. Or until the witch comes looking for you, perhaps. What do you think, Darren?”

“I don’t know. The cases of shape-shifting I’ve heard of were simply demonic. This is more complex. At the very least, his sensitivity to silver when he is called implies something physical. I don’t think silver as such has any spiritual properties.”

“And yet you were quick to try it on the werewolf originally.”

“It was present, and it evidently wasn’t your idea. It seemed worth a try.” He glanced at Lassiter, who was busy stripping the doctor’s handiwork from his person. “Of course, since the call normally changes his body outwardly, perhaps it starts with a less obvious change—something that makes him sensitive to silver.”

“I’ve thought of that,” Dr. Fleming muttered as he tried to rescue his sensors from Lassiter’s irritation. “There’s just no way to prove it without the ‘call’—by which I suppose you mean either the full moon or the witch trying to summon him.”

“At this point I don’t think the moon will affect him. I suspect the moon triggered the demon, and the demon in turn triggered the change that made silver harmful. Absent the demon, the moon cannot effect the change. The witch’s call would, however.”

“I defy you to justify that rationally.”

“I can’t prove it, but it is reasonable. The moon by itself doesn’t change people into werewolves, and you’ve demonstrated that Lassiter is physically normal. There must be a change; the moon by itself cannot produce it; the witch’s call does.”

“If it weren’t for the descent into idiocy, I would invite you to prove that the moon doesn’t turn people into werewolves.”

“What I want to know,” Lassiter said, “is what we’re going to do about whoever drops in first. It’ll probably be the Nazis.”

“Perhaps,” Dr. Fleming replied, “but I fully expect Dr. Newman to show up. The Nazis probably know where I live; Dr. Newman definitely does, and he must suspect I’ve returned home.”

“Let’s try this,” Darren proposed. “Stay here until someone shows up or the moon becomes full—whichever comes first. After that, we may as well go hunting. I don’t think Newman or the Nazis know much, but perhaps we can use Neo Patwa to find Mantong’s men who deserted.”

“Rick Shafer knows a lot,” Lassiter said. “The only problem is getting him to talk coherently. And from what he said, he’ll be around.”

“I’d prefer the Nazis,” Dr. Fleming said. “Still, Darren has a point: we may as well rest and prepare. I doubt any of our enemies are particularly violent except for the Nazis, and they will need stealth around here. And once we’ve determined the moon’s effect, we can perhaps range as far afield as we like.”

And thus began their struggle with peace and relaxation.

Next: What Dreams May Come

Dark World: No Place Like Home

2010-08-28T19:53:00.000-07:00

(The story begins here.)
(The last recap is here.)

Darren thought Dr. Fleming’s laboratory and residence seemed more forbidding than welcoming, and he was sure Lassiter spoke for them all when he said, “It seems like years since we left here.”

The doctor was driving, and he muttered, “A little over nine months at most.” But his eyes searched the scene for traps. “It will take me a moment to collect my gear. Darren, you have a key; go unlock the door while Lassiter and I begin packing our luggage inside.”

Darren smiled. It was as close as the doctor would probably come to admitting that they might confront a spiritual problem requiring a spiritual solution. For what it was worth, he didn’t sense such a thing though he still prayed as he opened the door.

The hasty cleanup from their recent campaign to civilize and humanize Lassiter definitely needed improvement, but Darren scouted the building first. It didn’t take long, but he had to poke his head out the door with an all clear anyway before his friends joined him. Then he went out for a load, though there wasn’t much left. Dr. Fleming had evidently insisted on carrying most of his gear, and Lassiter, who didn’t have any luggage, could easily pack most of the rest inside.

The doctor surveyed his home critically. “Apart from some untidiness, everything seems in order. Gentlemen, I suggest we turn in early; tomorrow I intend to run more medical tests on Lassiter than either of you have ever heard of.”

“Why?” Lassiter asked. “I haven’t even begun to change since we were on our way to Dvorak’s.”

“True, but the only other time you’ve encountered the witch lately was when she was busy with the Nazis. I want you to be ready for her next visit or the full moon, whichever comes first. And if you’ll recall, the last time you started to change, your failure was quite painful. I’d like to prevent a recurrence almost as much as you would.”

Lassiter nodded unhappily, and Darren said, “Where does that leave me?”

“On a centrally located couch,” the doctor replied. “You’re a light sleeper, and while I believe I trust Lassiter’s intentions, you are more likely to resist any attacks and provide useful assistance.”

“We have other potential enemies as well—whoever tried to kill Dvorak, and perhaps Newman.”

“Annoying but true. We sleep armed. I’ll feel a little better once I’m sure Lassiter’s problem is under control, however. An external menace is easier to defeat.”

With that, the doctor began locking the place down, though sunset was not imminent. Lassiter helped Darren move the couch, and the doctor opened his library for general use. Darren, who was already familiar with its occasionally quite non-utilitarian contents, located a small volume of Donne’s poems and headed back for the couch, while the others made selections and pulled up a couple of chairs for close if silent companionship and awaited the fall of night.

Next: The Calm

Do-It-Yourself Communion

2010-08-26T19:33:00.000-07:00

I encountered something distinctly troubling Sunday: news of a church that, in an attempt to accommodate those whose background involves receiving the Lord's Supper (or Communion or the Eucharist, whatever you want to call it) every week, would soon feature a place where anyone so inclined could take Communion solo without bothering anyone else.

No muss, no fuss.

No concept of sacrilege, either.

Shouldn't this be an obviously bad idea? It's called "Communion" by some at least, and the communion is not just with God but with our brothers and sisters in the Lord, even those not blessed to be in our church or denomination. Yet it is the people next to us in the pew or the line who are the most evident reminders of what it's about. Paul told the Corinthians not to go at their own pace but to wait for the others:

"When you come together, it is not the Lord's Supper you eat,
for as you eat, each of you goes ahead without waiting for anybody else." (1 Cor 11:20-21a)

"So then, my brothers, when you come together to eat, wait for each other." (1 Cor 11:33)

If there are people around you and you have your own private service, so to speak, isn't that wrong? (Sometimes you simply are alone, but that's a different matter.)

Beyond this, there is a great casualness about what is supposed to be a holy thing. This should be a solemn moment, but it's reduced to the convenience of a drive-through window at McDonald's. We have lost such sacredness as remains for non-liturgical Protestants, and even the liturgical set have their frivolous group.

Now, what makes this morbidly hilarious is that the some of the very people promoting this idea have been making a lot of noise about doctrinal purity and the fundamentals of the faith.

About the only upside here is that Satan may be incapacitated with laughter.

So, what to do other than gripe? Pray. I'm afraid these people wouldn't listen to an opposing view, probably even from God, but prayer is the only answer.

For the rest of you, as you receive communion next time--surrounded by your brothers and sisters and connected backwards in time all the way to the upper room where they first heard, "This is my body"; sideways to people receiving communion at the same time, even if elsewhere; and forward to the Marriage Supper of the Lamb of which this is the foretaste--pray for these people who have sacrificed the inconvenient glory of community for the convenient desolation of isolation, cut off from the Body and dishonoring the Head.

Lord, have mercy on us all.

The Shadow of the Rope: A Free Book Review

2010-08-24T20:59:00.000-07:00

"The marriage that I propose to you," continued Steel, "is simply the most convenient form of friendship of which I can think. I want to be your friend; indeed, that much I mean to be, if necessary, in spite of you. I was interested in your case, so I came up to hear your trial. I was more interested in your trial, but most interested of all in yourself. There, indeed, the word is too weak; but I will not vex your spirit with a stronger. My attraction you know; my determination you know; even the low wiles to which your pride reduced me, even my dodging and dogging, have been quite openly admitted to you on the first reasonable opportunity. ... What I can do, however," and Steel bent further forward, with eyes that held Rachel's in their spell; "what I can do, and will, is to go back with a lady who shall be my wife in name, my daughter in effect. We should, I trust, be the best of friends; but I will give you my word, and not only my word but my bond, that we never need be anything more."

This is the strange proposal that confronts Rachel Minchen, just acquitted by jury of murdering her husband, but considered guilty by practically everyone else in Britain, in The Shadow of the Rope (free audiobook here), by E. W. Hornung. A mysterious stranger—a rich, older man named Steel—watched the trial and offered Mrs. Minchen his assistance, which she spurned until the full horror of her desperate situation drove her to accept.

Who is he, really? Why is he interested in her, and what connection did he have with her husband and perhaps with his murder? And who did kill him, anyway? Steel is polite to Rachel, but there is a gulf between them, and sometimes he seems curiously unconcerned about her even as he has expressed or demonstrated attentiveness.

It isn't until Rachel's secret past (and perhaps Steel's) begins to come out that a friend, a writer, undertakes a proper investigation into the murder, about which Steel is not just uninterested but defiant, daring him to find the truth.

This is quite a good story on the whole. There are two things that bother me, though they are fairly minor.

First, only an idiot would think Rachel guilty. She had quarreled with her husband and was on the brink of returning to Australia when he was killed: why should she kill him, under the circumstances? And if she did kill him, wouldn't she realize how damning her preparations to leave would look? Someone tried (incompetently) to conceal the murder and make it look like the work of thieves; if that was her doing, she should have trusted to the deception and (again) not continued her preparations for departure. And then there's her decision to visit a sick friend when she should have been either fleeing or doing a better job covering up the crime. It's fairly obvious that she didn't know about the murder until well after the fact.

Second, we are told not to pity a certain character. Rubbish! Not to pity that character is to be a jerk. The character's effective end is in my opinion undeserved, and pity is deserved.

Otherwise, it's a good story that will puzzle and mislead the reader until the end.

Once again, that's

The Shadow of the Rope
E-book
Audiobook

Dark World Recap 2

2010-08-21T19:52:00.000-07:00

The first recap is here.

The trip to Darren's old friend and mentor, Dr. FitzHugh, does not turn out well: the doctor went on a private expedition and has not returned. His daughter, Clio, goes to get some notes of his on a strange pidgin, Neo Patwa, and is attacked. In the confusion, Lassiter disappears.

Dr. Fleming believes that Dr. FitzHugh's disappearance was voluntary, and he gives Darren a clue that should lead to the doctor. Lassiter re-appears, saying he has encountered an old friend, Rick Shafer, who appears to be both remarkably well informed and patently insane.

The trio travels to Atlantis, an old haunt of Dr. FitzHugh's, where they are captured by people like the man who attacked Clio. These men seem afraid of Lassiter and connect him with various evil entities. The trio outwit their captors only to be met by Dr. FitzHugh, who is determined to go to the dark world for research. He reveals that he has discovered something extremely significant; it is related to a strange language (‘Est id deusk? Deusker quem temos.’ ‘Is it dark? Darker than darkness.’). He also says the door between the worlds has closed and Lassiter is the key to re-opening it.

They are interrupted by Nazis who want to send an expeditionary force to the dark world; the way indeed opens, and they are claimed by the mysterious Dark Lady and vanish.

Dr. FitzHugh prepares to depart, but Clio shows up at the last moment. She tries to join him, but winds up clutching air as he disappears. She says that Rick Shafer told her where her father was; she has no idea how Shafer gets around so quickly, because he arrived at Atlantis before she did.

In order to prevent Clio from rashly barging into danger, Dr. Fleming makes a bet with her that he can toss her in the lake, which he does by skill and trickery. As he, Darren, and Lassiter make good their escape, he also claims that he did it to distract her from her grief and simply because "she was annoying me."

They decide to return to the doctor's home and laboratory to figure out their next move.

I'll take a very brief break from the story. When we return, Dr. Fleming has an ambiguous and frightening experience that sets the stage for the first actual adventure with Shafer.

Next: No Place Like Home

Dark World: Flip You For It

2010-08-19T13:19:00.000-07:00

(The story begins here.)
(The last recap is here.)

“Poetry in motion,” Dr. Fleming quipped, briefly watching Clio transition from floundering to swimming. “Specifically, something by Sir Walter Scott.”

Then he noticed that Darren was fleeing in the direction of the car, with Lassiter close behind. He decided to utilize his scientifically trained running ability, though he didn’t get within hailing distance until they reached the woods.

“What’s the matter?” he called.

“I know Clio,” Darren said. “She’s not only an excellent swimmer but a very fast runner.”

The doctor wisely chose to save his breath for running and his expletive for later. A roar of feminine fury behind him confirmed this decision, and he was only slightly comforted to realize that her soggy clothing should slow her down.

Darren maintained his lead and was starting the car when the doctor arrived. He grabbed the door and braced himself on the running board as Darren rocketed through the brush and onto the path.

“You did know I was here, didn’t you?” the doctor asked.

“Could a scientifically trained runner not be?” Darren replied with a grin. “Are you scientifically trained for riding on a running board?”

“Not exactly,” the doctor muttered as he opened the door and swung inside. Lassiter waved a cheery greeting from the back seat, to his great annoyance.

“Now would you mind telling me what that was all about?”

“The wager? Isn’t it obvious? First, it should give her something to think about instead of her father, at least for a few minutes. That should take the edge off her grief, if I understand her correctly. She will still grieve, of course; but I think I’ve blunted its force. Second, I take her to be an honorable woman, so her pledge not to get involved should keep her from rampaging around in dangerous places while she’s too distraught to think. And third, she was annoying me.”

“So now what?” Darren asked. They had reached an actual road, and the intersection required a choice.

“Home. I see no reason to stay away from there now, and I’d rather have the home ground advantage in whatever else transpires. I’d also like to sleep in my own bed for once. You and Lassiter can argue over the guest room and the couch, and I’ll get another bed and room set up as soon as possible. Like it or not, we’re in this together now.”

Next: No Place Like Home

Dark World: Left Behind

2010-08-18T13:11:00.000-07:00

(The story begins here.)
(The last recap is here.)

For a moment Clio paused, hand closed, gazing at it in shock. Then she fell to her knees and collapsed groaning on the ground. Darren knelt down beside her, but a steel grip arrested his arm.

“If you touch her right now,” Dr. Fleming said, “she’ll rip your hand off.”

Darren glanced from him to her and back again. “Sometimes you’re very perceptive, Victor. But I—”

Clio rolled over and seized his arm. “Send me there!”

“What? I wouldn’t even if I could, and I can’t.”

“You must have seen whatever he did!”

“Saw, yes. I didn’t memorize the ritual, and I couldn’t hear the words.” Darren conveniently omitted that Dr. Fleming probably had memorized the gestures, though he hoped the doctor hadn’t heard the words either. He certainly wasn’t going to mention Lassiter’s importance, if he still had any: with the door now open, perhaps anyone could wander through. But Lassiter probably remained a focal point, and she would definitely haunt the poor man if she knew that.

Just then he saw a welcome diversion. “Rosa! You actually came with Clio?”

“I wasn’t going to stay in that house alone. Though I’m not sure this is any better. What happened to him?”

“To the doctor? He decided to explore a new world—and a dark one. May God have mercy on him.”

Rosa bowed her head and crossed herself.

Meanwhile Clio had had enough. “Darren, you know more about this than you’re telling. I know you won’t lie, but you will be evasive if I let you—and I won’t. Do you know a way to that accursed world?”

“I know a way to probably a different part of it. He used a way of his own, and whether it’s any safer than the one I know is impossible to tell. I believe the one I know is lethal, and anyway I can’t make it happen whenever I want. We may be able to help him eventually, but it will take investigation, planning, and prayers that you would never pray. Just leave it to us.”

“I can conduct my own investigation.”

“And get killed. These are dangerous people—I won’t say dangerous men, because they aren’t all men; they may not all be human.”

“I can take care of myself.”

“Enough of this,” Dr. Fleming interrupted. “We shall settle this now with a wager that you shall lose, and you shall stay out of this whole matter in consequence.”

This earned him a withering look of feminine disdain. “Try your best. And when you lose—I haven’t yet decided on a suitable humiliation, but it shall almost make up for the rest of this infamous day.”

Next: Flip You For It

Dark World: Open and Shut

2010-08-17T19:36:00.000-07:00

(The story begins here.)
(The last recap is here.)

“I hoped we were through with that whole business,” Dr. Fleming muttered as he shakily rose to his feet.

“I think we were,” Darren said. “Remember what happened at Better Angel? The door wasn’t opening; it was closing. But apparently all the desire to open it again reversed that.” He turned to Dr. FitzHugh and helped him up. “Now do you see where you would be going? It’s an evil place!”

“The Dark Lady there, Nazis here—I see no great difference. Is this world so good—a world where an innocent woman can die for no reason at all? I would have left here years ago if I could.”

“You leave the country, but you always come back. If you go there, you probably couldn’t come back.”

“Enough of this! Mantong, we must begin while the opening is still fresh.”

The elder, who had been hustled outside with the rest of them, began gesturing rhythmically and muttering words Darren couldn’t quite hear. A few men who had attended him followed him to Dr. FitzHugh’s side, though a couple held back and even began edging toward the woods.

“Pathetic,” Dr. Fleming said. “Your friends were going to kill Lassiter, but now they need him to make their getaway. Have a nice chat with the witch.”

Dr. FitzHugh scowled back. “Mantong would not have—”

But Mantong smiled. “Fire die, start fire.”

Dr. FitzHugh turned to him, aghast. “You mean you would have mortally wounded him and then opened the door even as he lay dying? This is…”

His voice died away as his hair moved in a breeze Darren couldn’t feel.

“I suppose I can’t simply drag you away,” Darren said.

“You could try. I believe you would come too. The process has already begun.”

A woman cried, “Father!” They turned and saw Clio running toward them.

“Clio—Daughter—I am sorry to leave you, but—”

“Take me with you!”

“Clio! No!” Darren shouted, reaching for her.

“Then take my hand, Daughter! Come with me!”

She shoved Darren aside with all her might and rushed past him, reaching out her hand to her father’s hand, closing hers over his—but clasping air.

Next: Left Behind

Dark World: Dark and Darker

2010-08-16T20:37:00.000-07:00

As usual, mousing over strange text will reveal a gloss, not counting the fragmentary German.

(The story begins here.)
(The last recap is here.)

“Where are—” Dr. FitzHugh began.

“We have dealt with your apes according to our usual efficiency. You may have a better fate. You could be useful to us, Doctor. As for you, Herr Lassiter, you shall come with us. We have assembled an expeditionary force to explore this new world; we just require you to open the way for us.”

“You murdered them!” Dr. FitzHugh gasped as he and the others were shepherded from the cabin.

“One murders human beings,” the newcomer said in an accent clearly obtained at an English university. “Subhuman races may be slaughtered like any other animal—useless evolutionary by-products. If you wish, you may join them in the lake.”

Darren glanced at Dr. Fleming, but there were too many guns in too large an area for a simple solution. “I’ll tell you what I told Dr. FitzHugh,” he said. “If you go in, you can’t come back. This door works only one way.”

“For inferior races, perhaps. Some have returned, and what a subhuman can do, the Master Race shall surely do even more easily. But you need not worry about returning. We shall take Herr Lassiter, Dr. FitzHugh, and perhaps the other doctor, this Fleming, with us. You are dead weight, so to speak.”

“Even though I’m not from an inferior race?”

“You have spent so much time with them that you have become like them.”

Darren started to reply when he noticed something that froze the words in his mouth: despite the calm of the clearing, Lassiter’s hair was stirring as if in a breeze Darren could not feel.

The sky grew dark, and there was now a hill where a moment before there had been only trees. A familiar voice called, “Benevenit, amicos! Veni a vor nov hem!”

“Gnädige Frau, wir—” the man in black began, but the dark lady took no notice.

“Veni! Seque vor desires e intra! Li tenebres comanda vos!”

The man in black struggled against an unseen force. “Nein,” he growled. Slowly he raised his gun and fired at the woman, but with no effect.

Darren looked around. The black-clad forces were beginning to shamble toward the woman, but at least for the moment, the rest were hanging back, eyes shut against the sight. Darren suspected they saw it anyway.

The flock of would-be wolves reached the foot of the hill, and Darren and the others fell on the ground gasping as the darkness gave way to the normal afternoon light.

Next: Open and Shut

Dark World: Deusker Quem Temos

2010-08-15T15:45:00.000-07:00

(The story begins here.)
(The last recap is here.)

Darren gawked at the new arrival. “Dr. FitzHugh! So you aren’t a prisoner!”

The balding, ruddy-faced man laughed. “Of course not. My friends are too civilized for such things, though they are sometimes a bit hasty. I hope the bowmen will suffer no permanent harm?”

“The chemical disperses swiftly and does no lasting damage,” Dr. Fleming replied. “Have them go outside and wash their faces in the lake.”

Dr. FitzHugh did so, but Darren had other business to attend to. “Clio is worried about you, Doctor. You should have left her a note.”

Dr. FitzHugh took a seat near the center of the room. “I originally did—or a clue, anyway. But there have been unexpected developments and delays, and I did not want her barging in here at the wrong moment. You could take her a message, but neither she nor you shall interfere. If it had not been for an unexplained obstacle, I should already have left.”

“Where are you going?”

“To a new frontier—a new world with languages and cultures our world either never knew or forgot long ago.”

“I have it on good authority that those who go there can’t return—at least in general. There have apparently been a few exceptions, but as Victor, here, would say, it’s not the way to bet.”

“It matters little. I know communication remains possible. In time, Clio may follow me; perhaps you as well.”

“No. It is an evil world—a dark world with few enclaves of light. We’ve experienced that fact.”

“Ah, yes: ‘Est id deusk? Deusker quem temos.’ ‘Is it dark? Darker than darkness.’ That is a proverb among those I hope to find.”

Dr. Fleming nudged Darren. “Those words weren’t on the list.”

“Different language,” Darren muttered.

“Yes, a very different language,” Dr. FitzHugh said. “The language I hope to find, along with its speakers, though both are lost even in the new world. It amuses me that those superstitious Germans have a thread of the truth, though they are blind to its reality. They knew you were coming, and they want you—especially the one called Lassiter. But they do not know what to do with him, and I do.”

“Nothing harmful, of course.”

“Yesterday, shortly before we were going to cross over, the connection between the worlds vanished—the door closed. Lassiter has been to the outskirts of the other world and returned. He is the key to a door now locked.”

“Of course!” Darren whispered. Then he continued aloud, “You shall not take him there.”

“There is no need to do so. His very presence shall re-open the door, and his coming saves us the bother of bringing him here.”

“It has been rather convenient for us as well,” announced a man in a black suit as similar men with guns filed past him through the doorway.

Next: Dark and Darker

Dark World: Lassiter at Bay

2010-08-14T23:00:00.000-07:00

(The story begins here.)
(The last recap is here.)

The newcomers were archers, and all but one had an arrow nocked and ready to release. The exception came forward. “You give gun.” His gesture included them all, and if his English was primitive, it was quite intelligible.

Darren began to respond in Neo Patwa, but Dr. Fleming gave him a warning glance, and he reconsidered. It might be better to play dumb for a while, just in case the men said something interesting.

The three gave up their guns, and the guards escorted them in annoying silence. In only a few moments they entered a clearing with a lake and a cabin, and shortly afterward they entered the cabin itself. As they passed through the door, Darren confirmed a curious observation from the forest trip: the men gave Lassiter a wide berth. Lassiter glanced at him and grinned with evil satisfaction.

An elderly man awaited them—not Dr. FitzHugh, Darren noted with disappointment. The recently acquired guns were placed almost at his feet, not quite a yard away.

“You not welcome here,” the man said. “You bring evil one—friend of evil one.” With this he brandished a dagger with a familiar symbol on it.

“They’re no friends of mine,” Lassiter said.

“You friend of dark woman,” the elder charged, and the men again brought their weapons up.

“No,” Lassiter stated.

“You bring dark woman.”

The bowstrings were taut.

Dr. Fleming gestured for attention, and the arrows wavered slightly as he stepped toward the elder. “Otice-nay ere-whay our-ay uns-gay are-ay,” he commanded in a cheerful tone. The elder looked puzzled, and the doctor turned to Lassiter. “Istract-day em-thay.”

The arrows were now pointed uncertainly at the doctor, but Lassiter grinned, threw back his head and howled like a wolf. The archers were re-targeting him when a cloud of smoke enveloped him and his friends, followed by muffled explosions.

When the smoke began to clear, Lassiter, Darren, and the doctor were back to back in the center of the room, guns ready, but the archers were gasping and clawing at their eyes.

“No charge for the gas grenades,” the doctor muttered.

“We’re getting good,” Lassiter crowed.

“We’re getting overconfident,” Darren warned. “Pig Latin, Victor?”

“They might know German, at least the word for gun. And using German might have antagonized them anyway. But small distortions fool non-native speakers: even a fluent student of French may be stymied by verlan.”

Just then a gust of wind from the open door dispersed the remaining wisps of smoke, and a new voice called, “Darren! Put that gun away!”

Next: Deusker Quem Temos

Dark World: Attack From Atlantis

2010-08-13T22:50:00.000-07:00

Sorry about the late post. Fridays are especially hectic.

(The story begins here.)
(The last recap is here.)

When Darren pulled off the country road and practically into some bushes, there was no sign of the site he had already described briefly in English and at greater length in Neo Patwa: no lake, no cabin, nothing but trees.

“How long a hike will it be?” Dr. Fleming asked.

“Directly, ten minutes or less,” Darren replied. “But we’ll take thirty just to be safe.”

They proceeded cautiously, frequently stopping to listen and always inspecting their surroundings minutely. Darren was relieved that the doctor hadn’t brought his backpack arsenal; it might have proved handy, but it was too bulky. The doctor had removed some items from it and stowed them inconspicuously about his person. He had also made a point of issuing them all guns. Darren’s mind went back over the brief dialog that followed.

“We won’t fire needlessly, I trust,” he had said.

“The idea is more to threaten than to harm,” the doctor promised. “I think the intruder was not supposed to resort to violence and did so out of frustration and anger; I hope to avoid a repeat of that.” He paused and studied Darren carefully. “You don’t really expect to sneak in there, do you?”

“I hope to, but I certainly don’t expect to. It depends how large a force is here. If it’s small, we may get through; otherwise not. But I think it’s better to try reasonable stealth than simply to drive up to the camp. This way, we may keep our vehicle a secret for a while, which might make escape possible later.”

“So we rescue Dr. FitzHugh against his will?”

“I hope not. I would like a proper talk with him, though.”

It all hinged on whether Victor was right: if Dr. FitzHugh was relatively free, the desired interview and their general safety would be no problem. But if he wasn’t…

Darren could sense a movement in the trees, and he glanced at Lassiter, who was looking at him. Even without the lycanthropy, his senses seemed sharper than normal. Darren whispered to Dr. Fleming, “We’ve been spotted.”

“How many?”

“Two or three at most. But they’re raising the alarm. We should have the full force here within a minute.”

“How far is the camp?”

“Too far.”

“Then we surrender graciously and bide our time.”

As if in answer, several short, stocky men appeared out of the woods on every side, their weapons at the ready.

Next: Lassiter at Bay

Dark World: The Shafer Mystery

2010-08-12T15:59:00.000-07:00

(The story begins here.)
(The last recap is here.)

“The screams stopped as I rounded the side of the house,” Lassiter continued. “I would have kept going anyway, but then I noticed someone hiding in the woods away from the house. Looking back, I realize he couldn’t have been the attacker: he was too far away too soon after the screams. But at the time I just assumed he was my man, so I headed after him.

“He saw me coming and ran. The wall around the estate slowed him down more than me, and I jumped him from the top of the wall before he could get away. When I turned him over, he looked familiar, and when he begged me not to hit him in the head this time, I recognized the voice: it was Rick Shafer.

“Rick and I were engineering students together, and we also had jobs working on an assembly line. He was always a little odd, and not in a good way. I’m not that picky, but even I thought he was a bit of a pervert. And one day while we were working on the assembly line, he claimed that an item he was working on gave him telepathic powers. He could hear thoughts, and not all of them seemed human.

“It was pretty weird even for Rick. I made some noncommittal remarks, and he got angry and just quit then and there. I’m pretty sure he left with the electrical gadget he’d been working on. That was practically my last day too: the factory was about to close anyway, and I had a chance at working my way to Europe on a steamer. A friend said the Europeans were trying to improve their economies and technology at the same time, kind of like our rural electrification projects here. I wish now that I had stayed here for some of the work programs.

“So when I recognized Rick, I stopped mid-violence, and he yelled again, ‘Okay, okay! Just don’t hit me in the head again, even though it does improve my telepathy.’ Then he recognized me, and I promised not to hit him if he explained himself. Unfortunately for my sanity, he did—or tried to.

“He’s changed, and lunacy aside, it’s mostly an improvement. He’s no longer a pervert, just a lunatic, and he’s a lot easier to talk to, apart from the assault on your sanity. He put on a foil cap and gave me another, so we could talk privately. We soon had to move to avoid the police, but he seemed to know a number of hiding places.

“He said that he was watching the intruder, though he couldn’t explain why. I suspect he just finds it entertaining. He follows various groups around, apparently, and I think he knew where the intruder came from. It’s a pity I couldn’t get a coherent explanation of that detail.”

“Do you think he could lead us to the intruder?” Darren asked.

“Maybe. You’d have to make a game of it, though. He’s very childlike these days.”

“I’m almost certain we’re on the right track now, but it could help to have an alternative solution. If we can find him again, that is.”

“He said he’d see me again, so we probably will, though it might mean returning to Boston. From what you say of the police there, I’d rather not try it.”

“If he is monitoring the same groups we’re interested in,” Dr. Fleming said, “we shall likely meet up eventually anyway. Let him find us; then perhaps I’ll believe he’s worth my time.”

Lassiter just grunted softly, and they might have continued the trip in silence if Darren hadn’t suggested practicing the new language they would probably be encountering again soon. “It’s easy to learn the words of a small language, but hard to get used to working in such cramped quarters. We have a few hours; let’s make good use of them.”

[My personal schedule will be weird for a week or so, but I'll try to keep this regular.]

Next: Attack From Atlantis

Dark World: The Madman and Atlantis

2010-08-11T14:14:00.000-07:00

(The story begins here.)
(The last recap is here.)

[Since it's been a week, a brief recap: Lassiter has suddenly reappeared, fresh from an interview with someone he calls a madman with potentially useful information, and Darren thinks the missing Dr. FitzHugh is likely in a place called Atlantis.]

“Is your madman available now?” Dr. Fleming asked.

Lassiter shook his head. “No, he’s gone again. He’s almost as hard to keep track of as the werewolf people.”

“Then Atlantis wins. Darren, I assume that you’re driving.”

“It would be quicker,” Darren said. “Since Clio probably has no more idea of where Atlantis proper is than I do, the clue must be to the place we called Atlantis, and it’s only a few hours away if you know the roads.”

Darren took the wheel, and Dr. Fleming relegated Lassiter to the back seat and a low profile.

“Don’t sulk; I’m sure there are still some policemen around who would like a talk with you. And we can trade stories while we drive. I can tell you what happened inside the house, you can tell us what happened outside, and Darren can tell us about Atlantis. With any luck, we shall not have to resort to singing to while away the hours.”

“How do you know there aren’t policemen watching us now?”

“Because either you or Darren would have noticed. You aren’t idiots, but I have no such lofty opinion of the local constabulary.” The car started, and the doctor continued, “I think summaries are in order. Darren, tell us briefly what this Atlantis of yours is.”

“There’s a small valley in the foothills near here, and someone built a hut in it. Somehow—probably a natural dam gave way—the valley became flooded, covering the hut. Clio and her father had found it long before I met them, and she called it Atlantis. I saw it on my first visit to the area—to America—a few years ago. There’s a more recent cabin that the doctor uses for a camp. I think he honeymooned there, from something he said.”

“He’s a widower?” the doctor asked.

“Yes. His wife died not long before I met them—he travels sometimes as much to forget as to study. But inevitably he wants to remember again, and then he comes home. He often spends a day or two at Atlantis.”

Dr. Fleming followed this up with a swift yet reasonably detailed presentation of the adventure of the locked room. “I’m mildly surprised and mightily relieved that Officer Hancock forgot to tell us to remain in the area,” he concluded. “He and his fellow lackwits will spend years trying to find the attacker. They seem convinced he was a local hood, but I am equally certain he was no such thing. He probably wasn’t in the same group as that enchantress, but there is a general similarity.”

“Are we going back?” Lassiter asked.

“To Boston? I hope not. But it depends on what we find at this Atlantis. If we can interview Dr. FitzHugh, perhaps we can get a lead on this whole business. Or are you depending on your lunatic friend for that?”

Lassiter smiled. “It’s such a mad affair, it would be only fitting for a madman to explain it. But even ‘madman’ hardly sums up Rick Shafer.”

Next: The Shafer Mystery

Everybody's Lonesome: A Free Book Review

2010-08-10T15:52:00.000-07:00

I'm not entirely sure why I like Everybody's Lonesome (audiobook here) by Clara E. Laughlin. Technically, it makes some points that any relatively thoughtful person already knows, and it is a bit of a shaggy dog story. But some things bear repetition, and especially these days when there's so much demonizing of differences--anyone who disagrees with you is therefore evil and stupid--it's good to stress commonality.

The story involves the development of Mary Alice, a small-town girl who feels unpopular and uninteresting, who nonetheless finds romance and importance (chatting with the King of England!) by learning some basic secrets of life from her godmother.

Success is possible for anyone, according to this story, though not necessarily wealth or fame, simply by understanding people. (Indeed, a wealthy man seeks out the godmother and eventually Mary Alice herself purely because they are restful and invigorating companions.)

This is a short work--the audiobook is under an hour and a half--but it manages to be inspirational in the general sense and a good story. It's worth a look, and the audiobook is well above average and thus worth a listen.

Everybody's Lonesome
E-book
Audiobook

I know this is a short review; I'm not yet sure what I'll do next. I should probably get back to Dark World and probably will. But Wednesday will be busy, and I'm not sure what my schedule will be. Also, I'd like to do generalized reviews of certain authors.

The Frozen Pirate: A Free Book Review

2010-08-09T16:36:00.000-07:00

The Frozen Pirate (audiobook here) by W. Clark Russell is an odd item. Written in 1887, it has a sci-fi element rather unusual for the time and even for the author, though Russell did write horror stories.

The story begins with a terrible storm and a kamikaze iceberg wiping out a ship and leaving the narrator adrift in a lifeboat in antarctic waters. He encounters a massive island of ice and goes ashore, where he eventually discovers a pirate ship run aground some distance from the water. The ship includes a generous helping of Frozen Pirate (tm)--heat 'em and serve!

Mostly by accident, our hero manages to revive one of the pirates--they've been in deep freeze for just under fifty years, so they're still good.

Sort of good.

Kind of amoral to evil, really. This is a realistic pirate, you see, and while he's willing to help the narrator get the ship back in the water, if possible, there's treasure aboard, and he finds the math of splitting it all in half a little too daunting and has an idea for avoiding the trouble.

So the narrator's early problems of loneliness and surviving the elements unassisted become the problems of obnoxious companionship and surviving its dangers. And then there's the task of getting the ship safely launched before the northward-bound island breaks up and takes the ship with it.

There are two negatives that I should mention. Writers were completists at this point, and the narrative continues well beyond the point where a modern writer would stop. I myself would simply relegate the closing chapters to a brief epilog. Also, while it is worth explaining how he gets the ship to England and disposed of the treasure, it's rather annoying that he goes from being fairly moral and ethical to wanting to dodge the standard procedures that would have left him with little of the treasure. He turns a bit pirate himself, and I'm not sure the irony is intentional.

Still, the idea is a good one, and if you're used to the period, you'll find the book worth reading. The twist in the pirate's fate is fairly ingenious, if not altogether original today.

A note about the audiobook: there are several readers, which is usually a bad thing. What's worse, there are a number of frequent mispronunciations that I at least found painful. In case you don't know it, the Thames, the river that passes through London, is pronounced "Tim's"; it rhymes with "gyms," not "James." So I don't really recommend the audiobook, though it's otherwise a good way of getting through a rather long story.

The Frozen Pirate
E-book
Audiobook

The Middle Temple Murder: A Free Book Review

2010-08-08T16:31:00.000-07:00

The Middle Temple Murder (audiobook here) by J.S. Fletcher is a classic mystery wherein journalist Frank Spargo attempts to solve the murder of an initially unknown elderly man in the Middle Temple Lane, where lawyers hung out back then.

This isn't the sort of mystery where you can match wits with the detective and generally have all the relevant details at your disposal. These are deep waters, Watson, and you get to follow Spargo as he delves ever deeper. You can can try to figure things out as quickly as Spargo, but that's about it. You'll be quite far in before you can even make a guess at who committed the murder, and actual certainty probably won't hit you any earlier than it does Spargo. It does all make sense--even the surprise bits are reasonable in retrospect. The last chapter seems a bit rushed, but I can understand not wanting to linger over the ending, and he does tie up the loose ends, for the most part, though I would have like to see what happened with a kind of secondary villain near the end. I doubt his position was quite as impregnable as he claimed: at least here in the US, some of his actions would have been felonies, and a few others might have been as well.

In any case you'll mostly be along for the ride. It is an engaging ride, however, and you can learn a bit about England nearly a century ago.

A note on the audiobook: the quality is average, better than some I've encountered lately, so it's a good way to get acquainted with J. S. Fletcher, a largely forgotten author whose work deserves better. I'll definitely check out some of his other books and report back; if you're curious, you can find e-books here and audiobooks here.

And again, that's

The Middle Temple Murder
E-book
Audiobook

The Cinder Pond: A Free Book Review

2010-08-06T20:14:00.000-07:00

The Cinder Pond (audiobook here) by Carroll Watson Rankin, differs considerably from Dandelion Cottage, though both involve (at least initially) architectural oddities.

The story opens with a splash as a boy accidentally plumbs the depths of Lake Michigan and is rescued by a girl who lives in a ramshackle building on a disused bit of pier. Humiliated, he trudges home and at least some of the truth comes out. But that story element soon goes into cold storage, and the reader will likely forget about it.

It does introduce our main character, Jeanne, the girl who lives on the pier. Her father is of French (ultimately Huguenot) origins, now eking out a living as a fisherman. Her mother is conveniently dead--conveniently for the story, I mean; it doesn't help Jeanne at all. Mom died of some illness, and Dad thought he was going to check out too, so when a small family took him and baby Jeanne in, he decided to marry the daughter of the clan to give Jeanne a mother. Unfortunately, everyone was taken in: Dad was not rich, as his new family supposed, and the new family was more obnoxious than he had realized. So Jeanne gets a friendly but utterly lazy step-mother and eventually a bunch of half-siblings.

Finally her father decides she is in a dead-end position, and he takes her to her rich grandfather, who disapproved of her parents' marriage. Is the grandfather a stern sort who can't help unbending and taking an interest in his granddaughter? Does she have to cope with obnoxious relatives?

What do you think?

Anyway, revelations are revealed and Stuff Happens, some of it rather sad.

Overall, I found The Cinder Pond weaker than Dandelion Cottage, which has a stronger focus. It builds better; events and people here are sometimes rushed on and off stage, and certain loose ends should have been tidied up, in my view. Also, the set-up for the ending is telegraphed a bit too much. It would have been better to share in Jeanne's surprise.

Still, there are some good characters here--Jeanne herself, for the most part, and her friend the Captain, who's actually the best part of the story, in my opinion. It's not a classic, but it is a good read in general.

The Cinder Pond:
E-text
Audiobook

Dandelion Cottage: A Free Audiobook Review

2010-08-06T19:29:00.000-07:00

This is one of those annoying instances where I can't find a text to go with an audiobook. The good news is that the audiobook is well done, so at least you can hear it read.

Dandelion Cottage by Carroll Watson Rankin, gets little recognition online: no Wikipedia entry (I'm thinking about fixing that), no e-text that I can find, just an audiobook.

That link I keep giving has the best summary so far, though I hope to improve on it.

The cottage that has served as the parsonage for a local church has fallen into disrepair, and when a new minister comes with too large a family to fit, it is retired. The minister's daughter and three of her friends ask Mr. Black, a church official in charge of the cottage, for permission to use it as a playhouse during the summer. Since the yard is overrun with weeds, especially dandelions, he offers to let them use the cottage in return for weeding the place.

The girls not only weed the yard but do what they can to fix the place up, and they promise to invite Mr. Black to a dinner at the cottage once they have everything ready. But he has to leave town, and all manner of events transpire, some good, some bad. In particular, they pick up some odious neighbors who team up with a naive know-it-all to cause incredible trouble. There are some good lessons here concerning how to deal with jerks and the consequences of losing your temper.

The climax of the story is the long-awaited dinner, which in one way works out predictably and in another doesn't--though in retrospect it all makes perfect sense.

On the whole, this is a good book for children (except that it might give them ideas about trying the same thing...); just remember that the girls are just beginning their teens, and this was a different century. They're more childlike than modern kids in some ways and more mature in others. But kids can learn from that: it's good for all of us to know that there have been other times and ways.

So once again, this is the link for the audiobook.

Lookin' Like a Fool With a Balloon Up Your Nose

2010-08-06T09:13:00.000-07:00

I am Locutus of Borg. (The people around here didn't get it. I also considered calling it a 3D tat.)

Well, anyway, it was better than a ferret.

I've already said the balloon didn't hurt. It did itch, though. A lot. I sneezed more in a few days than I normally do in a week, perhaps more than I normally do in a month. And I kept thinking I might sneeze the thing out, or at least dislodge it and restart the bleeding, so I made a point of sneezing with my mouth wide open just to let the force go out that way instead.

It wasn't fun.

It also interfered with my sleep, so I was even goofier than usual. I couldn't wear sunglasses at all comfortably, either, because they pressed down on the wrong part of my nose. This is usually a sunny place this time of year, but we had some clouds that let me go without glasses much of the time.

And then there were the special effects. Oozing was a bit scary, though it was mostly serum after the first day or so, and I could feel fluid movement around the balloon, which I pumped up as much as I dared. (This wasn't much, since pumping always pushed something unpleasant out the back of my nose and down my throat.)

When the time came (Tuesday, Aug. 3) to have the thing removed, I had a terrible suspicion that the bleeding would start all over again. It didn't help that when I got there, the blood-pressure monitor gave a higher reading than when I showed up Friday evening. Mechanical error, I think: it took three tries to get a reading it liked, all in close succession, which is bound to produce some observer effects: compressing the flesh and blood vessels a couple times before taking the official reading (to say nothing of the patient stress produced) probably throws off the result. (Later readings were much lower.)

Be that as it may, I got a surprise: the balloon does hurt coming out, and the doctor I had this time didn't mention that. Probably a good thing, too: I didn't worry in advance. It wasn't scream-out-loud painful, but it definitely brought tears to my eyes. The nostril just vacated also felt raw and hollowed-out, which wasn't a surprise.

And now? No bleeding, and I'm shooting a saline solution up my nose a few times a day as a doctor-prescribed hobby. Could have been worse.

For my next amazing feat, I'll probably try a review or so, since I'm way behind. I'll get back to Dark World next week, God willing.

ER: A Cautionary Tale With Life Lessons

2010-08-05T19:44:00.000-07:00

I hate to admit that I can't find a picture of the thing on Wikipedia, but they decided to stick a closed, inflatable tube up my nose to provide uniform pressure on the nasal walls.

Okay, fine.

The problem was the presentation, so to speak. When you torture someone, it's helpful to paint a gruesome picture of the procedure first, because anticipation is worse than what you actually do, and the fear produced enhances the pain.

So the doctor showed me a curious object probably on loan from some probe-happy aliens. He informed me that he was going to stick the whole thing all the way up my nose, it would hurt, and I would yell and scream and generally act aggressively peevish, but he would stuff it up there anyway.

My response (no machismo required, I was just tired of the whole business) was to wish he'd just get on with it. I didn't verbalize my feelings, because it's a bad idea to annoy someone who's about to stick something up your nose.

For what it's worth, if I had to do the same thing to someone else, I wouldn't show him the thing; I'd just say, "I need to stick something up your nose, and it'll be unpleasant but quick." And then I'd do it. This is Lesson One.

It didn't hurt. Seriously, it was really uncomfortable, but it didn't actually hurt. I never had plans to take up a hobby along those lines ("Let's see what I can stick up my nose today!"), but I'm dead-set against the idea now.

Then they talked about how I'd get pain meds (Hello! Not hurting, thank you!), and I mentioned that I don't even use aspirin.

I don't know how long he'd been up, but he wasn't paying attention. "Oh, don't use aspirin. It'll make the bleeding worse."

If you're a doctor, always listen to the patient. He may be an idiot, but even so he's an idiot with useful inside information. If you're the patient, try getting the doctor to repeat what you've just said. It will be either entertaining or exasperating, depending on your mindset. This is Lesson Two.

The good news is that I'd arrived at about 8:30 pm (perhaps slightly before) and didn't leave until nearly 11, but my boss (and ride back to work) was still in the waiting room and in a reasonably good mood. Lesson Three: work for someone who doesn't mind taking you into ER and waiting for a few hours. They're hard to find, but it's worth it. He was even a congenial companion on the way back.

Anyway, next time: living with a balloon up your nose.

Adventures in ER

2010-08-05T07:41:00.000-07:00

You see, I happen to work for my veterinarian: I'm good with animals, and I do kennel work. (I have no idea why animals so seldom figure in my stories. Few of my characters have pets.) Since I was about to leave a little early--and with blood on the floor, yet--I thought I should explain what was going on. He said he would be over in a few minutes and could give me a ride to the emergency room if necessary.

It's hard being a vet sometimes: you can't give people medical advice, not legally, anyway. So I asked him what he would do in my situation--I had the flow down to a trickle at the moment, and I hoped I could get it stopped and just go home. He said he would go to ER because (1) two major nosebleeds in less than a week would worry him and (2) it might be hypertension related, and that should be checked anyway.

Well, that's what he would do, and it seemed reasonable to me. I still almost tried to make it home on my own, but by then I had agreed to the ride and was too ashamed to back out.

It was a good thing, too: about a minute or two into the trip, the bleeding started up again in earnest, and I had my hands full containing it with some paper towels brought from work. We were making good progress until we found ourselves behind three other vehicles and a slow-moving tractor, whose driver was slow to grasp the concept of pulling over to let others pass.

It was a relatively slow night in ER, I'm pleased to say. We had the place pretty much to ourselves initially, so I got right in. The sight of all the blood helped.

They tried clamping my nose shut, but no luck. They asked a bunch of questions I had already answered: what was going on when the bleeding started? Nothing. I had taken a bite out of a cookie when the trickle began. I wasn't hitting myself in the face with a bat or anything. Someone commented that all the fingers on my right hand were bloody (the same was true of those on my left hand--thanks for noticing) and asked whether I had been picking my nose. By great good fortune (which also had me in clean underwear, as it happened), no. My boss, the vet, found this reasoning amusing afterward: did they think I was pioneering a four-fingered nose-picking technique? It's actually just what happens when you spend nearly an hour holding paper towels under your bleeding nose.

No blunt trauma, either. I think I would've noticed.

For that matter, I wasn't using or being subjected to psychic powers at the time, either--so far as I know.

But my blood pressure was high, and not all of that could be explained by the bleeding and the ER experience. The last doctor I dealt with (not Friday night but the following Tuesday) seemed to think dryness was an issue as well.

But in the meantime, they needed to stop the bleeding, and they opted for a special method beyond the Vulcan Nose Clamp.

It wasn't Cardinal Fang and the Comfy Hanky.

Tune in next time to see what it was.

If it bleeds...

2010-08-04T19:07:00.000-07:00

The journalistic saying is, "If it bleeds, it leads": gore sells, and I'm not just talking about Al.

Which brings us to my nose. As I've said before, I'm humble about my nose--I tend not to give it much thought. But when it starts spurting blood and won't stop, that does get my attention.

So I'm going to do something unusual: I seldom post about what I'm doing at the moment or how my day went, but this time I will take up a few posts with a true story of nosebleed. How riveting!

I had a bad nosebleed July 27, but anyone can have a nosebleed now and then. I had no further problem until that Friday, when I had a minor nosebleed in the early afternoon, but it stopped pretty quickly, and I thought no more of it. But that evening, it started up again and just wouldn't stop.

I was just finishing one of my part-time jobs--around here, you pretty much have to do a few part-time jobs; full-time ones are hard come by--when it just started trickling down. It didn't take long to realize that it wasn't minor this time.

I won't take long on the proper treatment for nosebleed; I did the nose pinch, which might have worked better if I'd been a Vulcan, but it didn't solve the problem. I could get the flow to decrease briefly now and then, and during such lulls I made some phone calls. One was to my veterinarian.

I'll explain that next time.

Dark World: Fool's Errand

2010-08-03T21:43:00.000-07:00

(The story begins here.)
(The last recap is here.)

Dr. Fleming made no comment; he simply followed as Darren left the driveway and headed toward some trees. “Lassiter is still wearing shoes he probably bought in Germany,” Darren said. “Their tracks are rather distinctive if you look at them. He evidently saw something more interesting than anything at the back of the house—the screams and other noises would have ended by the time he got here anyway.”

He stopped suddenly, and Dr. Fleming almost ran into him. “I assumed you would continue your explanation, Victor. What did you find that reveals Dr. FitzHugh’s location?”

“A word—part of a word—scrawled on the back of one page. I think he meant to leave a clue in case something happened, but then he changed his mind. From what I’ve seen of your friend, she would not honor a signed request to stay away.”

“Certainly not now. She is rather headstrong.” Darren resumed his trailing, and Dr. Fleming followed in expository mode.

“So the clue had to be removed by stealth. I suspect the intruder was holding the papers because he was looking for the right one to tear: the word was written in one corner, and he may well have meant only to tear it off and leave the papers themselves behind. The change probably would have gone unnoticed or at least been considered unimportant. But when he was interrupted, he had to act as though he wanted the notes as a whole.”

“And the magic word is?”

“Look for yourself.” The doctor handed him a tiny scrap of paper that read LANTIS.

“‘Atlantis’?” Darren asked.

“I think so. See the faint hint of a crossbar to the left—the top of the T?”

“Yes. And that leads to the question of whether it’s the legendary Atlantis, which might be hard to find, or our Atlantis, which is relatively close by.”

Dr. Fleming began to reply, but just then Lassiter burst upon them. “It is you! You wouldn’t believe…” A glance at their faces deflated his elation, and he asked, “Is she all right?”

“Yes,” Dr. Fleming muttered, “and the fact you didn’t need much prompting to ask keeps me from trying to beat you into a semblance of a gentleman. Where did you go?”

“After a madman—and I think he’d have a lot to tell us if I could get him to talk coherently for a few moments.”

Next: The Madman and Atlantis

[I'll break off here for a few days; the next arc will probably be a bit disturbing, and I thought I'd relate a personal adventure from the last week or so. Also, I do need to get in a few more reviews. I suppose I ought to intersperse reviews and stories.]

Dark World: Lassiter's Trail

2010-08-02T20:00:00.001-07:00

(The story begins here.)
(The last recap is here.)

“So what is your theory about how the attacker entered the study?” Darren asked as soon as they were a safe distance from the house.

“Haven’t you thought of it?” Dr. Fleming countered with evident surprise. “It’s obvious: he got in by using the password.”

“You mean whoever is holding Dr. FitzHugh made him talk?”

“I mean that Dr. FitzHugh willingly gave the man the information.”

They had arrived at the rear of the house below the shuttered window, but the remark distracted Darren. “It was his idea? Why do you think so?”

“Look at the sequence of events: the so-called attacker never really harmed Miss FitzHugh; even the blow to the head will certainly prove trivial. I only suggested a further medical examination to keep her out of our way. Whatever doctor she picks will certainly think me a cretin for sending her on. The wound looks bad initially, but a reasonably close inspection will prove otherwise.

“This demonstrates that the attacker concentrated on trying to escape with the papers, and he tried to frighten Miss FitzHugh away. Think about it: he must have been very competent to get in there so stealthily, yet a competent assassin could have killed her at various points. If he had killed her, he would now have the papers. So not killing her was more important than the apparent primary objective, getting the papers. Doesn’t that, together with his ability to enter the room in the first place, suggest something?”

“Only that someone wants her kept alive, though I admit the opposition we’ve encountered and heard about doesn’t seem to mind killing.” Darren paused as he examined the tracks. “Just a muddle. I don’t see Lassiter’s prints here.”

“If her father is behind the attempted theft, it tells us some other things—one of which I’ve already confirmed,” Dr. Fleming continued doggedly.

“Which way would you have gone to reach the back of the house—deasil or withershins?”

“Kindly do not gibber.”

“Right or left?”

The doctor pondered briefly. “Approaching from the right would give better cover, but the left gives a better view.”

“Which is why I came left. I should’ve gone right: Lassiter likes cover.”

“Splendid. Anyway, if her father’s behind the incident, why did he want his notes taken?”

“Of course, the driveway continues to the garage and some other outbuildings on the right, so there would be no tracks,” Darren muttered absently. Then he shifted topics before his friend could be tempted too far. “She already knows the information, and so does he. I don’t see the point.”

“He didn’t want her involved, and the notes give a clue to his whereabouts.”

Darren glanced at him almost skeptically; then he looked back at the ground and smiled. “I now have a clue to Lassiter’s whereabouts. He never went near the back of the house.”

Next: Fool's Errand

[I meant to give links for the Neo Patwa material before, and I have now done so. It is going to be a bit of a running gag.]

Dark World: Comparing Notes

2010-08-01T19:25:00.000-07:00

(The story begins here.)
(The last recap is here.)

“At least Hancock was fair about it,” Clio said a few minutes later, “especially to a mere slip of a girl. He didn’t even complain about being thrown into the hall. Still, I doubt they will find the real attacker.”

“I doubt he’s given up looking for Lassiter,” Darren commented as he hurried through copying another page of the notes.

Dr. Fleming, who had long before scientifically trained his memory to be photographic, merely studied a page of the vocabulary. “Neither should we,” he said without looking up.

“You think he’s been kidnapped?”

“He hasn’t returned, though the police have left. There is no reason for him to remain in hiding.”

“Unless he sees a threat we cannot, such as a few leftover policemen waiting in ambush.”

“He would have signaled us somehow. I would have; you would have. He isn’t that inferior.”

“What about Father?” Clio asked, clearly a bit annoyed. “We know he’s missing.”

“If Lassiter has been kidnapped, it’s quite likely connected to your father’s disappearance,” Dr. Fleming replied. “And Lassiter’s case being more recent, he should be easier to find. As for you, despite your splendid constitution, you really should be examined more thoroughly. I didn’t bring a fluoroscope with me. By the time you have been properly diagnosed, we should know what has happened to Lassiter.”

“Darren?” Her tone was simultaneously icy and seething.

“He’s the doctor, Clio. And he’s probably right about Lassiter: if he has been kidnapped, finding him could lead to your father. If Lassiter hasn’t been snatched, finding him won’t delay us. Then we can head south, if need be, to track your father down.”

“And where would I be?”

“You can follow us in your own machine, if you wish. I suppose Rosa would rather stay here.” A quick glance told him he was wrong. “You can work that out between you. There will be danger either way, but it should be safer here.”

“They won’t return for the notes?”

“I doubt it. Now that they know that we know the notes are important, it should be obvious that we would copy them.”

Clio pondered this briefly, but it was Rosa who answered. “How did they get in here in the first place?”

“We have experience with people appearing out of nowhere.”

“And always outside,” Dr. Fleming added.

“So far, yes. We don’t know they can’t turn up inside a building.”

The doctor’s only response was a look that Darren recognized: he had an alternative explanation that he wasn’t about to air in mixed company.

“That sounds dangerous,” Clio commented.

“It isn’t,” the doctor replied. “I can think of quite boring explanations for what happened here, and we haven’t had any such manifestations for a while. I don’t believe you will be in any danger here.”

Darren nodded, and they took their leave as quickly and quietly as possible over the fulminations and protests of the two women.

Next: Lassiter's Trail

Dark World: Trial and Terror

2010-07-31T19:49:00.000-07:00

(The story begins here.)
(The last recap is here.)

“The attacker was already in the room when Clio entered,” Darren began. “How that happened, I’m not certain—though I do have a suspicion that I’m sure has occurred to the doctor as well.” His friend’s expression remained noncommittal, and he continued, “The goal was not murder but theft, and when Clio interrupted the thief, he first tried to escape.” Darren opened the shutters. “He quickly saw that the shutters were too slow to let him to escape, so he turned to attack. Even then, I suspect his primary goal was to frighten her off or fend her off until he could escape. It wasn’t until he managed to strike her hard enough to stun her that he lost his temper: she could no longer fight, but she still kept him from what he wished to steal, and she probably tried to hamper his escape. She was prone on the floor, and he seized her from behind and began to choke her, lifting her to a standing position in the process. That’s when she made a final effort and freed herself, removing him from the area in the process.”

“But how?” Officer Hancock demanded. “You already said she couldn’t fight.”

“Not in the usual way, no. But I know her, and I’ve seen her fight. Even Rosa doesn’t know about her fighting style, because Rosa would rather not look.”

Miss FitzHugh rose somewhat shakily to her feet. Dr. Fleming steadied her, but she soon gently removed his hand and stepped over to the policeman. “Desperation can give unusual strength and stamina,” she said. “When he pulled me to my feet, I jabbed my elbow back as hard as I could, then reached back over my shoulder and grabbed him. I bent and pulled and flipped him out the window. Then I hit the switch to close the shutters, and I guess I collapsed.”

“Ridiculous!” Officer Hancock nearly shouted. “A mere slip of a girl, and wounded at that!”

A fiendish gleam shone in Dr. Fleming’s eyes. “I think this calls for experimental verification, Miss FitzHugh.”

She drew herself erect and beckoned to the policeman. “Would you like to try your luck, Officer? You can’t be afraid of a mere slip of a girl, especially a wounded one.”

“I wouldn’t want to harm you…”

“Nonsense,” Dr. Fleming replied. “I am a doctor, and I’ll make sure no harm comes to her.”

Officer Hancock did not seem quite reassured, but he took up his position behind the young woman regardless.

“Let’s not use the window this time,” the doctor suggested. “Into the hall should be sufficient.”

“If she threw him out the window, he would have been killed,” Officer Hancock objected. “The body should still be there.”

“Not if he had an accomplice,” Darren said. “Besides, it’s not that hard to survive such a drop with only minor injuries. She said he was agile, and I could do it, so I think he could too.”

“I’d like to experiment on that,” the officered muttered.

“You’re anticipating her move,” Darren said. “Her attacker didn’t know what she would do.”

“Well, I can’t—” Officer Hancock began.

Dr. Fleming pointed toward the window. “Lassiter!”

The policeman turned his head and emitted a noise that combined a grunt and a wail as he sailed into the hall.

Next: Comparing Notes

Dark World: Missing, Presumed Fled

2010-07-29T16:15:00.000-07:00

(The story begins here.)
(The last recap is here.)

Darren was somehow surprised that the head cop wasn’t Irish. It was a waste of a perfectly good stereotype. But if he wasn’t Irish, he was peevish, which was worse. Only Miss FitzHugh’s struggle for consciousness distracted him from a perfectly clear-cut case of false arrest.

“So, Mr. Christopher, you say you’re a friend of the family,” Officer Hancock said for no discernible reason.

“Yes, and Rosa says so too. So will Clio, once she comes around.”

“Ah, yes—‘Cleo.’ Short for ‘Cleopatra,’ I assume.”

“Actually, it’s short for ‘Clio,’ the Muse of History.”

“A pity she’s not a muse of silence,” Dr. Fleming muttered. “We could use some of that around here.”

“We have summoned the family physician; he can have a look at her, though we should probably hospitalize her in any case.”

“A waste of time. She’s only been struck hard on the head and throttled. From what I’ve seen of her, that shouldn’t be more than an inconvenience. Of course, some people could withstand the blow easily enough, but she has more brains than that.” Dr. Fleming gave Officer Hancock a significant glance. “Anyway, despite the ambient prattling, she does seem to be recognizing faces, though mine won’t be very familiar, and yours will no doubt be an unpleasant surprise.”

“Quite true,” Miss FitzHugh moaned. “Who are you two?”

Officer Hancock jumped in. “I am Officer Hancock. You were attacked in this room; do you recognize any of these people as your attacker?”

“No. He was short and stocky, but very agile. He…” Her voice trailed off as a new thought seized her attention. She glanced at Darren, who read the question in her eyes and glanced at Rosa. Understanding dawned, and Miss FitzHugh nearly burst into laughter: no one would be likely to search the spinster-in-training for the papers.

“There was another man here,” Officer Hancock resumed, “a Mr. Lassiter. Could he have attacked you?”

“Lassiter was outside with us, Officer,” Dr. Fleming said as his patient gave way to confusion. “Rosa can corroborate that. So can you, once you find Lassiter: he’s not exactly short and stocky.”

“We’ll find him.” It was as much a threat as a promise. “The very fact that he ran away tells me he’s guilty of something.”

Darren walked over to the window and worked some kind of control. The steel shutters began to open, and Miss FitzHugh gasped at the sight. “It brings back memories, doesn’t it?” Darren asked. He stuck his head out for a look. “No one around—except for the police, that is. Where did Lassiter get off to?”

Officer Hancock had a look out the window as well. Then Darren closed the shutters—a much faster operation than opening them. He smiled at his old friend. “Now you remember what happened—how you did it.”

Miss FitzHugh smiled back and nodded.

Next: Trial and Terror

Dark World: A Slight Detour

2010-07-28T13:43:00.000-07:00

(The story begins here.)
(The last recap is here.)

The gun was not simply floating in midair. It was held by a hand attached to a wrist, arm, and so forth in a conventional manner. Out of this assemblage, it was the face that Darren found familiar.

“Rosa, put that gun away before you hurt someone.”

The face almost smiled. “That is why I—” The eyes widened. “Darren?”

“Yes, Darren: the Darren who saved your life seven times—eight, counting the snakes, though Clio would have saved you herself in another second or two. This is Doctor Victor Fleming, a friend who is tending to Clio at the moment. Where have you been all this time?”

“Miss FitzHugh told me to let her deal with the visitors by herself, so I stayed back. When I heard her screams, I went for a gun and—oh, I did call the police briefly.”

“We would have had plenty of time to murder the young lady and leave by the time you got here,” Dr. Fleming observed.

“Rosa isn’t the impulsive type,” Darren replied, “except when it comes to pointing guns. I’ve lost track of how many times she’s been told not to touch them.”

Rosa scowled and handed Darren the weapon. The expression suited her: one hears of rooms furnished in Spartan style, and Rosa apparently had the same decorator. She was designed for efficiency, not aesthetics or comfort, and her drab costume likely made her look older than she was.

“To return to what happened here,” Dr. Fleming continued, “presumably your friend walked in and found the room occupied: she screamed almost immediately after the door closed. A struggle ensued, and she was struck in the head—that’s why her last scream broke off so suddenly. Such a blow would have incapacitated a normal woman—a lot of men, for that matter—but she was evidently still standing and trying to resist, however feebly. Her attacker decided to strangle her from behind—”

“Why not start with strangling?” Darren asked.

“Her screams were too strong for that, initially. No, these marks were made at the end of the struggle.”

“True, and that first scream was angry, not frightened: he didn’t catch her from behind.”

“Correct. What happened next, I can’t imagine.”

“I can,” Darren said pensively, “but I’m not sure it’s possible. The shutters open much more slowly than they close, so any exit through the window would have required more time than…” He paused. “Unless it was done in separate stages; I hadn’t thought of that. Was she incapacitated by the blow?”

“She probably didn’t do much fighting afterward, though I suppose she might have already injured him as well. Was she much of a fighter?”

“Not in the usual sense—she was no boxer. But she could do well enough in other ways, given the chance.”

Just then a racket from below announced the arrival of the police, and a groan from nearby announced the returning consciousness of the victim.

Next: Missing, Presumed Fled

Dark World: Again with the Locked Room!

2010-07-27T19:51:00.000-07:00

(The story begins here.)
(The last recap is here.)

Dr. Fleming was at Darren’s side immediately. “I may be able to force this thing; I brought tools that could open a bank vault.”

“There’s an easier way, I think,” Darren replied, beginning to work the dial. “He usually picked a word that meant ‘door’ or ‘enter.’ As she said, though, the trick is knowing which language to use. There were five letters; I counted the clicks when she selected a letter. Thank God she didn't talk as she dialed; I prayed—”

Another scream came, along with a guttural cry of “Mati!”

“Is there another way in?” Dr. Fleming asked.

“Rear window with steel shutters—closed—that open only from inside.”

“Lassiter! Go around back; it should be easy to find.”

Lassiter left at a run, and Dr. Fleming muttered, “Explosives, Darren…”

Sounds of a struggle lead to another scream, cut short this time, and a cry of “Mi mati yu!” An inarticulate noise followed, just as Darren began working furiously at the dial again.

“Pintu! Door! It must be!”

The next moment he and Dr. Fleming flung the door open, to find their hostess crumpled on the floor near the window. Dr. Fleming was beside her the next instant, and he soon announced that she bore several bruises and a troubling head wound.

Darren, meanwhile, swiftly inspected the area. He paused and glanced at Dr. Fleming. “Attempted murder in a locked, effectively windowless room. I suppose you’ll say this is the work of robots.”

Dr. Fleming thought very briefly and replied, “No, I don’t see anything here that looks like a homicidal automaton.”

“Excellent. Then this is a job for demonology.”

Dr. Fleming scowled. “You don’t really mean that, do you?”

“I don’t sense demonic activity here, no. But I would like to know where the assailant went. The shutters only work from inside, so he couldn’t have left that way and closed them. And given his expressed intention to kill Clio, why didn’t he do so? She clearly wasn’t dead when we entered, but it wouldn’t have taken more than a moment to finish the job.”

“Besides, she has the notes on her,” Dr. Fleming observed, producing the papers. “Her would-be killer accomplished little. In fact, she will probably regain consciousness soon. She doesn’t seem the delicate type.”

“Clio? No, she’s quite sturdy. In fact, I have a theory about what happened here. What do you think was the sequence of events?”

“I would like to know that too,” said a rough yet vaguely feminine voice that seemed to emanate from a pistol in the doorway.

Next: A Slight Detour

Dark World: The Name of the Game

2010-07-25T16:31:00.000-07:00

(The story begins here.)
(The last recap is here.)

“I think I’ll bow to national custom and ask this in English,” Darren announced. “What sort of polyglot stew were you using just now? Is it one of your father’s games?”

The woman’s face darkened. “No. No game. Nothing about Father is a game now.”

“What’s wrong? Is he…?”

“I don’t know. He disappeared day before yesterday—perhaps even further back. He went on what was supposed to be a brief expedition late last week, and he never came back.”

“Then why the silly language game?”

“It’s not a game. It’s a clue—about the only one I have. Father encountered a strange pidgin and began documenting it as best he could. He dubbed it ‘Neo Patwa,’ which just means ‘New Language’ in the pidgin itself.”

“A pidgin? That’s why I’m here too—but what I’ve encountered is more coherent in its sources: it’s like Provençal with some French, English, German, and Spanish thrown in. That mongrel of yours… Let’s see: ‘canti’ and ‘satya’ are Hindustani, ‘lai’ is Chinese, ‘mintan’and ‘pintu’ are Indonesian, ‘ya’ German, and ‘open’ and ‘yu’ English. At least in my case, the language derives from sources in the same area and family.”

“But this new pidgin isn’t impossible, just unusual. Father thought it might have originated in the Indian Ocean somewhere—at least until he began finding what appeared to be African roots as well. He left a copy of a crude lexicon and some grammar notes. He was going out to find out more when he vanished.”

“Where was he?”

“Somewhere a little to the south. It’s a pity you weren’t here: he didn’t want me along, but he might have taken you. There are some foreign workers—at least two distinct groups, he thought, possibly three—involved in projects south of here. He didn’t know what the projects were or who was behind them, and he didn’t care. He just wanted to find out about the languages.”

“Do you have his notes?”

“Yes—they’re upstairs in his study.” Her gaze went from casual to piercing. “Are you just curious?”

“Of course not. We’ll find him.”

She smiled victoriously and turned toward a grand staircase heading upward.

“I’d better go with you,” Darren added. “You realize you’re in danger, don’t you?”

“I know that I am being watched; I am sure you feel it too. You always were sensitive that way.”

“Well, then—”

“No. I can take care of myself, and Father’s sanctum shall remain undisturbed.”

She did not object to the group’s following her up the stairs, however, and only insisted that they stop before what looked like the door to a vault.

“The password has been changed, Darren. Otherwise it’s the same as you remember: a combination lock with letters instead of numbers—Father hates numbers.”

“Numbers would be more secure,” Dr. Fleming muttered. “Words have patterns that may be guessed.”

“If you can guess the language, perhaps. Now turn around like gentlemen while I open the door.”

They did so, and Darren made a brief, silent prayer that was immediately answered. Then the door opened, and he caught a glimpse of the study beyond and the massive steel shutters at the far end of the room. With a cheerful wave, the woman entered and shut the door.

Darren had scarcely reached the door when he heard her scream.

Next: Again with the Locked Room!

Dark World: Friend or Foe?

2010-07-24T16:12:00.000-07:00

Owing to an ISP crash, I'm posting almost a day late and back-dating. Sorry. As usual, mousing over a foreign word or phrase will provide a gloss.

(The story begins here.)
(The last recap is here.)

Darren relieved Lassiter at the wheel and brought the company to the grounds of a small mansion outside Boston. The house was not enormous—it was a three-story building (effectively two where it was built partly into a hill) with probably no more than thirty rooms. Still it sat solid as a castle, and the grounds sloped gently down to the common earth around it, including the road where Darren parked.

“We don’t drive inside?” Dr. Fleming inquired from the back as he changed to a seated position and grabbed his pack.

“There’s the little matter of the front gate,” Darren replied. “I’m sure the car could push through it, but we would likely make a better impression by opening it. Besides, we aren’t here as guests—at least not yet—so I see no reason to turn up at the front door like an expedition. I’ll go first; you and Lassiter can follow.”

“That may be a good idea if our bad luck continues and they start shooting,” Lassiter muttered.

Darren smiled. “Nothing to worry about; the professor hasn’t used a blowgun on anyone in ages, and I’m sure his daughter Clio no longer carries her bow and quiver around.”

The other two glanced at him as if to determine how serious he was, but he turned serenely and walked to the gate. It was locked, but he reached through and did something to release it. Then he sauntered through, followed by the others, and Dr. Fletcher pushed it back in place with a click.

The driveway led almost directly to the front door, though it bent slightly with the curvature of the ground. Darren walked up the steps to the door and knocked with a confidence he hoped was believable.

The door opened, revealing a young woman almost Darren’s height, with a strong, plain face completely eclipsed by beautiful, lively eyes. “Darren! Canti!” Her smile flared and faded. “Satya, yu canti lai, ya?”

Darren was clearly nonplussed, and Dr. Fleming fumed. “Excellent—gibberish again. I’m beginning to believe in curses.”

Darren scowled and guessed. “Satya.”

The woman smiled—almost laughed—and beckoned as she opened the door wide and said, “Pintu open. Mintan lai.”

Darren bowed slightly and entered, followed by his friends.

Next: The Name of the Game

Dark World: Good Morning, Beantown

2010-07-23T22:32:00.000-07:00

(The story begins here.)
(The last recap is here.)

They drove in silence for a few minutes before Lassiter succumbed to curiosity. “What is the linguistic angle?”

Darren roused himself from deep thought or shallow sleep. “The languages we keep running into. We’ve encountered at least two, perhaps three, though I’m not sure whether the dark woman and the priest are really speaking different languages or just dialects of the same language. Whatever Newman used was certainly different.”

“But he wasn’t from another world—he’s one of us, not someone who appears and disappears.”

“True, but he evidently thought it was the other world opening up, and he expected his language to be understood there.”

Lassiter considered this briefly. “Okay, so what do the languages tell us?”

“They tell me, at least, that we keep running into things like ‘yo es,’ which is like saying ‘I is.’ And these aren’t ignorant peasants, so I think it must be a proper part of the language. That suggests a pidgin or creole. That would also help explain the Germanic words in an otherwise Romance vocabulary. The man we’re going to visit is an authority on such languages; I met him while learning Beach-la-Mar, among other things, and I tagged along with him after that.”

“If you’re such great friends, why were you so far from Boston? New York isn’t Massachusetts.”

“There was a bit of a disagreement not so long ago—nothing to do with Dr. FitzHugh himself, but still… It seemed better to go away for a while, and I felt a call that brought me to a mob that was trying to kill Victor. I have since come to appreciate the temptation, but—”

“So we’re headed into another private war,” Dr. Fleming muttered.

“Nothing so dramatic,” Darren replied. “All going well, I can arrange an interview with the doctor, and we can gain some useful information and perhaps even some help.”

“I think I’ll provide some help of my own,” Dr. Fleming said, pulling over. “Lassiter, take the wheel. Darren, sit next to him and be prepared to take over. I’ll stretch out in the back after I make some preparations.”

Darren glanced back as the doctor opened the trunk of the car and began stuffing things into a pack. He received no explanation, however, and soon the doctor rejoined them and stretched out—or as near it as his length allowed—in the back. He was asleep almost immediately, and Darren tried not to worry too much as Lassiter proceeded into the gathering darkness.

Yet to his great surprise, hour followed hour uneventfully, and as the sun rose, he could see Boston before him.

Next: Friend or Foe?

Return to Dark World

2010-07-22T22:19:00.000-07:00

It's been a while, and since I do write ahead, I'd forgotten where I left the story here on the blog. And I've been thinking about posting synopses at the beginning or end of each major story arc. So:

The story thus far...

Henry Lassiter has sought help for his lycanthropy, turning to Dr. Victor Fleming, a typical 1930s jack-of-all-sciences-master-of-all. The interview gets too intense, and Darren Christopher, a globetrotting missionary kid, does an exorcism that appears to diminish the problem somewhat.

Lassiter contracted his condition while surveying in Europe, where he found himself unexpectedly exposed to another world or reality, complete with fierce creatures called "li lupes de asel." A group allied with the Nazis tried to harness his lycanthropy for its own ends and got massacred.

On returning to the US, Lassiter claims to have been hunted. Dr. Fleming takes him to a colleague named Dvorak, but they have an odd experience with a strange, bulletproof woman and even more wolves. Soon after, Darren encounters a priest who explains a little of what is going on: an impingement of a dark world with our own.

The visit to Dvorak is inconclusive: he is nearly killed by an unknown mastermind, and Dr. Fleming decides to try another colleague, Dr. Adam Newman of the Better Angel Foundation.

Dr. Newman isn't any help either; Lassiter thinks he's connected with the German group that kidnapped him earlier. Darren apparently triggers yet another connection between worlds, though this time of a more positive nature, perhaps, and he and his friends escape.

Dr. Fleming is out of ideas, and Darren suggests visiting an old friend in Boston to check on the peculiar languages they keep running into.

Next: Good Morning, Beantown

Free speech and the flag

2010-07-21T20:13:00.000-07:00

I recently watched a discussion of free speech vs flag etiquette. It's nice to see that the barbarians and pseudo-intellectuals can be civil so long as they're confirming each other's views.

The point at issue was whether it's okay to deface the US flag in the course of expressing one's views--the specific (and fictional) case involved burning "Why I love America" into the flag. The idea was that it's possible to do that in America without unpleasant consequences; we stand behind free speech perhaps more than any other country than I can think of, and that's generally a good thing.

But I still don't think that the particular instance of free speech was good or justifiable.

The problem is that such acts are fundamentally selfish--and worse, they confuse vandalism with Art. I doubt I'd get much support if I vandalized an artwork by burning a personal message onto it: there, the selfishness and vandalism would be too obvious.

What's wrong with messing up the flag, then?

Fundamentally, it isn't my unique property. It can be argued that if you own something, you can trash it. That's debatable, but I doubt anyone would claim it's okay to trash something you do not own uniquely.

Now, certain things are iconic: they are in the public domain, the common property of all, the unique property of none. They're like national parks: in a sense we all own them, but we own them collectively. I have no unique claim on Yellowstone. Because I lack such a claim, I have no right to vandalize the place. In fact, I would be committing a crime against the other "owners" of the park.

The same is true of the flag. I have a stake in it, but while I may own an instance of the flag, I don't own the flag proper: the archetype of which my physical flag is an ectype. So long as it is merely another object, my ownership is perhaps sufficient excuse for anything I do to it. But if my action is meaningful only with reference to the object's extended, iconic meaning, it's like vandalizing public property.

Again, there are limits on free speech--famously, the rule against yelling "Fire!" in a crowded building. Vandalism is similar: to destroy something you don't uniquely own--in particular, something I too have a stake in--mostly tells me that you're a selfish jerk.

Yet such selfishness is common these days. Any decent person will be troubled at least by the obvious desecration of a holy symbol, as putting a crucifix in urine. Yet when selfish jerks vandalize the Ichthys by putting legs on it and invoking "Darwin," the response of some believers, at least, is to answer desecration with desecration: they take it upon themselves to modify the symbol too, though in an attempt to defend it. Their reaction isn't as offensive, but it does demonstrate ignorance of the symbol's nature: it isn't the sort of thing that should be changed like this. (Variation is another matter: the plain Ichthys without letters, the one with the Greek acronym, and the one with the inscription "Jesus" are all faithful to the original concept.)

We are a generation of iconoclasts, too busy demonstrating our cleverness by destroying symbols and icons to realize how we cheapen the world for everyone. Anyone can tear something down and call the wreckage "Art" or "Free Speech"; it's much harder to create a new icon. It's too much work, in fact, and that's why we would rather call vandalism Art than strive for the real thing.

Flood Tide: a Free Book review

2010-07-19T21:52:00.000-07:00

Flood Tide by Sara Ware Bassett (audiobook here) is the story of an elderly, eccentric tinkerer (Willie Spence) who tinkers with more than just gadgets. He's fix-it man to a small New England town almost a century ago, and he keeps getting "ketched by an idee" for some new contraption. But he also tries to fix some romances along the way, and they work out pretty well.

There are some things that are never spelled out--where does Willie's income come in? He's far from rich, but he has enough to get by on--he and live-in housekeeper Celestina Morton. Contributions from people he's helped out? Perhaps.

Willie's Panglossian faith in the basic goodness of people seems contradicted by the behavior of a former friend turned rapid viper, but Willie remains relatively serene. You'd think a tinkerer would realize the value of an adjustment, such as whacking the jerk with a wrench upside the head. "Straighten up, y' kooky ol' coot!" But that would detract from the generic inspirational preachment at the end.

Theologically, this is a bit on the brainless fluff side: though there are specifically Christian references, there are also references to "the gods"; there is also the contradictory optimism about human nature in the midst of People Behaving Badly. Still, if you don't take the theological implications seriously (while guarding against the humanistic worldview involved), there are some good messages here, especially where romantic relationships are concerned. Though this is ideologically motivated, the ideology doesn't really drive the story.

The characters are the primary elements here, and in their case, there is no ambiguity. They're the sort you want to follow around and watch, which is the joy of the story.

As the story opens, Willie has just had an idee for keeping propellers from getting caught in the eel grass when Celestina's nephew Robert Morton, who happens to have a naval engineering background, shows up for a visit. He takes an interest in the project and in a local girl, when some rich friends turn up and complicate matters.

An auspicious opening! Let's check the vital components list:

Obnoxious, shallow rich girl? Check!
Wise (grand)motherly mentor figure? Check!
Dark family secret revealed to flabbergastification of all and sundry? Check!
Quirky will and (in)convenient demise? Check!
Strange goin's-on, conspiracy-wise? Check!

Looks like we're good to go!

For all its twists, Flood Tide is a fairly laid-back story: no nightmare potential, no real real chance of elevating your blood pressure, just an entertaining and sometimes inspiring read.

Flood Tide:

E-book
Audiobook

Illogical, Doctor...

2010-07-16T11:58:00.000-07:00

A recent thread on a certain list gave me a Star Trek flashback--specifically to the countless times Spock would make some remark about logic (or its lack) that actually appealed to common sense. For as a rule, Spock's "logic" wasn't logician's logic but simply "what seems sensible to me based on assumptions I'm not about to publicize."

Okie-dokie.

Anyway, this sort of logic is alive and well, especially in politics. In this case the topic was initially Polish radio, but it wandered:

Interesa demando....mi ankaŭ scivolis pri la logiko, sed verŝajne logiko ne ĉiam dominas. Vidu: en Usono ni ankoraŭ ne akceptis la metran sistemon, kaj multaj homoj dubas pri la fakto de evolucio.

Interesting question....I also was curious about the logic, but probably logic doesn't always win out. Look, in the US we still didn't accept [should be "ne akceptAs"--don't accept] the metric system, and many people doubt the fact of evolution.

This is sensibility as perceived by the speaker, not logic as such. As Devil's Advocate I could observe that

1a. The sole advantages of the metric system are that it's decimal and interlocked. Earlier measurement systems arose separately as needed, and they did so before we decided to focus on one numerical base. Even the metric system allows for non-metric time, for that matter: a metric minute doesn't have 100 seconds.

1b. The metric system is based largely on abstractions (e.g., the size of the earth) that are outside common experience, whereas the quantities found in earlier systems were everyday matters, such as the length of the average stride or the distance from elbow to fingertip. It's good to standardize measures, but perhaps at a gut level, resistance to metric comes from the impression that it's unnatural in its bases.

2a. "Evolution" is such an ambiguous word I wish it would be abolished. Stellar and planetary evolution are similar, but they have practically nothing in common with biological evolution. Different terms should be used.

2b. Even granting that we're talking about biological evolution--I suppose we are; it's the one most likely to excite this kind of short-sighted snobbery--there is the difference between evolution as science and evolution as history. To say that something is scientifically possible is not to say that it has in fact occurred in a given case. Is evolution scientifically possible? I don't know; it's outside my field. I do see potential problems, but the question is far more complex (given the number of scientific fields that must be not just consulted but mastered at expert level) than most people realize, whether they be for or against the idea. A paleontologist likely knows too little about genetics, ecology, physiology, and several other topics than he needs to know before pontificating. That's why I'm skeptical. The degree of knowledge required to construct a unified field theory of physics would be trivial by comparison: at least the numerous topics involved would be more closely related.

2c. Even granting that biological evolution can occur, the question remains whether it did occur in our case. And the strongest rational claim that could be made (again assuming that biological evolution is possible) would be that evolution appeared to fit the available data. And that gets into metaphysical and theological issues. Do we trust appearances? Do we rule out divine intervention? (Intelligent Design, as previously noted, is not actually opposed to evolution and does not require miracles.) Nor are we faced with an absolute either/or: What if everything was created specially but evolution has operated since then?

The moral of the story is that humility is a good thing. It's good to admit that we don't know it all, and it's valuable to realize that people we disagree with are not therefore idiots. They may show themselves idiots in other ways, but offending our sense of "logic"--of what is sensible according to our metaphysical prejudices--is not enough.

Blindfolded: a Free Book review

2010-07-15T19:55:00.000-07:00

I did not think I'd like Earle Ashley Walcott's Blindfolded when it showed up on LibriVox. The description sounds a bit like an early version of Little Miss Marker. But it was one of Roger Melin's contributions, so I tried it anyway.

To begin with, I'll add to Melin's description. The kid doesn't tag along in typical adorable waif style. That's a relief, anyway. And our hero, Giles Dudley, is soon treated to a box seat at a murder. As a special added extra, he gets a good look at the murderer's face. He turns to the police and gets nowhere: they aren't about to go after the guy he saw.

So he vows vengeance, only to find himself swept up in someone else's scheme under another identity--one he can neither maintain perfectly nor dispose of without danger. Who is behind the scheme? What is it about? Why does the owner of the face he saw at the murder apparently want him to act as his confidential agent in stock manipulations? Who can he trust? We're all in the dark with him.

The plot twists sound as though they should be frustrating, especially when he picks up a romantic interest he cannot pursue and various people realize he isn't who he's supposed to be. But this is a well-plotted and paced story, and the maze does eventually resolve.

I like the story. It's not specifically Christian, though it is generally moral and ethical (moreso than some modern Christian fiction). There's an unexpected scene near the end that is very effective and scary--a kind of reverse deathbed conversion--that points in a Christian direction. And against the prejudices of its day, there's a pointed exposition of the fact that Asians do not all look alike--it's part of an overarching theme very important to the story, but that point aside, it's quite well done and a good counterpoint to a prejudice that still lingers to this day in some quarters.

I should mention that there is a fair amount of violence. It isn't particularly graphic or gory, but it is plentiful. There's a lot of action in general and suspense, too.

The scenes of stock market operations in the late 1800s are informative--you can trace the development of modern practices without much trouble. Also, the depiction of China Town in that era, though brief, is fairly well done.

All in all, it's worth a look, and Melin's audio version makes the text proper even more accessible for busy people.

Why'd it have to be snakes?

2010-07-13T22:22:00.000-07:00

Trivia note: I've finally decided to learn Python for text-handling purposes. It was that or Perl, which is more of a slob's language (and thus better suited to me, probably), but I'm still going to try Python, courtesy in part of Text Processing in Python, available here.

The point is to automate some linguistic tasks, including translation and reverse-engineering lexicons. I usually just put together a quick, single-use program for a given purpose, but I'm thinking about producing some long, flexible, multiple-use programs, so I might as well get serious.

It's the indentation that gets me. Granted, it's more obvious than spotting a } lurking somewhere in the code, but it means that the Python Zen soundbite "Flat is better than nested" merely justifies a necessity: Python probably can't handle much nesting without the indentation getting out of hand. That may be a bad thing: Life nests a lot, which means God doesn't use Python. I sometimes think he's more the Perl type too. This would be a very different world without nesting, and in any case, no matter what the Pythons claim, the world is not flat.

But I guess that's why you job everything out to modules.

Anyway, I'll see what it's like in practice. I may try writing a concordance program (it would output where a given word occurred in a group of text files and incidentally list their complete vocabulary); that should be a good opener. Or perhaps a parser--I'll need one of those anyway.

I'll report back on how it's going. Just remember that any incoherent complaints about snakes won't be delirium tremens.

Melin the Machine

2010-07-13T19:56:00.000-07:00

This is a different kind of post. I'm about to review a couple books that I doubt I would ever have read in the conventional way but which I consider well worth reading. The only reason I bothered with them was that they showed up on LibriVox and were read by Roger Melin.

It's difficult to do justice to Melin as a reader. Simply put, he is consistently professional. LibriVox readers are volunteers (= amateurs), and many of them sound like it. But there are some who are reliably professional, and Melin is one of them. When I see a new title from him, I'm more likely to check it out, simply because I know I won't have to put up with reader problems. I may not like the story; that's always possible. But in using LibriVox, there have been cases where I liked a story but could not recommend the audiobook; Melin's work is never in that class.

His genre is hard to define. He tends toward adventure stories, often with a romantic angle, but the recent Flood Tide, which I'll review soon, doesn't fit that classification.

Another quirk of Melin's seems like a negative but actually works: he's not a voice actor. Some readers are very good at doing different voices, dialects, and such. (Other fail painfully.) Melin doesn't appear to bother with that, but his reading is not expressionless. In fact, I've had the odd effect of remembering something he's read as though he had acted it: perhaps my own imagination fills in the gap. However one might explain it, it works quite well. (This is especially tricky where voicing the opposite sex is concerned: generally women voice men better than men voice women, though the failures are especially painful. Melin's technique is immune to the problem.)

Melin has, apparently, a list of more than 150 titles he hopes to read out, and he's so productive he may succeed. This is why I call him "the Machine": he churns out an impressive body of work with mechanical regularity and accuracy, but with very non-mechanical quality. He's worth listening to, and while I don't always agree with his taste in texts, he has put me onto some books and writers I might never have discovered otherwise.

Glengarry School Days: a free book review

2010-07-12T20:34:00.000-07:00

Glengarry School Days was written by Ralph Connor in 1902. It's available both as an e-book and an audiobook.

The story is difficult to explain. There is no one main character, though there are only a few major characters, and the baton passes from one to another a few times. Yet I never felt lost in the story.

Simply put, however, it's about some kids at a rural school in Ontario in the mid-nineteenth century and how they interact and mature. The schoolmasters also figure prominently for good or ill.

It is a Christian story in the best possible sense: unlike much modern Christian fiction I've encountered, it is neither preachy nor worldly. It will inspire you to be better, to follow God more closely. It models the change that a few truly righteous people can make. We need more books like this, and I doubt we have the guts or skill to write them.

I will also recommend the audiobook in particular. I usually recommend a text, and I may find the reader(s) of the audio version tolerable. But Bruce Pirie is the perfect reader for this classic text, and the even better news is that he is now preparing another Ralph Conner story, The Man from Glengarry.

Even if this isn't your preferred genre--it surely isn't mine--this is worth reading, or better yet listening to.

Glengarry School Days:
E-book
Audiobook

I've been a Bad Boy...

2010-07-12T20:05:00.000-07:00

I haven't given up on the blog; it's just that I tend to have other things to do. However, I have an amazing backlog of books to review, and I need to get back to Dark World. Believe it or not, I actually have that written out a few chapters ahead of where I ended it, and it's plotted out to the end of that specific arc and a bit beyond. I think hereafter, I'll write up the complete arc before posting here.

Anyway, I'll do a few reviews here before heading back to the story. I'll also be doing a parody series soon that will probably get me in trouble with somebody.

On with the show!

Humility 2: Follow Your Nose?

2010-05-15T20:08:00.000-07:00

I said last time that the common view of humility is false: humility does not deny itself, and it does not decrease our self-knowledge so we only have humility when we don't realize it. So what is real humility, and how does it work?

I'll tell you a secret: I can see my nose.

Not the whole thing, of course, but most of it. And I doubt I'm especially blessed in this regard. You don't need a long or large nose to see it. And all going well, you can see past the end of your nose, which is like seeing the forest for the trees.

So what?

Simply this: again, no doubt like you, I am humble about my nose. Some people may be obsessed with the protuberance, thinking it either beautiful or ugly, but most of us probably don't think much about it.

That's the point.

I can go for amazingly long periods without noticing the thing, usually because I'm looking at something else--words on a page, vehicles on the road, and so forth. But it's there, and I know it. I can shift my attention to or from it at will.

That's humility. I've had a few moments when I realized, to my surprise, that I was being humble. Now, I often ruined it by wanting to advertise the fact. But sometimes I would just think, "Huh. That's interesting." Then I returned to the matter at hand.

If you are humble, you do not lack self-knowledge but self-absorption. A humble person can be aware of his own humility without feeling any urge to publicize it. "Look at me--I'm humble!" is wrong not because of the last clause but because of the first. A humble Christian will always say, "Look at Jesus!"

But then, a humble Christian will always be looking at Jesus, not at his own nose.

Humility 1: False Humility

2010-05-15T09:45:00.000-07:00

I recently heard a gentleman talking about humility. He mentioned asking people at a retreat whether they were humble. Some sucker bit and raised her hand--Ha! She isn't humble, or she wouldn't raise her hand!

How droll!

How totally, almost damnably false.

This peculiar view of humility is common, unfortunately: it is the Virtue That Dare Not Speak Its Name. The first (and perhaps still the only) writer I've seen get this right is C. S. Lewis. Unfortunately, many of his "fans" have never read his writings. Pity, that.

Anyway--it doesn't take much examination to locate the problem. Suppose there is a truly humble person. You ask him, "Are you humble?" What does he--can he--answer?

1. If he says "Yes," we automatically dismiss his claim: it's a trick question for which an affirmative answer is impossible even though we have already stipulated that it would be true. That is, we have excluded truth as a possibility.

2. If he says, "No," then he is at best mistaken or deluded and at worst lying. So the only answer we will accept is a mistake, a delusion, or an outright lie. And this is a virtue?

Note that real virtues do not cost us self-knowledge: it's the vices that numb us to reality. That's why we like them. We drink to forget, in other words, though we get drunk on Pride, Wrath, Lust, and so forth. If we concentrate on vices, they will blind us to the guy on the cross and to the same guy not in the tomb but enthroned at his Father's right hand. If you fight vices and exercise virtue, you'll know as much about yourself as your friends and enemies do.

So the fact that this so-called humility at best calls for loss of self-knowledge tells us that it's really a vice. Its patron sinner is of course Uriah Heep.

Someone will probably claim that my thought experiment assumes an impossibility: no one is truly humble. Untrue: at least One was truly humble--and he said so in Matt 11:29! So by the usual reasoning, Jesus himself was guilty of the sin of pride, which would interfere with his being our Savior. Drat.

Next time, I'll explain what real humility is, and why it's as plain as the nose on your face.

The House of Arden: A Free Book Review

2010-03-29T22:53:00.000-07:00

The House of Arden (free audiobook here) by Edith Nesbit is about a brother and sister who try to find an ancestral treasure so they can restore the ancestral home. All this naturally involves a magical white mole and a lot of time travel.

The setup is simple enough: Edred and Elfrida Arden live with their Aunt Edith (wink-wink, nudge-nudge), who seldom ridicules them for their names. Their dad has gone to South America with Uncle Jim (just Aunt Edith's fiancé thus far) to make a lot of money and be declared dead. Everyone needs a hobby.

Incidentally, Ardens are dropping like flies (everyone still needs a hobby), and Lord Arden's passing sends his title looking for an heir; with Papa Arden out of the way, it lands on Edred with the unerring accuracy of a cartoon piano. This means that Edred has a couple of days to find and utter a spell that will lead to the revelation of the long-lost family treasure. Plucky monkey that he is, he succeeds, but all he gets is a grumpy mole that tells him he needs some old-fashioned character development first. This can only mean a bunch of adventures.

And it's here that the story starts to wobble a bit. For one thing, we've already been told that each generation of Ardens conveniently features a boy and girl named Edred and Elfrida, respectively, whose place our pair manage to take in whatever time they appear. Then we encounter a nice old lady who is called a witch by superstitious rustics when she's really just really, really smart and does time travel and can summon the mole and--wait, she is a witch, though, isn't she? Hmm.

That's never clarified, unfortunately. The line between magic and really weird science is vague at best here, and perhaps what she does can be considered non-magical in terms of the story. But I doubt it--and that means the author has lied about the witch's nature, which is a no-no.

There is some good historical fiction in the adventures, which is a positive. But we also start generating lose ends. People turn up and are apparently important, but the arcs go nowhere. This becomes especially bad near the end, where several situations are set up only to evaporate, and in the end we get a Big Cosmic Lesson that is fine but contrary to the overall direction of the story.

In sum, I got the impression that Nesbit had a major change of personality while writing the story. In fact, there are a few places where the end of one chapter and the beginning of the next simply don't mesh. But the last chapter doesn't mesh with the rest of the book, and that's fatally bad. So while I'm generally a fan of Nesbit's work, I can't recommend this one.

32 Caliber: a Free Book review

2010-03-22T23:32:00.000-07:00

32 Caliber (available here as a free audiobook) by Donald McGibney is difficult to describe adequately. I admit I didn't care for the opening, which shows us how low and icky the villains are. However, after the fatal "accident," there are a lot of twists and turns that somehow aren't annoying. (I generally dislike sequences such as "X did it!" "No, Y!" "No, Z!" "I still say it was X!") The solution is rather ingenious; I considered something of the sort but didn't think the author would do such a thing.

Some issues:

1. As noted, the first part, especially the second chapter, ticked me off. Not my kind of material. However, it's fairly brief.

2. The narrator is a successful lawyer, but he's remarkably impulsive and hot-tempered. A successful lawyer keeps his cool while his victim explodes.

3. Technical quibble: the putative murder weapon is variously referred to as a "revolver" and an "automatic." Flip a coin, McGibney! It's eventually described as having an ammo clip, so it's evidently an automatic. Some people use "revolver" when they mean "handgun."

4. There's an ongoing message that at least some women need to be abused a bit as a prelude to romance. No: women generally want a man who can take charge, but that's not at all the same as abuse. Even pretending to despise someone to get their interest is dishonest and manipulative. I would probably write off Mary as a potential love interest. Too obnoxious.

Conclusion. I recommend this regardless. It's milder than most mysteries you'll see today, and it gives you a good feel for an earlier time, when people were just beginning to come to grips with a major new technology.

Wash Your Hands!

2010-03-19T21:54:00.000-07:00

Since I've been virally active lately, I thought I'd explain how to avoid that fate. Lesson One is Wash Your Hands!

Not too long ago, I was looking over a kind of refresher course for health-care workers, and they had a section on washing your hands. It was very inspirational; I soon decided to wash my hands of the whole business. The advice was easily divisible into the obvious and the arcane. For example:

Use the bathroom - Wash your hands
Pet animal - Wash your hands
Pick your nose - Wash your hands

But also

Wipe your fingerprints off the blood-stained knife - Wash your hands
Accept bribe - Wash your hands
Say naughty word - Wash your hands and your mouth--with soap!

The most surprising one for most people, however, was

Wash your hands - Wash your hands

Yes, the sink is a breeding ground for microscopic vermin. So are towels. You should always follow up washing your hands by washing them again. In fact, I'm working on a device that will spray clean water from a canister onto your hands, collect and re-purify the water, then cycle it back into the canister, making perpetually clean hands possible.

I've tried interesting the federal health bureaucracy in this project, but they have pointed out that since cleanliness is next to godliness, it would violate the separation of church and state, so they are no longer recommending washing of any kind.

Politics. It's a dirty game.

Now wash your hands!

Dark World: Angels and Demons

2010-03-15T23:24:00.000-07:00

(The story begins here.)

“He was lying, you know,” Lassiter said as the noise of the Better Angel Foundation fell away behind them.

“Of course he was,” Dr. Fleming muttered. “Which lie do you mean?”

“He had a symbol on his wall that looked like the one on that dagger at Dvorak’s—the one I saw in Germany. He also had a diploma from Leipzig.”

“I knew about Leipzig. Yes, he knows German—better than you do, in fact. And he should’ve known I knew it. Then there’s his remark about folie à un becoming folie à plusieurs; it doesn’t, at least not often. He should know better about that, too: he’s a licensed psychiatrist, and he has also studied psychology. He knows far more about such things than I do, though I do know enough to catch that lie of his. He’s changed more than I would have believed possible.”

Darren scowled. “I think he’s had help.”

“I’m sure he has. Not demons or anything, but biochemical enhancements. There are certain substances—hormones, for example—that can modify the body. They are safe in naturally occurring quantities, but when someone tries a larger amount or higher concentration, I begin to get nervous. It simply isn’t safe, and he must be well over that line.”

“What about the wind?” Lassiter asked. “What happened back there? You both felt the wind, didn’t you?”

Darren nodded. “The door opened again, but it was different this time. I’m not sure how or why. It seemed to be an answer to prayer, though, and I had a sensation of hope.”

“So did I.”

Dr. Fleming shook his head. Then he pulled off the road and parked behind some greenery. “I no longer have a plan. I thought Adam might be annoying yet helpful. Instead, I can’t help concluding that I’ve unleashed another danger on us all. I doubt it would be safe even to return home for a while. So I was serious: do either of you have a plan?”

“I’ll pass,” Lassiter said. “I don’t know anyone helpful—I doubt I could even get us a place to spend the night. But won’t we need more supplies before the next full moon?”

“I can probably get any we actually need. Darren?”

“It’s too late to get very far before nightfall. I’m not sure which troubles me more: spending the night outside or trying a driving marathon to reach…”

Dr. Fleming waited very briefly before asking, “You’ve thought of a destination?”

“Perhaps. A gentleman who almost adopted me—and a…” His voice broke off, and he began again, “We’ve been overlooking the linguistic angle, perhaps. He could be a great help. He lives just outside of Boston—if he’s not abroad somewhere.”

“Beans for breakfast it is,” Dr. Fleming muttered as he pulled back onto the road.

Next: Good Morning, Beantown

Dark World: The Specimen Speaks

2010-03-13T20:37:00.000-08:00

(The story begins here.)

“I still don’t know what’s going on,” Lassiter said, “but I am beginning to figure out who I can trust. Fleming and Christopher, here, have had some success getting my problem under control, and they don’t treat me like part of a freak show. And Christopher says there’s a real world out there that calls to something inside me, which is certainly how it feels.

“But you—I’d really like to believe you, and I’m finally starting to realize that’s a bad sign. Besides, you sound like some people I ran across a while back. Kennen Sie den Herr Manfred Althaus?”

Dr. Newman smiled. “I am afraid that German is not one of my accomplishments, sir. I am merely an American.”

Dr. Fleming touched Lassiter’s arm. “Perhaps this was ill-considered. I know you are very busy, Adam, and it wouldn’t be worth the trouble to work against whatever personality conflict has arisen here. We’ll keep in touch, and I’m sure we shall seek your advice in the near future.”

Dr. Newman’s smile changed almost imperceptibly. “Your friend is sick, Victor, sick and dangerous. Mental conditions can prove contagious as well as any other disease: folie à un so swiftly becomes folie à plusieurs. I would regret to have to quarantine you all.”

His tone was so calm and reasonable it seemed wicked madness to resist. Training told Darren it would be wicked madness to give in. He prayed not only for himself but for his friends, and again the answer was not what he expected.

A breeze stirred the air, a breeze Darren himself could feel. Nor was he alone: Dr. Newman ceased to notice his visitors and glanced back, trying to find the source of the current. He murmured softly, almost musically,

“En la mondon venas nova sento,
Tra la mondo iras forta voko,
Per flugiloj de facila vento…”

His voice trailed off, and his guests filed out at high speed. Darren just caught a hesitant call: “Ho pordo—porda vento, venta pordo, venu por mi, malfermu por mi…”

“I don’t know what the language is,” Darren muttered to himself, “but he scarcely knows it himself. That’s the hesitation of someone trying to remember a forgotten tongue.”

The receptionist met them just outside the door. She was startled, and the gun in her hand wasn’t properly aimed when she called for them to stop.

“You first!” Dr. Fleming retorted, making some kind of motion with his hand. Darren barely saw a fine mist fly out and apparently strike the woman down. The doctor slowed her descent and waved the others on. “I think I’m getting used to this. At least I’m prepared anymore, though I somehow doubt it would’ve taken Newman down.”

They rushed outside and piled into the car. “Quick!” Dr. Fleming said. “This place does have gates, and I don’t have an unlimited supply of that spray.”

They started for the exit at high speed, slowing to something less suspicious only when the gates came in sight. The doctor waved cheerfully at the guards; then he gunned the engine as a bell sounded and one of them reached for a switch.

“I shall be a man and admit that all my friends are psychopaths,” the doctor said. “Can either of you do any better?”

Next: Angels and Demons

The Sheridan Road Mystery: a Free Book review

2010-03-11T19:41:00.000-08:00

The Sheridan Road Mystery (free audiobook here) by Paul and Mabel Thorne is a fairly brief mystery novel that moves in several unexpected directions. There were points I found predictable--I correctly figured out where the criminal mastermind got off to, for example--but it's fast-paced and enjoyable with quite a few surprises.

A patrolman is walking his beat in the wee hours when he hears a shot. He heads for it as best he can--it's hard to locate a single gunshot by sound alone--and encounters a helpful citizen who guides him to the proper building and room. But the room is locked, and when the cops get in, they at first find no evidence of a crime. Then the aforementioned citizen a little too helpfully locates some evidence for them. They are not amused. Who is this guy anyway?

This isn't exactly a cozy mystery: not counting the initial crime, there are assorted boppings, bashings, and thrashings. The heroine is bonked once and drugged twice, which puts her in the lead for receiving abuse, but it's all off camera, so to speak. The bad guys get pounded even more thoroughly. Still, the level of violence is fairly mild. The grossest moment is when they finally find the body, and even that is not particularly intense. The story will keep your interest without giving you nightmares. The profanity level is also tepid by modern standards, though stronger than I would personally write.

Actually, if I were going to complain, it would be about something else: the story twice shifts apparent heroes. We start with Policeman Murphy--a likable chap. Don't get attached to him, though: he will nearly disappear after a chapter or so. Then we get Detective Sergeant Dave Morgan, an even more obvious hero figure.

Guess what...

Morgan doesn't outright disappear from the story, but after a few chapters it becomes clear that he isn't the hero of the story either. I wouldn't pull such a trick as a writer, but it doesn't cause any problems for the reader.

In sum, a good read and probably better than a lot of modern stories you'd actually pay for.

The Dueling Machine: a Free Book review

2010-03-06T19:35:00.000-08:00

The Dueling Machine (free audiobook here), written by Ben Bova with Myron R. Lewis, is a classic, early virtual-reality mystery/adventure.

I encountered Bova's sci-fi in the mid seventies; as usual, the later work isn't as good—I have a general rule not to trust written sci-fi after 1960 or certainly 1970—but his was reasonably good anyway. And the dust jackets always alluded to The Dueling Machine as if it was some kind of classic.

It is. It showed up on Gutenberg recently, and the audio version arrived soon after, so I finally got a look at the story. (I'm sure the actual book differs a bit from the Analog novella, but probably not much.)

As our story opens, mankind's interest in exploration and colonization has been overcome by the expense of colonizing and the realization that it's a whole lot more comfy on the couch at home, even if the rising population results in the government's micromanaging your life. This leads to general grumpiness.

It doesn't help when Dr. Albert Robertus Leoh invents a 3D communication system that somehow reaches across hundreds of light years instantaneously, severely irking the likes of Albert Einstein. So he invents the dueling machine: a virtual reality system that lets you and a mutual enemy kill each other thoroughly without actual harm to anyone.

Except that suddenly the hatchet man for an imperialistic dictator starts challenging people to duels they don't survive, with results that destabilize several worlds. Dr. Leoh is brought in to investigate, along with a Star Watchman, math geek, and klutz named Hector. Can they solve the mystery and thwart the bad guys before getting killed? (Because posthumous revenge isn't nearly as much fun as it sounds.)

I admit that I wondered at the lack of a panic button for duelists than would bail them out before they needed a change of clothes. That would have solved the whole thing. But that point aside, this is a good story. I should also mention that one of the deaths is recorded in considerable detail, which could be a bit intense for some readers.

The Dueling Machine:
Gutenberg e-text

LibriVox audiobook),

Dark World: Peccatum Adae

2010-03-03T23:51:00.000-08:00

(The story begins here.)

The giant smiled beneficently, and Darren only just noticed something in the recesses of the eyes that did not fit the smile. “Ah, Victor! You have brought me some new friends—interesting specimens.”

Darren merely nodded acknowledgement; Dr. Fleming’s voice wavered almost imperceptibly in reply. “Mr. Henry Lassiter, the man on my left, has picked up the disquieting habit of changing form. He also seems to be connected to some other world in a way I can’t readily define. Since you research similar ideas, I wondered what advice you could give us.”

Dr. Newman turned his attention to Lassiter, swiftly absorbing him in his gaze. “There are other worlds within us all, worlds of darkness and light, of past, present, and future. This man has encountered a dark, primal world within, and it has changed him.”

“He has encountered a dark world without that has aggravated the dark, primal world within,” Darren retorted. “We’ve encountered it too, just not as invasively.”

“Of course you have: as I said, we all have such worlds inside us, and when one is activated strongly enough, a gestalt harmonization occurs with the others, and the inner world is then perceived as external reality. But it’s important to realize that the only reality is inside.”

“Why?”

“Because it is futile to strive against a non-existent outer world.”

“Do we exist, then, or are we just extensions of your reality? That could make the question academic as well.”

“There is only one reality, and we are all alike reflections of it. There is only one evil, and it is to turn away from that reality—from the continuous evolution to higher consciousness.”

“But Lassiter can transform?” Dr. Fleming interrupted.

“Of course. Inward change governs outward appearance. You must have noticed, Victor, that I have changed form over our brief acquaintance: evolution used to proceed slowly over generations, but once consciousness asserts itself, a given organism can progress infinitely toward original light.”

“That’s not quite the translation we’ve encountered.”

“That’s because the darkness runs contrary to normal progress, producing a violent contradiction.”

“Then what should we do with him?”

“Just leave him with me. I’ve dealt with such cases before, though this supposed outside world is an intriguing detail I’d like to investigate further. Otherwise it’s simply an instance of powerful, misdirected PA—my specialty.”

“What’s PA?” Darren asked.

“Psychic Acceleration—change of appearance and even environment by directed mental force. It’s the evolutionary power I just mentioned that lets men become gods.”

“Sounds more like Peccatum Adae to me.”

“Your misgivings about the ‘Sin of Adam’ are merely subconscious fears and even awe before the sublime greatness of our destiny.” Dr. Newman paused. “Leave him to me. I know how to deal with his problem.”

Darren prayed furiously and silently, yet he could not believe that what happened next was God’s answer.

“I think the specimen should have a say in that,” Lassiter said, and his hair stirred in a breeze Darren could not feel.

Next: The Specimen Speaks

Dark World: How Firm a Foundation?

2010-02-28T22:30:00.000-08:00

(The story begins here.)

[Since it's been a while, you might want another look at the previous chapter.]

The Better Angel Foundation was a complex of buildings as labyrinthine in its way as the approach to Dvorak Manor. Dr. Fleming negotiated the maze just as swiftly this time, and he soon pulled the car up beside a long, one-story structure. He smiled at his companions: Darren’s interest switched from the doctor to the destination, and Lassiter finally emerged from his nap.

“This is where Dr. Newman actually works. If we had tried one of the more obvious buildings we would have been passed from functionary to functionary for hours, but a little-used man door should…”

Darren switched his attention from the building to the doctor’s face, then adjusted his own gaze accordingly. A man had seemingly just emerged from the wall itself a little way off.

“Even with his sense of hearing,” Dr. Fleming muttered, “I’d have to shout to attract his attention at this distance, and he appears to be in a hurry as usual anyway. Pity. I’d have liked his opinion as well.”

“He wasn’t that far off,” Lassiter remarked.

Dr. Fleming chuckled. “He’s a giant, but so well proportioned you have to see him alongside someone normal to realize it. No doubt he just stopped in to check on some of the patients before heading off for some remote and exotic trouble spot. Who knows? If Better Angel fails, perhaps he can help me clear this up.”

Lassiter grunted quietly, and they left their machine for a sidewalk. Dr. Fleming led the way to an inconspicuous door in the wall and pushed briskly into a small reception area guarded by an efficient-looking brunette. She looked up in mingled surprise and annoyance, only to change to a professional smile.

“Dr. Fleming! Dr. Newman will be most gratified at your visit. Shall I call him for you?”

The doctor nodded, and she pushed a button and announced his arrival. A door slid open at the far side of the room, and a booming voice bade them enter. Darren found himself wondering which form the wizard would take in meeting the party: ball of fire? Beautiful woman? He dispelled the thought brusquely, then realized that the décor was green, after all.

No wizard awaited them beyond the doorway. It was a giant. Darren remembered his friend’s description of the strange bronze figure they had seen moments before: this too was a remarkably well-proportioned entity, yet the size was still obvious and probably would be at any range. Though he hadn’t seen the other man up close, he felt that the normalcy there was normal: the result of natural processes carefully managed. This proportioning seemed unnatural in nature if not in form, yet like John before the angel Darren felt the urge to fall down in worship. Unlike the apostle, he resisted successfully, and a quick glance around suggested that they had each been tried and released.

Setting his jaw defiantly, Darren looked up into the face of Dr. Adam Newman.

Next: Peccatum Adae

The House with the Twisting Passage: a Free Audiobook Review

2010-02-28T12:42:00.000-08:00

That's right: so far as I can tell, there isn't a free e-text available this time; The House with the Twisting Passage is the only free version. The reader, Xenutia, has a good voice and style for this sort of thing.

The book itself is hard to categorize. It's technically a children's story, though I'm not sure I'd try it on a modern child, for reasons I'll explain. And it has a curious structure. Essentially, there is a framing story about Jenny, a nine-year-old whose parents have gone to India for a few years. Jenny is being traded between two aunts, the interesting one being a caretaker for a mansion. This mansion of course has a twisting passage with a lot of disused rooms, and Jenny makes up residents for them all. She even makes up a personality to go with a portrait of a little girl, Miss Clare, whose doll she finds and adopts. She briefly encounters the real Miss Clare, to her great dismay, but continues her game.

Then she goes to stay with the other aunt for a couple months, and when she returns, the mansion is being used as a rest home for people almost exactly like the ones she had imagined. They tell her stories, which is the interior of the frame and a completely mixed bag. Many of the stories are anecdotes or vignettes, and they aren't of great interest. Others aren't bad, but even they, in my opinion, could be told more effectively. Let's go by chapter:

08 - Miss Primrose's Story: An old lady tells about her putatively magical adventures with her nephew Jerry. The problem for me is that the woman affirms magic in telling the tales, but it's fairly clear that there's no magic involved. I admit that sort of thing bothers me.

09 - Black Jack's Story: This is rather longer than most, about a sailor's accidental cloak-and-dagger adventure. Could be told more effectively, but quite good enough as is.

10 - Uncle Nodding: reminiscences about running a store.

11 - Miss Ruby's Story: A dressmaker is hired to make one good dress and one bad one.

12 - Tarramina's Tale: an anecdote that is supposed to be spooky but (IMO) doesn't make it.

13 - Peter Bollin's Tale: A doctor tries to help a boy back to the straight and narrow. Not bad, but a little too anecdotal: it could be better told.

14 - The Rhymes of Mr Dennis: some good, some not so good. Generally worth it.

15 - The February Lady's Story: about her two fat cats. Generally good, but sounds like a chat over tea--which is essentially what it's supposed to be.

16 - Jenny Meets the Littlest One: Bollins redux and rhymes about a little boy's adventures as a floor mat and with a mischievous postman. Rather good.

17 - Old Mrs Bunch's Tale: The adventures of a hall mirror. A good story, though I think the perspective may be too adult for children.

18 - Nanny Remembers: This is actually part of the frame story, about Miss Clare as a wilful child with an abusive father. In the context of the surrounding stories, it seemed especially heart-rending, but without it, the frame doesn't work.

19 - Phil the Fiddler's Story: A fairy tale about a witch, some dwarves, and a little girl with a terrible choice to make.

Most of the stories are okay, but they would probably seem too slow for a modern kid's jaded tastes. You could technically ignore any of them but Chapter 18, and I'd suggest running through all of them before trying them on a child. The target age levels just seem to vary too much for me.

Anyway, after all this, we resume the frame story, with Jenny being sent to the other aunt again and fearing the changes she might find on her return. But even changes may change, and some are for the better.

Overall, I liked the story, the frame more than the interior anecdotes. I would strongly advise listening to it before trying it on children, however. It might work to run the "younger" sections, such as the poems, past younger children and eventually get to the other sections as the children grow.

Talents, Incorporated: A Free Book review

2010-02-26T20:15:00.000-08:00

Talents, Incorporated (available here as a free audiobook) by Murray Leinster opens with a planet, Kandar, preparing to be conquered: burning sensitive documents, trying to get people out of the area who would be tortured to death by the conquerors, that sort of thing. The Kandarian fleet is going to meet the incoming Mekinese armada and be destroyed.

Then a space yacht pops in, run by a stout gentleman named Morgan and his daughter Gwenlyn, who own Talents, Incorporated--a company that specializes in providing information and services that anyone else would consider impossible. They are there to enable Kandar to defeat the Mekinese Empire. They'll do so largely by providing advance information and the basis for technological advances, almost always accompanied by the phrase, "That's Talents, Incorporated information. You can depend on it!"

The Talents of Talents, Incorporated are normal people with some peculiarity--lightning calculation, lie detection, and so forth. Some are psionic or divinatory, which I admit I don't care for: there is a dowser, for example. However, the story focuses more on Captain Bors, Morgan, and Gwenlyn, and the annoying bits are largely forgetable.

What does Morgan want? Not money, evidently, and while he does collect medals, that seems too small a motive for overthrowing a stellar empire. You eventually find out what his angle is, but not before Captain Bors of the Kandarian Navy discovers how bothersome it is to destroy an armada that was supposed to destroy you. Sometimes the only solution, as Bron Hoddan discovered in The Pirates of Ersatz, is piracy.

While I didn't care for this quite as much as for The Pirates of Ersatz, it has a quirky charm of its own that I found irresistible. You'll enjoy it, too.

That's Talents, Incorporated information. You can depend on it!

Talents, Incorporated:

Free Gutenberg e-text

Free audiobook

Pirates of Ersatz: a Free Book review

2010-02-25T19:17:00.000-08:00

The Pirates of Ersatz (available here as a free audiobook) by Murray Leinster, is the story of Bron Hoddan, who intends "in order (a) to achieve splendid things as an electronic engineer, (b) to grow satisfactorily rich, (c) to marry a delightful girl, and (d) end his life a great man."

It doesn't help that his family is a bunch of space pirates. It also doesn't help that Walden, the most civilized planet in the galaxy, doesn't really want an electrical engineer with new ideas, no matter how useful. So he soon finds himself locked away for improving some local equipment (or creating a death ray, depending on who you believe). Perhaps he should try the other end of the scale--a planet like Darth, run by rival warlords with relatively primitive technology. Warlords like Don Loris ("who was prince of this and baron of that and so on"), who has a scheme to take over the planet. He also has a beautiful, willful, and...well, maybe occasionally homicidal daughter named Fani.

As Bron goes from pickle to bigger pickle to Death Dill, he begins to respect the advice and wisdom of his grandfather, and he also keeps finding that people's preconceptions lock them into failure. Will he somehow overcome his own and avoid the same fate?

This story has a number of great quotes:

"It's no use!" it was the custom of his grandfather to say. "There's not a bit o' use in having brains! All they do is get you into trouble! A lucky idiot's ten times better off than a brainy man with a jinx on him! A smart man starts thinkin', and he thinks himself into a jail cell if his luck is bad, and good luck's wasted on him because it ain't reasonable and he don't believe in it when it happens! It's taken me a lifetime to keep my brains from ruinin' me! No, sir! I hope none o' my descendants inherit my brains! I pity 'em if they do!"

"Government, in the local or planetary sense of the word, is an organization for the suppression of adventure. Taxes are, in part, the insurance premiums one pays for protection against the unpredictable." (That kind of reasoning should sound familiar these days!)

The economics presented here is nonsense--so's a lot of the story, really--but it's a good yarn and extremely fun. I'll definitely come back to it later--probably several times.

Once again, that's The Pirates of Ersatz:

Free Gutenberg e-text

Free audiobook

The Uttermost Farthing: a Free Book review

2010-02-22T17:17:00.000-08:00

The Uttermost Farthing (free audiobook here) by R. Austin Freeman is not a Dr. Thorndyke novel; quite the opposite. It's more nearly what you might get if Thorndyke turned vigilante.

A word of warning: this story is somewhat ghoulish. It isn't particularly graphic, but the concept is rather gross. I won't explain it: just read the first chapter, and you'll know basically what's going on. If it grosses you out, drop the whole idea.

You may ask why I stuck it out. Well, there is a certain grim fascination to the idea, in part because Humphrey Challoner is so different from Thorndyke in some ways.

In any case, this is the setup:

Years before the story opens, Challoner is a happily married man. He's also an anatomist with a small private museum specializing in skeletal remains, especially of animals with deformities. His hobby turns out to have more staying power than his marriage, however, when a burglar decides to arrest Mrs. Challoner's vital functions with a bullet.

As they say in the action-hero genre, Big Mistake.

Even stunned by his sudden change of marital status, Challoner is a lot smarter than the cops. He notices that the murderer left behind finger prints (this was the late 1800s, before the cops were as fixated with latent prints as they were in The Red Thumb Mark). There's also a bit of hair--and not ordinary hair; it's ringed hair, unusual enough to help identify the culprit even without the finger prints. Armed with this evidence, the best physique and training money can buy, and a heapin' helpin' of vigilante spirit, Challoner's going to remove some bad guys from the gene pool.

Did I mention that this is before the story opens? Well, let's open the story, already.

As the story begins, Humphrey Challoner is an old man on the way out. He likes his doctor, a guy named Wharton, who is more like Jervis than Thorndyke. Challoner has shown Dr. Wharton around the private museum at times. He tells the doctor about his personal tragedy and bequeaths the place--especially the museum--to the doctor, including a unique collection no one else even knows exists. Dr. Wharton also gets a secret stash of notes detailing the provenance of all the more interesting specimens. The bulk of the story is Wharton's edited version of those notes.

It should be clear that Challoner's new hobby doesn't bear imitating, though he does set things up (generally) so that he's acting in self defense. Still, the story has points of interest as Dr. Wharton mulls over the moral and philosophical issues. The main mystery here, however, is why no one has made a major movie out of this so far.

The Eye of Osiris: a Free Book review

2010-02-22T17:14:00.000-08:00

The Eye of Osiris (free audiobook here) by R. Austin Freeman is the second Dr. Thorndyke novel. In some respects, it's the better story--it's certainly the better mystery, because the solution won't be as obvious to a modern reader. However, it's also more ideologically motivated than The Red Thumb Mark: Freeman was not a Christian--he considered Christianity an outmoded relic--and there's a strong element of paganism in this story that wasn't nearly as noticeable in the first one.

Anyway--as the story opens, Dr. John Thorndyke is lecturing on the legal and medical problems of determining when (or if) someone has died. (This can affect inheritance if the order of two deaths is unknown.) He mentions a recent incident in which a man, John Bellingham, disappeared mysteriously, noting that it's likely to become a legal muddle. Then we flash forward a few years, and he was right.

One of the medical students at the lecture was Paul Berkeley, our narrator. He's substituting for another doctor when he encounters John Bellingham's brother, Godfrey, and niece, Ruth, both reduced to penury, which didn't pay well back then. And it's all because of perhaps the stupidest will in history.

Why stupid? The man who disappeared bequeathed £5,000 to his cousin and the rest of the estate to his brother. However, he stipulated that his remains be deposited in a proper spot in one of a few specific parishes. Since he has disappeared, it could be difficult to carry this out: they neither know where his body is nor whether he's done using it. But if the body is not so disposed of, the cousin gets the whole estate.

The cousin is trying to have the idiot testator declared dead, which would pretty much give him the estate. And suddenly bits of skeleton start showing up in places on or near the missing man's property...

The story is also rather droll in places. For example, at the hearing to determine whether to declare the missing man dead, a lawyer mentions the disappearance, "the most remarkable feature of that disappearance being, perhaps, its suddenness and completeness." The judge retorts, "It would, perhaps, have been even more remarkable if the testator had disappeared gradually and incompletely."

To conclude: the theological aspects are annoying, but otherwise this is a very entertaining and (dare I say it?) educational mystery. Recommended with some reservations.

The Red Thumb Mark: a Free Book review

2010-02-22T16:52:00.000-08:00

The Red Thumb Mark (free audiobook here) by R. Austin Freeman is the first Dr. Thorndyke novel. Dr. Thorndyke was a medical doctor turned lawyer, and effectively a pioneer in forensic science: he usually played the part of an expert witness, leaving the regular lawyering to an associate.

The Red Thumb Mark is interesting enough, despite the fact that a modern reader will not only know the culprit's identity almost immediately but also (generally) how it was done. In fact, at various points, something that would have been practically unimaginable to the readers of 1907 will be obvious to us, which shows how fleeting high-tech gimmickry is. You're more likely to be mystified at some of the antiquated features, such as the way the typewriters worked more than a century ago.

Anyway--a small fortune in diamonds has been taken from a safe, which was clearly unlocked rather than burgled, and an obliging clue left in the safe seems to resolve the mystery immediately: a thumbprint in blood that conveniently points to an otherwise virtuous man. From the standpoint of detection, the main item of interest is how Thorndyke will thwart the evil plot.

There's also the small matter of several attempts on Thorndyke's life, some rather ingenious, especially for the time. And the way visits with prisoners were conducted. Thorndyke gives a strong indictment of the criminal justice system of the time, and not all the problems have been addressed even yet.

This also marks the debut of Dr. Christopher Jervis, Thorndyke's Watson who chronicles many of his adventures. Like Watson, Jervis is the second banana who acts as the romantic lead; like Holmes, Thorndyke is evidently above such things. So there is a love story here as well, and a fairly good one at that.

In sum, it's an engaging read that can teach you a lot about the period--and perhaps a bit about forensic science as well.

Once on a Time: a Free Book review

2010-02-18T16:38:00.000-08:00

A. A. Milne of Winnie-the-Pooh fame, also wrote a fantasy for adults ("adult fantasy" in the proper, not the creepy sense). It's called Once on a Time, and it's available free through both Gutenberg (e-text) and LibriVox (audiobook).

The Wikipedia article referenced above (and here, too, of course) is fairly complete, giving enough information without spoilers. As my summary, I'll just say that this is an unconventional book about some conventional fantasy tropes--magic rings, fairy wishes, seven-league boots, cloaks of invisibility, and so forth. It's rather modern in some ways: there is no true villain or villainess. The King of Barodia surely isn't a bad guy--no worse than the King of Euralia, anyway--and the Countess Belvane is mostly just vain and self-indulgent. She's manipulative, but mainly she's a kind of practical joker who enjoys acclaim and schemes to get money simply so she can make a big deal of giving it away. (That should sound familiar to anyone who follows politics.)

Is it fun? Generally, yes. It's not in the same class as Winnie-the-Pooh, but it's a fairly good read. I don't think children would get it: it's a bit too self-aware and bent on parody for them. Is it funny? In places. The initial matter of the seven-league boots and the Euralian response is quite droll, as are the accidental encounter between the two kings as they try to spy on each other. The curse on Prince Udo is amusing in concept, though I thought it was treated a little too clinically.

So I would recommend this story for modern fantasy readers who want to kill a few hours. If you like The Princess Bride, which is very similar, you'll probably enjoy Once on a Time.

[Addendum: I just realized I need to explain why Once on a Time is like The Princess Bride. Simply put, both are Ruritanian romances (stories set in fictional countries) with fantasy elements, both have a love story (or two) and court intrigues, and both are supposedly based on a fictitious pre-existing work (by Roger Scurvilegs for OoaT and S. Morgenstern for TPB). As to differences, Once on a Time is significantly less violent and lacks a true villain.]

Sciolism, Scientism, and Theology

2010-02-11T09:51:00.000-08:00

So what does it matter if people go off half-cocked? We've been making decisions based on incomplete and faulty information since the Garden of Eden, which I guess helps answer the question. But now, in addition to mere ignorance parading as knowledge, we add the tendency toward a falsely scientific view of life.

I noticed some time ago that in Christian circles (especially Fundamentalist Protestant ones, but you can easily find it elsewhere) there was a tendency to reduce everything to a formula. Most of the supposedly non-fiction books in a Christian bookstore have a formula for success, effective prayer, weight loss, or whatever else. Even theologically we tend toward formulas, though that's been around for centuries.

It's curious that the Bible is low on formulas. About the closest you get is in the Law, and even it isn't truly formulaic. But the formula mindset can be found quite easily: it's the attempt to reduce God and our interactions with him to scripts. Push the right buttons, and you get what you want.

It should be obvious that this is magic: an attempt to manipulate God into doing our will. But there's more to it than that--something even more damnable. Not only is it an attempt to get our own way and assert our will over God's, it also implies rejecting grace.

Earning your own salvation is thoroughly formula-based: do the right works, and you are saved. From the standpoint of scientism, earning your salvation is a good idea, because there's a clear cause-effect relationship. Good deeds eventually outweigh bad ones, so you just keep going until you're saved.

But what of grace? Grace is a miracle: it upsets the cause-effect chain, saying that bad deeds may simply be forgiven, and without our somehow earning that forgiveness. Is it any wonder that when Creation Science writers wander into theology they tend to reduce it to simplistic formulas?

They also like to sanitize messy people: Noah didn't mean to get drunk; in the antediluvian world, grape juice didn't ferment. They have quite a long presentation with the sole point of getting Noah off the hook. But why? Why not just admit that he was yet another sinner and goofed up? (For that matter, why make drinking wine a sin? It isn't one in the Bible.)

The annoyingly obvious answer is that they don't really believe in grace. They believe in excuses, even far-fetched ones, to avoid admitting that God used and blessed a sinner. Admitting it would violate the tidy cause-effect sequence and acknowledge a miracle—which the Creation Science people are no more eager to do than atheists.

God does miracles; get over it. And salvation is a walk, not a formula.

Scientific Sciolism

2010-02-10T00:41:00.000-08:00

Oh, look it up.

I talked about syncretism last time, and I don't think anyone can deny that at least in the West, having "science" on one's side pretty much guarantees intellectual respectability and superiority. This is why most of the global warming debate hinges on who is actually scientific, the believers or deniers, and why some people think they must have a scientific basis for accepting Genesis. Not having a scientific basis for one's views is intellectually untenable.

But together with this deification of "science" (often misunderstood and incorrectly identified) we have normal human sciolism: the tendency to think we know it all (or at least enough to pontificate) based on only a shallow acquaintance with a topic. So in the global warming debate we see people on both sides who are merely parroting arguments and putative facts they agree with but probably don't understand. I was amazed and impressed a while back when a columnist for a local newspaper admitted that he hadn't done enough research on the topic to have a worthwhile opinion--and he also claimed that such research would amount to setting aside a few years to master the topic. Reading a few blogs and newspaper articles isn't enough.

Years ago, there was a man named Immanuel Velikovsky who tried to explain various historical and legendary events (including some from the Exodus) by invoking a kind of celestial pinball game in which the earth got nailed a few times. Back in the sixties and seventies there was a noticeable Velikovskyist contingent in the Creation Science ranks, because he believed in catastrophism and was ostracized from mainline scientific circles, much like the Creation Science crowd itself.

But the interesting point is that Velikovsky was a psychiatrist, not a physicist, astronomer, biologist, or archeologist: he was pontificating well outside his field of competence, and doing so quite convincingly. An astronomer and a biologist read Worlds in Collision and came to opposite conclusions: the astronomer thought the astronomy was nonsense but the biochemistry brilliant, while the biologist laughed at the biochemistry but found the astronomy impressive.

Sciolism times three: an author who was out of his depth yet persuasive, and two men who were safe from the hoax in their respective areas of expertise but gullible elsewhere. If you've ever read Martin Gardner's Fads and Fallacies in the Name of Science, you get the impression that there were few pseudoscientific scams of the late nineteenth and early twentieth centuries that did not snooker at least one of the Huxleys--a very intelligent and well-educated group. But they, too, were willing to gamble on their sometimes shallow knowledge--and sometimes they lost.

The relevant moral here involves a point I've made before concerning what I call "scientific apologetics": we read a book (or several) making a number of scientific claims we haven't the background to appraise intelligently and feel that we understand more about the topic than those who do have the requisite background.

This is why I largely ignore the putative science of Creation Science: I don't have the background required to assess it. In the same way, evolution is a sprawling concern, touching a number of different fields. I strongly doubt anyone knows enough about it to understand it and assess it, pro or con. I certainly don't. I can, however, comment on the philosophical and theological implications of Creation Science, just as I can spot an evolutionist with a scientific background going outside his field to pontificate on theology or philosophy.

Avoid sciolists lest you become one yourself.

I'll conclude this series next time with a post about how sciolism and scientism combine to corrupt popular theology.

Science, Faith, and Syncretism

2010-02-08T20:29:00.000-08:00

Syncretism means mixing belief systems. In the Old Testament we read of people worshipping both God and Baal, for example. These days we do much the same thing, only the other "god" is usually Money, Popularity, Respectability, or something like that. The idea I mentioned last time, that there must be a scientific explanation to support Genesis, is such a case. Unless God jumps through the hoop of our personal expectations, we just won't believe in him.

So there!

I still don't see why Creation is any different from the Virgin Birth or the Resurrection, neither of which gets the imprimatur of science. If God wants to commit a miracle now and then, we can either rely on him to be telling the truth or rely on our amazing fallen minds to find an alternative explanation. This is the major reason I consider Creation Science dangerous on theological grounds: since the goal is to find a cause-and-effect sequence to explain miracles, it tends to deny or minimize miracles on the one hand and support a mechanistic view of God on the other.

Case in point: the Flood. In order to explain where all the water came from, proponents of Creation Science usually conjure up a vapor canopy nowhere attested in scripture and have the earth's crust upthrust, downthrust, and sidewaysthrust without ever generating a really good dance step. I, on the other hand, just figure that if God wants enough water to flood the whole planet, he can just call it into existence. It's called a miracle, and no, I can't make a science out of it.

So what if the science happens to be right anyway--what if God used a vapor canopy without mentioning it? Occam's razor, friend: the vapor-canopy explanation is complex; a miracle is simple. Nor is that always true: quite often positing a miracle is a needless complication. Just not here.

This need for an acceptable mechanism leads in worse directions, though. For example, it is Law-oriented rather than Grace-oriented. Earning your salvation by good works is simple cause and effect; it's a kind of science. Accepting salvation by faith that has been granted by grace is miraculous thinking: it's simply not good cause and effect, because it doesn't provide a good way to manipulate God.

C. S. Lewis talked about this in The Abolition Of Man: science and magic tend to be different ways of gaining power over nature (and thus God) by reducing it to rules you can manipulate. This is the reason the Creation Science crowd doesn't like miracles (beyond the fact they aren't acceptable to the scientific establishment): miracles confer no manipulative power. We can't use them to get what we want; we can't make them happen whenever we feel like it.

That's also why I don't really care about the scientific claims of Creation Science: if they were presented with proper rigor, I couldn't understand them, much less judge their validity, but if they are presented in a looser, more popular style, even a scientist in relevant field couldn't assess the data. So I stick with the theological ramifications--a topic friends and enemies both seem to ignore.

Next up: sciolism.

Science, Faith, and Miracles

2010-02-07T22:29:00.000-08:00

I'm currently involved in yet another vigorous exchange of views with a friend who apparently has no choice other than Creation Science on the one hand and loss of faith on the other. Creation Science, he says, allows him to disbelieve evolution and thus to believe Genesis.

I admit I don't get it myself.

We agree that evolution and Genesis don't get on well together. I've seen attempts to harmonize them, and those attempts amount to wishful thinking. They also usually involve effectively dismissing those parts of Genesis that seem inconvenient.

But I disagree that cobbling together a "science" is the only way to "save" Genesis. Bear in mind that science is a system of generalizations about what usually happens and why. And consider that science (indeed, the humbler Everyday Experience) tells us that virgins don't get pregnant without changing their status and that dead people don't get better after a few days in a tomb.

In other words, if we must have a scientific alternative (Creation Science) to evolution, we must have a scientific alternative (Virgin Birth Science) to conception and another (Resurrection Science) to postmortem decay. For without such alternatives, we must follow science rather than scripture, apparently, and these doctrines will be lost.

But science is about what usually happens--pretty much always, in fact. And the Virgin Birth and the Resurrection were one-time events, though to be sure the latter presages a much more widespread repeat. In other words, they were miracles, and because miracles are abnormal, they can't be generalized into science.

So what about Creation? Does the opening of Genesis happen a lot? Not so far as we can tell. It's characterized by God speaking and things happening. In other words, it's a miracle. But that means it can't be made into a science.

And that should be okay. The alternative is to say that there are no miracles, which is not something a Christian can agree with. But it suggests a syncretism--a mixture of proper belief with outside views--that is common and troubling. I'll hit that next, all going well.

A Knyght Ther Was

2010-02-06T21:30:00.000-08:00

A Knyght Ther Was (also available as an audiobook) is a novella by Robert F. Young. I was already familiar with Young from his novel Eridahn, which I liked and which has the distinction of being one of the few sci-fi novels my mother considers worthwhile.

Like Eridahn, A Knyght Ther Was is a time-travel story with all the twists and turns I at least look for in that sub-genre. After all, why bother travelling through time if you can't mess with your past self on occasion?

Anyway... A Knyght Ther Was features a time thief named Tom Mallory who is going to use another Malory's work to find a suitable point in time to rip off the Holy Grail. He's going to impersonate Sir Galahad, the last guy to deal with the Grail before it was taken up to Heaven--it seems like a reasonable point to take it forward in time instead.

Then the unforeseen problems arise.

The oddity is, I did not think I would like the story. I thought Young would get cute with the Grail, and the tone is initially quite cynical. There were also several plot wrinkles I thought I could predict, and I was right about some of them. I saw the Lancelot twist coming immediately, for example. Others were both surprising and satisfying, especially Mallory's unexpected encounter just after his moment of triumph: it works out exactly as it should. It was at that moment that I knew I would consider the story a classic if he didn't mess it up.

And he didn't! There was a remaining matter he could have completely blown--I thought he would, really; it's another place where he surprised me, because I was sure I knew what he was up to: the mystery of Rowena.

The major surprise was that despite the cynical opening, this takes place in an essentially Christian universe. The two really honest and admirable characters are Christians, and they talk about God in a way that's generally right. And that's all the more peculiar because so far as I know, Young wasn't a Christian himself. (That's not to say I would be surprised if he was.) And I have to admit that this is more Christian than some supposedly "Christian" fiction I've encountered.

It's a short piece, just over two hours as an audiobook, and I'm sure you'll keep coming back to it. Let's have that info again:

A Knyght Ther Was
E-text
Audiobook

The Czar's Spy

2010-01-28T20:22:00.000-08:00

The Czar's Spy by William Le Queux is a novel of personal cussedness versus political intrigue. It begins with the putative owners of a luxury yacht getting into a fix in Leghorn, Italy. (A foghorn was not involved, nor were any chickens harmed.) They are so grateful for the locals' help that they ask Our Hero and Narrator, writer Gordon Gregg, famous for writing novels in shorthand for speed-readers, to help them write a thank-you note in Italian. Gregg is filling in for the real British Vice-Consul of Leghorn, so while he is being entertained aboard the yacht, someone decides to raid the consular office. Hard luck: he has already drunk the good booze and smoked the best cigars. Still, they ransack the place.

Gregg, meanwhile, has encountered aboard the yacht the hastily shredded photo of a Mysterious and Beautiful Woman, whose visage (when he reassembles the picture) immediately burns itself on his brain for keeps. This proves handy later on.

Mystery follows mystery in a frankly infuriating fashion. Gordon becomes more or less used to two phenomena: people trying to kill him and people telling him that he is at the edge of an Amazing Mystery, and they could sure give him an earful if only they dared. The killers are more fun. I found myself fantasizing about a more satisfying response to one of these mystery-mongers:

Mystery-Monger: If you could only penetrate the mystery of this matter, you would find that you had uncovered a plot beyond the dreams of the National Enquirer! Of course, I have Important Secret Information that I'm not about to divulge, though I'll sure rabbit on about how much I know.

Gordon Gregg: Fair enough. Then I shall thrash you until you tell me whatever you do know. That shouldn't take long.

MM: But I'm a lady!

GG: Righto! The thrashing shouldn't take long, either, then.

It's pretty much a cheat anyway: most of them don't really know that much, and the only one who knows it all, a lady with an unforgettable face, has been the subject of a fiendish experiment to transform her into a mime. Gordon Gregg gallivants all over in search of the truth, or failing that, a hot date: England, Scotland, Finland, Russia--in palaces and dungeons, meeting the Arch Anarchist, the Strangler of Finland (not to be confused with the Wedgie King of France), and The Face.

Anyway--self-importance aside, it's not a bad yarn, though I found it odd that a couple of lethal devices seemed like practical jokes gone wrong. Still, the suspense and mystery aren't bad, especially when a dead man turns up alive and the narrator gets to fight his way out of a Finnish Bastille and bluff his way out of certain death.

The Czar's Spy is available as a free e-book and as a free audiobook.

The Mystery of the Four Fingers

2010-01-28T19:07:00.000-08:00

The Mystery of the Four Fingers by Fred M. White is... Okay, I'll say it: it's about a bad guy getting the finger four times. His own fingers. Mummified. Mysteriously delivered. Oh, and he'll die after the fourth one.

If that doesn't say "quality literature," I don't know what does.

Set in the early 20th century, the story features a number of characters in extraordinary circumstances who act according to a strict personal code of honor (except the villains, who for some reason don't care so much about honor).

A man gets married--it could happen to nearly anyone--and thirty minutes in, his wife leaves him a note saying to forget about her, because she's off for an extended period, but she hopes there are no hard feelings. Of course not. She probably left the oven on, and now she feels honor-bound to rebuild the house brick by brick herself. Or maybe she was drafted by the French Foreign Legion. It could happen to anybody. And since her husband is such a noble sort, when he runs across her three years(!) later--under mysterious circumstances, of course--he plays along when she says she still loves him but has Mysterious Business which involves posing as the daughter of a Bounder and a Cad who is, coincidentally, old enough to be her father.

Did I mention he has no fingers on his left hand? But not to worry: he's getting them back, one at a time. It has to do with the Four Finger Mine, the secret possession of Indians in Mexico. Whenever someone messes with their mine, he loses four fingers, gets them back piecemeal, and dies, usually insane. It could happen to anybody.

But wait! There's more! Counterfeiters who hit on the perfect crime of producing perfect copies of gold sovereigns in real gold--a point where the shoddier counterfeiters tend to skimp. A handsome cripple who threatens to kill people who--it could happen to anyone--fall through a grating into his cellar. A beautiful girl who thinks she's Ophelia or some such because her fiancé is supposedly dead except she knows he isn't.

Practically everyone is related one way or another, but inbreeding is not the proffered explanation. It does lead to some odd bits near the end, where the highly principled characters decide that blood is even thicker than their heads, causing the story to run an extra couple of chapters.

Strangely enough, I actually liked the story. It has good pacing, a lot of twists and turns, and reasonable suspense. It is not a Christian story, but the code of honor is generally good: villains aside, these are fairly decent, honorable people who eventually confront the problem of vengeance and reach a reasonable if not quite problem-free solution.

The Mystery of the Four Fingers is available as a free e-book at Gutenberg and as a free audiobook at LibriVox.

Dark World: On the Road Again

2010-01-27T20:36:00.000-08:00

(The story begins here.)

No one spoke until Dvorak Manor was well out of sight. Lassiter grunted slightly as another car turned away from them, heading south. “There goes Antonin. He still gives me the creeps.”

Darren had also been watching the other vehicle. “Dvorak was unwise to isolate himself. And Antonin probably wouldn’t have done anything so dramatic if Dvorak had just listened to him. Combining their interests—organics for control and inorganics for power and precision—might have been the perfect blend, though it probably would have yielded the ultimate horror.”

“Speaking of horrors,” Dr. Fleming said, “we seem to have escaped our weird friends. Nothing truly strange has happened for a full day, and I’m beginning to hope they’ve lost our trail.”

“I do hate to disappoint you,” Darren replied, “but I had an odd experience this morning after you threw me out and before I fetched Lassiter.”

“Great,” Lassiter muttered. “Are we werewolves together, or are you above such things?”

“I believe I’m protected. But this was a more positive encounter: I think I’ve met the priest you mentioned in our first interview.”

“I’d take my chances with the werewolves.”

“Having interacted with both, I disagree. He provided some useful information, though I’m still sorting it out. Basically, there’s a kind of doorway between worlds, and once it opens for you, it never really closes—unless you go through, in which case it shuts you in forever. It tends to draw evil to that other world, though I think it’s letting some out here as well.”

Lassiter merely snorted in response, but Dr. Fleming smiled. “I’m sure Dr. Newman will want to hear all about it; he’s always interested in the duality of good and evil in human nature. He even uses Christian terminology, though I’m sure you would disagree with precisely how he uses it.”

Darren glanced back; Lassiter was either very quick at falling asleep or very determined to ignore and be ignored. “So if neither of us is likely to agree with this Dr. Newman, why bother with him?”

“He has relevant knowledge. Dr. Adam Newman—yes, go ahead and chuckle; I am well aware it’s an alias—Dr. Newman pursues unorthodox means, but he sometimes succeeds where others fail. He specializes in rehabilitating criminals, and his work there is quite impressive. It’s rumored that a certain well-known doctor—more of a modern Renaissance man, really—has funded his establishment in upstate New York where he reforms criminals and helps them become useful citizens. But he also believes in some kind of transformative power. I never actually listened, but he seems to think a strong enough psychological change or disturbance can produce physiological changes. He probably would accept the possibility of lycanthropy.”

“So would I,” Darren retorted. “So would you—now. Why go to someone we both consider questionable? Are you really so determined to find even a pseudo-scientific explanation and cure?”

“It may not be so much a false science as a real science sloppily pursued and documented, much like mesmerism. Perhaps I have been too quick to dismiss him and his views, just as I initially rejected the idea of lycanthropy. But in any case, we shall soon see for ourselves whether Dr. Newman’s ‘Better Angel Foundation’ is genuine or fraudulent.”

Next: How Firm a Foundation?

[I really am behind in my book reviews, so I'll pause the story for a few days.]

Dark World: Aftermath

2010-01-24T13:42:00.000-08:00

(The story begins here.)

“My workroom!” Dvorak screamed.

Dr. Fleming opened the door, but it was Darren who pulled it wide—until he too saw the interior and froze.

Metal fragments protruded from the walls and lay on the floor. The mechanical arms showed varying levels of damage, and Darren concluded that they would not be playing the piano anytime soon. A shriek of dismay and rage told him that Dvorak had shaken off his assistant and wheeled himself forward for a look.

Darren ignored the man. “Victor, was there a radio in that thing?”

Dr. Fleming shook his head. “I doubt it. No, it was designed to play a recorded message and self-destruct when someone probed the less innocent parts of the machine. If there had been a radio, the remote killer would have detonated the bomb when we were gathered around Karel this morning: it should have been obvious that he was going to survive, and the blast would’ve eliminated all witnesses.”

“Why didn’t he use a bomb to begin with?” Antonin asked.

“The same reason he used the knife,” Darren said. “Misdirection and intimidation: a phantom German assassin who can enter locked rooms would keep the police occupied for some time. Victor’s right: the bomb meant that the ruse had failed and the killer had to destroy the evidence and an investigator.”

“I don’t care about any of that,” Dvorak snapped. “He practically did kill me—though it looks like some of the manipulators can be salvaged. If I can get a proper version of the new machine, I can rebuild it all.”

“Avoid the ornaments this time,” Dr. Fleming said. “I suspect that their real purpose was just to distract you from other oddities in the construction. You should investigate the man who insisted on producing them.”

“A waste of time. If they were innocent pawns, they’ve been killed; if not innocent, they have fled. I know these people.” Turning to Antonin, he added, “I should have known you, too. It is pointless to have an assistant who disagrees with my goals. You are dismissed. I’m sure Victor can find a place for you in his vehicle; I would let him stay—perhaps even Mr. Christopher—but I haven’t the energy or patience for their ‘transforming’ friend. I see now that I am better off alone here with my machines, which at least are rigidly ethical—they are essentially decent.”

“And one day,” Antonin muttered, “you will punch a card incorrectly, and they will kill you for it—without even knowing they have done so. I have a vehicle of my own, sir; I shall not burden Dr. Fleming and his party.”

Lassiter grunted. “At least I’m getting used to wearing out my welcome. May I hitch a ride with you two?”

“Of course,” Dr. Fleming replied, not even looking in Dvorak’s direction. “We aren’t done with you yet. I suppose I shall see what Dr. Newman thinks of you. For now, you can help Darren and me remove our effects to the car.”

Next: On the Road Again

Dark World: The Master's Voice

2010-01-22T20:01:00.000-08:00

(The story begins here.)

“As I investigated,” Dr. Fleming continued, “I came to a curious conclusion: none of the manipulator arms was in quite the right place for the attack. They can move, of course, but the angle wasn’t quite right: they aren’t made for stabbing downward. They didn’t have the proper bloodstains, though the dagger was bloody and would have been worse had it struck its intended target.
“Then I noticed this section of the machine—there’s a nearly invisible seam, and I thought it was a door. But it’s welded shut.”

“That’s a support,” Dvorak said. “It can’t be hollow and bear the weight and torque of the mechanism.”

“I doubt the mechanism would’ve seen much use after your death, but I agree that it is no longer hollow. For it was also quite warm to the touch—it must have been very hot at first. So this is what I think happened: the arm and dagger emerged from this niche and made the attack. Then the arm dropped the dagger and returned to the niche, probably triggering a thermite charge or something similar. The arm had been nestled among metal blocks that the thermite melted, thus covering the arm in molten metal that later solidified.”

“But the cards—”

“There were no cards. When you activated the machine, your position was predictable; all the killer needed was for an arm to shoot out and down with a knife. The blow knocked the knife loose, the arm retracted, and the thermite fired and encased the arm in molten metal. The device had no more need for a punched card than a mousetrap does.”

“You are asserting nonsense,” Dvorak shot back. “There’s no proof—”

Dr. Fleming had opened the cabinet-like machine and began probing the interior. “I think there is. The circuit formed when the cards were loaded included a branch to the trap. So there should be a line about here… Yes! See this wire?”

“Very clever,” a metallic voice called from the machine. “But you have only forced me to trade subtlety for ruthless efficiency.”

Darren had one of those flashes of insight that had kept him alive many times in his brief existence. He seized Dr. Fleming’s arm and ran for the door. Lassiter, warned either by a similar revelation or Darren’s actions, was already through the door, and Antonin’s guardian instincts led him to haul Dvorak through backwards in the wheelchair. Darren and his friend were just past the threshold.

“Goodbye, my friend,” came the voice. As the two men pushed on the door, a blast shook them.

Next: Aftermath

Dark World: The Assassin Unmasked

2010-01-21T23:01:00.000-08:00

(The story begins here.)

“It’s really quite simple once you realize it’s complicated,” Dr. Fleming mused.

“I should know better,” Dvorak muttered from his wheelchair, “but that still sounds like gibberish.”

Dr. Fleming smiled with satisfaction as he surveyed the group. “You still don’t remember what happened?”

“No.”

“A result of the shock, no doubt. However, the facts are clear: you were stabbed from behind in an unprofessional fashion, your assailant is not obvious, and the weapon was left behind—no doubt deliberately, given the blatantly obvious clue of the crest. Also, though the attack was stealthy, it still failed remarkably: the strong thrust of the knife became a glancing blow, and no coup de grace followed. Why?

“The answer is clear: the assassin did not know the attack had failed—because the attacker was a machine.” He paused while Darren restrained Antonin. “Ignorant of the failure, the machine completed its predetermined mission with a concealment phase.”

“Where were the instructions for the machine?” Dvorak asked.

“You said Antonin wouldn’t harm Dvorak,” Darren commented, “so I suppose that’s out.”

“Correct,” Dr. Fleming said. “At least for the most part. Actually, Antonin helped save Dvorak’s life—and so did we.” He paused for reaction, but Dvorak evidently wanted him to get it over with, as did Lassiter, and Antonin was brooding silently. “Remember what you said about the problem of not knowing what a machine would encounter? An unknown can destroy any pre-arranged plan, and the murderer did not allow for two unknowns: first, our arrival with Lassiter, which delayed Karel enough that he put off the trial run until morning. Ordinarily he would have run the tests alone in the evening after dismissing Antonin: he wouldn’t want a disapproving critic on hand until he was sure of the device. So he would have lain there for several hours, quite possibly until morning, by which time loss of blood would have killed him, if not the severity of the wounds.

“Second, the distant killer did not foresee what Antonin decided to do—I suspect it was a last-minute inspiration anyway. Antonin was up during the night, which wasn’t unusual, and he had access to the workroom. It wouldn’t have been difficult to add a few cards to the waiting stack.”

“I would not kill the master!” Antonin roared, shaken from his sullen stupor.

“Of course not; we’ve settled that. But you might decide to give him a scare. What would he say if his great achievement attacked him? It wouldn’t actually harm him, though it might shove him or bruise him. You could rush in and fire on the machine, partly destroying the evidence—and if Karel were sufficiently dazed, you might be able to remove the incriminating cards as well. But you saved his life: your attack must have come just before the attempted murder, and it knocked Karel out of position. I’ve checked, and I’m virtually positive that if he had been normally positioned when the dagger struck, it would have penetrated his heart. But he was shoved less than a second before, so he received only a flesh wound. It was really man versus man, but the machine both threatened and saved him.”

“This is all very clever,” Dvorak said, staring suspiciously at his assistant, “perhaps even true. But you still haven’t explained how the machine got the homicidal instructions—or why there were no bloodstains on the manipulator arms.”

“That’s the most ingenious part,” Dr. Fleming replied.

Next: The Master's Voice