Category Archives: Library

Wright’s Chaos Chronicles and Hermetic Millennia

Science Fiction and Fantasy author John C. Wright is quite the storyteller. I recently finished his new Hermetic Millennia (the sequel to his scifi Count To A Trillion) wishing the third book (of a projected five) was already done, instead of having to wait a year or more for the continuation of this series on interstellar travel and human evolution. A Tex-Mex gunslinger hero also doesn’t hurt.

Last night I finished Orphans of Chaos, the first book in an earlier fantasy collection of his and immediately moved on to its sequel Fugitives of Chaos, with just as much anticipation as for the science fiction, though in a different way. The Chaos stories are a sort of Harry Potter for adults enlarged by the physics of relativity and theories of multiple universes.

I  had previously read his Golden Age series, space opera mixed with hard science, chiefly about biotechnology and networked computers.

All these books are informed by Wright’s seemingly immeasurable imagination, his mathematics, astronomy and literary education, his love for Greek myth, the history of religion, and (delight of delights) a Libertarian political sensibility you don’t often find in scifi or fantasy nowadays. Leftists beware.

I could say more, but you get the idea. Don’t except an easy read. Wright packs more ideas into a paragraph than most authors do into a whole story. But do try the books, you won’t be sorry.

Infantry’s oldest enemy: mud

“Afghan peanut butter turns treads into sleds,” is war correspondent Michael Yon’s caption on this photo of a combat vehicle stuck in the mud in his post Amber of War. It’s an old lesson the Pentagon seems never to have learned.

I slept in the mud in Vietnam a few times on night ambush in ’69 and recall once trying hopelessly to get a jeep that had slid off the road out of the mud, but I was lucky not to have to hump through it hour after hour, day after day.

I’m not surprised there are books about it. None, however, seems as focused or as complete as Mud: A Military History, which Yon recommends and I am reading. Whoever invented body armor, heavy packs and persnickety machinery like M4s that need constant cleaning should as well. (But probably won’t.) It’s not the soldiers who have lost our recent wars, but the leadership—so-called.

The Hobbit: Sacrilege

Mr. B., who saw The Hobbit movie while visiting his grandmother in Fort Worth over New Year’s, tells me it’s really good and worth seeing. He remembers me reading the book to him twice as he was learning to read.

But one part he mentioned worries me a little. The makers apparently invented a new plot twist, possibly to enable them to spread the epic out over three movies instead of one. Something about a Goblin-Dwarf blood feud, which I suppose is logical enough.

Mr. B. says it didn’t spoil anything for him, but I’d really rather they’d have left Tolkien’s classic pristine. They can’t possibly have improved it.

UPDATE:  Richard Fernandez (Wretchard of the Belmont Club blog) delivers a brilliant review of the book and how it fits with the better-known and more popular LOTR. And the comments, alone, are worth reading.

The right to self-defense

It’s presidents like Barry and their overweening insistence on imposing their private opinions on the rest of us, by executive order if Congress can’t be pushed to do their bidding, that calls to mind the real reason for the Second Amendment to the U.S. Constitution.

It was not just about raising a militia, or about hunting for one’s supper, or even stopping a tyrannical government, but for the right of self-defense, a privilege theretofore guaranteed only to the aristos of the social elite.

Their modern descendants are trying hard now to reclaim the privilege for themselves alone via such excuses as  mass murderers like the evil bastard who slaughtered the children in Newtown. He shot each child separately, one trigger pull at a time.

That’s the definition of semi-automatic, one trigger pull per bullet, the latest proposed excuse for gun control, though it’s a feature of weaponry that’s been around more than a hundred years. Revolvers don’t strictly meet the definition but they do the same thing, bringing a new round into ready position after each pull of the trigger. Just like the evil SOB’s military-lookalike, semi-automatic Bushmaster rifle. Only a lookalike.

But self-defense is the crux of this post. Denial of the right to the masses is well expressed in Count To A Trillion, a recent fine space opera by John C. Wright, whose sequel was released in December. Reading the sequel I realized I’d forgotten the first book and so I’m reading it again. Hence this passage I want to quote:

“But it was the fact,” the main character Menelaus Montrose is thinking about life on Earth in 2400, “that the people among the crowds outside [the castle] did not wear those sashes or baldrics…none of them could carry a weapon, drunk or sober. The members of the upper class…or soldiers in their employ or retainers in their service, only they could bear arms…The fact that this world was one where not all men had the right to self-defense was one he deeply resented. Resented? No, it was a hatred, so black and primal…”

And later on he has an epiphany, reading a censored history in electronic form, realizing how easy it is for a politico to alter electronic text:

“Montrose decided then and there that a full library, one made of old-fashioned paper books with bindings, the kind that cannot be electronically re-edited by anonymous lines of hidden code, was just as much a necessity for a free man as a shooting iron….”

It’s as fashionable as ever these days to complain about our fractured, contentious society, a meme I remember hearing in slightly different form as a child way back in the dark ages of the 1950s, and it was even so back in the late 1700s when the Constitution was written.

This time, however, the dispute is over the increasing power of government, particularly federal government, and the megalomania of presidents like Barry, whose support for gun registration and other forms of control is forcing more and more of us to decide that we do not want to live in a world where only the elite can bear arms (or hire it done for them) and ebooks can be altered by sellers at their or a government censor’s whim.

UPDATE:  If Illinois Dems get their way, self-defense with guns will be a thing of the past there. Except for the aristos, of course, who’ll be exempted in one way or another. Wait and see. And the criminals will be armed as always, naturally.

Democrats: The party of Woodstock hippies

Now I don’t have anything against hippies in general. Although, in their heyday in the 1960s and 1970s, I always tried to stay upwind of them because they had a curious aversion to bathing and deodorant.

But the Woodstock hippies I never had much use for partly because while these draft-dodgers were having their pathetic love fest in the mud in the summer of 1969 I was being shot at in Vietnam. And also because they were idiots who couldn’t come in out of the rain, much less feed themselves.

“I was at Woodstock,” Mark Steyn quotes John Ratzenberger in Steyn’s After America: Get Ready for Armageddon, “I built the stage. And when everything fell apart and people were fighting for peanut butter sandwiches, it was the National Guard who came in and saved the same people who were protesting them. So when Hillary Clinton a few years ago wanted to built a Woodstock memorial, I said it should be a statue of a National Guardsman feeding a crying hippie.”

And he goes on to say that those same crying Woodstock hippies—including the Hildabeast and her lyin’, child-molesting husband Slick Willie—are the elite of today’s Democrat party. And if you vote for these high-taxing, over-regulating statists tomorrow—and particularly for our Liar President—then you are a sorry case.

So wise up. Vote Romney. And if he turns out to be another statist, too, we’ll vote his lying ass out as well.

In which I buy three books

Getting up early can be risky. But it’s what old men do. Our bladders control our sleep cycle, especially when we drink soda or water before bedtime.

Anyhow, this morning I was browsing Amazon and got intrigued by a book, and then another one, and then another one, and, almost… Amazon, so wisely, makes buying so easy. Fortunately, I finally realized what I was doing and stopped. For now. There’s always next time.

Uncle Fuehrer’s chilling love for creamed potatoes

I saw the movie, Downfall, first and am haunted by it yet. The haunting led to a search for Traudl Junge’s  book which the movie was made from and it doesn’t disappoint though it drags a little in the middle. Hannah Arendt’s famous phrase “the banality of evil” crowns Junge’s avuncular Hitler like a satanic halo.

But being banal, he has no horns or a tail. He’s only the very model of your average twencen health nut, vegetarian and dog lover who signs the orders for the murder of millions with no more attention than his occasional lectures to his devoted entourage about the dangers of smoking or the glories of creamed potatoes.

Uncle Fuehrer, as Junge reports that the Goebbels’ doomed children called him, saves his emotion for his dog, only occasionally sparing a tear for the Aryan children dying under the Allies bombs while waving away the Jewish children he murders as of no account because he doesn’t see them or their parents as human.

The movie’s star Bruno Ganz ably dramatizes the man Junge found so compelling and makes her adoration understandable. She never saw the grinning skull behind the kindly smile. Only later would she be appalled at her naive participation in a criminal regime. The movie also enlarges on her brief description (because she didn’t see it) of Mrs. G.’s careful poisoning of her children and eliminates altogether Junge’s quicky marriage to Hitler’s longtime valet before he falls in battle, presumably because it would have made the actress less sympathetic. It works in the memoir, however, to humanize what would otherwise have been a robotic Junge.

It’s only odd, perhaps, that a clip from the movie showing Hitler in a rage at bad news has been repeatedly used with appropriate subtitles for all manner of contemporary mockery on YouTube. But maybe it’s good to make Uncle Fuehrer into a clown. In Junge’s telling and Ganz’s portrayal, his ordinariness is too chilling.