Category Archives: Library

The Kings of Eternity

I’ve yet to read a bad science fiction story by Brit author Eric Brown and Kings of Eternity, a tale of conferred immortality is certainly one of his best. It’s his characters and their inner lives that make the books as interesting as they are, even when the plot is as imaginatively intricate as it is here.

I’d also recommend Starship Summer and Penumbra, which are similar space operas, both about spiritual enlightenment. Brown’s endings tend to be a little bit rushed, but considering the wealth of what has come before them, making too much of that would be churlish.

I spit into the face of Time

THE LAMENTATION OF THE OLD PENSIONER

by: William Butler Yeats (1865-1939)

    • LTHOUGH I shelter from the rain
      Under a broken tree
      My chair was nearest to the fire
      In every company
      That talked of love or politics,
      Ere Time transfigured me.
      Though lads are making pikes again
      For some conspiracy,
      And crazy rascals rage their fill
      At human tyranny,
      My contemplations are of Time
      That has transfigured me.
      There’s not a woman turns her face
      Upon a broken tree,
      And yet the beauties that I loved
      Are in my memory;
      I spit into the face of Time
      That has transfigured me.

 

Fortress On The Sun

There’s nothing typical about this space opera, with some intricate overtones of hard science involving the biochemistry of the brain. The more you read the more the clever story unfolds until, pretty soon, you’re in a very different place from where you started—which is all the spoiler I’m giving.

Really nice work by author Paul Cook in this second tale of his that I’ve read since the equally-intriguing The Engines of Dawn. I took one star off, however, for the recurring and very annoying typos in the Kindle edition, none of which, I’m sure, are the author’s fault.

They’re mainly proper end-of-line hyphens turned into improper middle-of-a-line hyphens in the process of formatting the text in HTML. There’s really no excuse for such lazy proofreading (or, more likely, no proofreading) by a mainstream publisher who ought to be thoroughly ashamed.

Another good book

It was a pleasure to meet the real Rough Rider and Bull Moose in his most difficult moments, in The River of Doubt: Theodore Roosevelt’s Darkest Journey. Although it was very disquieting to learn the harsh fate of his sons.

This is quite a good book, which deftly shows the value of civic virtues we have long since left behind, for better or worse. It also keeps the advertised suspense going all the way, though I felt at times the author was padding the story. Still, it’s primarily an intensely interesting bit of little-remembered history that’s well worth your time and money.

Coming Apart: The State of White America, 1960-2010

We’ve known for years the seldom-discussed fact that black American families were disintegrating. Too many black fathers seemingly are unable to marry the (white or black) mothers of their children or to stick around to help raise them. They are often unwilling to work, and frequently wind up in prison. Then their abandoned children grow up and follow suit. More single mothers with babies. More fleeing and imprisoned fathers.

Author Charles Murray doesn’t discuss any of that. He apparently learned not to after the Bell Curve. What he does, via voluminous statistics, surveys, a few anecdotes and much good writing, is show that this pursuit of irresponsibility has now spread to an appalling percentage of formerly working class white American men and women. In a growing new lower class, these men are isolated, intentionally unemployed and on welfare. The women are struggling with single parenting. Among them, the traditional American virtues of industriousness, marriage, religious observance, and community involvement have almost vanished.

You can see the declining industriousness on just about any urban street corner where the beggars have long been almost uniformly white and black men seeking cigarettes and beer money their food stamps will not buy. No Asians, very few Latinos. They’re too busy working, taking care of their families, going to church and helping out in youth sports or Cub Scouts. Illegal immigration just might be the prop that keeps our burgeoning welfare state from collapse.

Murray doesn’t mention that either. He tries to be optimistic in the face of an analysis that points to national doom. Our expanding welfare state helps this new lower class grow and raises the ante in unprecedented national debt. Murray hopes for a Great Awakening in which the majority finally figure out that the feckless and corrupt politicians of both parties are taking us all for a ride, but it seems more likely we’ll first have to follow Europe into bankruptcy.

A covey of Hueys

Found this scouting out some public domain shots for the cover of my new Vietnam War novel, “The Butterfly Rose,” which will soon be available for the Kindle.

I decided to use another snap but kept this one on the desktop because it’s so unusual. Hardly the stereotype shot of a covey of Hueys in flight, which is usually taken from the front or the side. Neat, tho. This way you see the side doors which slid all the way back when opened and the rear stabilizer.

I also like that the door gunner on the left side of the bird in the foreground has his arm stuck out the open door holding onto the wooden grips of the M-60 machinegun.

Hector the Hero

This Scottish lament, a pretty song which I recently learned to play on the violin, has a curious history to go along with its curious title.

It was composed in 1903 by Scottish fiddler J. Scott Skinner to honor a friend—a Scottish general in the British army who was publically accused of homosexuality with boys. Which is pedophilia rather than homosexuality, but folks weren’t drawing distinctions in those days, and homosexual sex was illegal. You could go to prison for it.

A government commission later exonerated him but it was too late for the general.  He had promptly killed himself— either confirming the accusation or simply acknowledging that his name would be forever besmirched.

“Lament him, ye mountains of Ross-shire;
Your tears be the dew and the rain;
Ye forests and straths, let the sobbing winds
Unburden your grief and pain.”

 

Scottish Shetland fiddlers Jenna Reid and Aly Bain play a nice version of it here. Needless to say my own version (so far minus their good vibrato and delicate sustained bowing) is rather robotic, but, hey, I’m working on it.