Christopher East

David Marusek’s Mind Over Ship (2009) is the sequel to his highly inventive debut novel Counting Heads, and my only real complaint about it is that the story follows right on the heels of its predecessor without much in the way of a recap…and in light of the complexity of this world, this is one novel that could have used a “previously on” summary.  Anyway it took a while for me to re-immerse myself, but once I caught back up, I was fully onboard.  (That said, if you haven’t read either of them, I highly recommend reading them one right after the other.)

Marusek’s work was a major influence on me in the heady, early days of my post-Clarion, world-conquering delusional state (oh would that my SF was half as accomplished!), and it was certainly a huge inspiration for Futurismic.  His visions of the future are vibrant, edgy, busy, funny, brave, scary, and — perhaps most importantly — truly forward-looking.  At the peak of my frustration with short SF’s tendency toward the nostalgic in the late 90s/early 2000s, Marusek’s stories were among the few that actually seemed to be building tomorrows that felt as if they were extrapolated from contemporary conditions, rather than on recycled tropes, future shock, or crusty wish-fulfillment.

One of those stories, and perhaps Marusek’s most famous, is “We Were Out of Our Minds With Joy” (what a great title), and Counting Heads is an expansion of that unforgettable tale.  Its world is characterized by a burgeoning clone economy, runaway nanotech, vast overpopulation, wildly advanced telecommunications, ruthless and ambitious megacorporations, and truly ubiquitous surveillance — among many, many other things.

Mind Over Ship (what a, well, not-so-great title) picks up right where Counting Heads left off, focusing on many of the major characters of the first book:  chiefly Fred Londenstane, the notorious “russ” iterant who famously went off-task and is now a walking pariah in clonedom; but also his wife Mary, a member of the unstable “evangeline” germline; Ellen Starke, the beheaded (and re-headed) leader of Starke Enterprises; and Bishop Meewee, Starke’s right-hand man.  The central storyline involves an enormous capitalist venture to seed the galaxy with Oships, filled with cryogenically frozen colonists, an enterprise already heavily underway as the novel begins.  Corporate rivalries, however, threaten the project, leading to much backstage maneuvering by the participant powers to leverage it.  Meanwhile, the hapless iterants Fred and Mary are struggling to make sense of their altered circumstances, as the stability of the clone economy faces unexpected new stresses.

If this doesn’t sound interesting enough to you — trust me, it’s my writing’s fault, not Marusek’s.  Once I got swept into the flow of invention again, the book clicked along engagingly, with new surprises and big ideas on every page.  Marusek’s world-building is so detailed and fascinating that even the old lifeship chestnut felt freshly imagined to me.

On some levels, the novel isn’t all that structurally satisfying — throughout, I had a difficult time finding the “shape” of the story.  Instead, it feels more like a succession of inventive, connected episodes leading to an unexpected but quite satisfying end, that ultimately ties together many of the various ideas and subplots.  It could be that the profusion of ideas and characters make seeing the wood for the trees a bit more difficult; indeed, I suspect Marusek’s information-rich style is better suited to the short form, ultimately.  On the other hand, the unpredictable, runaway train unfolding of events does seem more consistent with reality, which makes Marusek’s vision seem that much more relevant and in touch.  However you slice it, in the end I closed the book happy, and eager for more.  (I hope it doesn’t take another four years, but if it does, at least this time I’ll have a record of my impressions to look back on!)

On Saturday we met up with friends at the Arclight to see J.J. Abrams’ Star Trek reboot.  In general, I’m not a big fan of reboots* — every successful reboot, I think, “validates” Hollywood’s tendency to greenlight old ideas over new ones, sigh — but even so, I have to admit the Star Trek reboot was pretty fun.

No need to go all plot summary on this one, really — if you’ve seen the original Star Trek, you’ll know largely what to expect.  Suffice it to say the central conceit cleverly relaunches the franchise, and the films riffs off the old formulas amusingly.  I also thought it was very well cast, with the new versions of the old characters generally both recapturing them and bringing a little something extra.  (In particular, I got a kick out of Karl Urban as Dr. McCoy.)  The science is…well, heh.  And like many blockbuster films these days, sometimes it overdoes it on the visual effects — so wrapped up in what can be done, it forgets to make it look believable, or to, you know, let us see what’s going on.

But, on the whole, it’s an enjoyable new spin on the old Star Trek universe — Abrams is definitely a canny hitmaker.

* Not that I wouldn’t love to see Mission: Impossible re-rebooted to television, sans Tom Cruise.  But then, if you know me, you’ve probably already inferred this…

Over the weekend, I finished off the last of the Futurismic submissions in my pile…which means for the next two weeks, I’m officially on vacation as fiction editor.  Woohoo!

If anyone’s still waiting to hear from me about a story they submitted (and they somehow find this post!), feel free to send me a query.  Otherwise I’ll get back to work in early June.

I’m probably several months (maybe even years) late on this meme, but oh well…and besides, I haven’t written nearly as much about music as I’d thought I would when I started this blog.  Anyway, here are fifteen formative albums, roughly in the order I discovered them:

1.  Sgt. Pepper’s Lonely Hearts Club Band, The Beatles, 1967.  Okay, not a very original pick…but hey.  I grew up in a family of classical musicians.  When I was a kid, this was the only rock album they owned.  (Except for some Rolling Stones album, but I’m just going to pretend that didn’t exist…)  At the time, I think I seized on Sgt. Pepper’s because it was a not-classical album, but I think in some way it must have led me, however indirectly, toward the weird, highly produced stuff I listen to now.

2.  Freedom of Choice, Devo, 1980.  “Whip It” was the first single I ever bought, and I’m guessing Freedom of Choice was the first album.  This band kind of jumped the shark in the late eighties, but at its best Devo — with its robotic beats, heavy innovative synthesizers, and underrated songwriting — was far more inventive and influential than anyone gave them credit for.  On the whole I think I prefer their 1981 follow-up New Traditionalists, but Freedom of Choice was definitely the gateway drug to my first ever favorite band.

3.  Nothing to Fear, Oingo Boingo, 1982.  Boingo is probably known as “that New Wave band that was in all those movies” to most people, but I think these guys — led by the enigmatic Danny Elfman — were way ahead of their time.  Mashing New Wave, funk, ska, reggae, and other influences together, Boingo pointed me at everything from Third Wave ska to punk to the Mr. Bungle school of heavily produced post-modernism to classic film scores.  The influence of these guys is written all over the alternative music of the 1990s and 2000s.

4.  Ship Arriving Too Late to Save a Drowning Witch, Frank Zappa, 1982.  I think this album found its way into our house because my brother and I were amused by “Valley Girl.”  The twelve-year-old me didn’t guess that it was the B side, in particular the title track, that would stick with me over time.   “Drowning Witch” features not one but two of my favorite Frank Zappa guitar solos — and he took a lot of guitar solos! — plus brilliant back-up from bassist Scott Thunes and drummer Chad Wackerman.  Plus there’s “Envelopes,” which is one of the most complicated and weird songs anyone has ever written…and yet, I’ve heard it so many times now, its every crazy note seems inevitable.  This one pointed me down the path of Zappa.

5.  Truth & Soul, Fishbone, 1988.  I played the drums in a garage band in high school…until we needed a bassist, and a better drummer was available.  I switched to bass basically because I could figure things out by ear.  I’m not sure I fell in love with the bass until I heard John Norwood Fisher play the solo in “Bonin’ in the Boneyard.”  That was my first “Holy Crap!” bass-listening moment.

6.  Mother’s Milk, Red Hot Chili Peppers, 1989.  I almost hate to admit this now, since I can barely stomach the new Chili Peppers, but I can’t deny Mother’s Milk pretty much taught me how to play the bass.  It was all downhill for me with these guys when Rick Rubin took over, but there will always be a special place in my heart for Flea.  (And, for the record, in retrospect I still think Freaky Styley is their best.)

7.  Mr. Bungle (self-titled), 1991.  When I first heard this album, I remember thinking with some frustration, “Sheesh, these guys never sustain their ideas.”  A few listens later, I remember thinking with much approval, “Wow, these guys never sustain their ideas!!”  The first, much-imitated Bungle album threw in everything but the kitchen sink.  It’s full of left turns, clashing styles, and constantly shifting meters, all with a demented evil carnival vibe.  Highly influential stuff.

8.  Sailing the Seas of Cheese, Primus, 1991.  I will never forget turning on the car radio while delivering pizzas one night just in time to hear Les Claypool’s bass solo in “Tommy the Cat.”  Probably my second major “Holy Crap!” bass-listening moment — and also the moment I realized, “Hey — the bass, it’s a percussion instrument!” For all that I love Les Claypool, nearly everything he’s done since this album (much of which I still like) has been a bit too…unedited, rambly, maybe a bit indulgent.  Seas of Cheese had that perfect balance of utterly extreme Primus musicianship and tight, controlled songwriting.  I don’t think this band ever got it more right than “Jerry Was a Race Car Driver.”

9.  Disco Volante, Mr. Bungle, 1995.  As much as I liked their first album, I really think Disco Volante is Mr. Bungle’s dark masterpiece, the pinnacle of their work.  The first time I heard it, I was a bit disappointed it wasn’t similar to Mr. Bungle, and then of course I realized that was at least part of the point.  This is a creepy album with mind-blowing musicianship, and unlike anything else.  The tracks “Chemical Marriage,” “Carry Stress in Thy Jaw,” and “Ma Meeshka Mow Skwoz” never get old for me.

10.  Roxy & Elsewhere, Frank Zappa & the Mothers of Invention, 1974.  In the mid-nineties I went on a serious All Zappa, All the Time kick.  I think it was the Roxy album that hooked me.  I was never a better bass player than when I was jamming in my apartment along with  “Cheepnis,” “Pygmy Twylyte,” and “Don’t You Ever Wash That Thing?”  This is the album people that don’t like Zappa seem to like, and I think it definitely got me to listen to more of his stuff.

11.  Check Your Head, Beastie Boys, 1992.  This is, simply, an awesome rap-funk album…but I include it mainly because it taught me a lesson.  I thought the Beastie Boys were talentless radio sellouts, and then this album came along to defy my (highly uninformed, to be honest) impression of them.  I think it opened my mind a little…

12.  Stravinsky’s Rite of Spring.  Growing up surrounded by classical musicians, I kind of, well, refused to listen to classical music.  At best, I took it for granted.  But when the weird musicians I liked started citing classical influences, I decided to give it another chance, and Stravinsky really connected.  This piece is really, really cool.

13.  Entertainment!, Gang of Four, 1980.  I tend to prefer big, complicated, heavily produced studio albums.  It took some doing, but Entertainment! – which is raw, spare, and really punk — convinced me that sometimes, even for me, less can be more.

14.  First Grand Constitution & Bylaws, Secret Chiefs 3, 1996.  The first album by my favorite band ever: weird, clever, progressive mix of Middle Eastern melodies, metal guitars, techno beats, and more. They just keep getting better.

15.  Chaosphere, Meshuggah, 1998.  The first time I heard this, I found it virtually unlistenable.  This is progressive, extreme death metal, with impossible time signatures.  I found it completely inaccessible…but kept listening.  And then one day I deciphered this really heavy sequence in “Corridor of Chameleons” and sort of got it.  For all the growling and guitars, Meshuggah is all about the drumming for me.  Even as it hurts my ears, I can’t get enough of Tomas Haake bashing out metronomic quarter notes with one hand while the rest of his limbs are basically performing advanced calculus equations in several different meters simultaneously.  He is not human!

Okay, if it’s an old, dead meme, is it still contagious?

It looks like Dollhouse has been renewed for a second, 13-episode season.  Some will disagree with me, but I think it’s good news!

After watching the pilot, I came away disappointed, but hopeful.  With the first season in the books, I’m still not entirely on board, but it definitely got better as the season went along.  My nutshell impression:  I definitely don’t love the show, but I find it occasionally strong and always conceptually intriguing.  There are still a ton of possibilities to explore with the idea, and I’m intrigued to see how they continue to develop this problematic but interesting premise.

Some random thoughts about season one:

•    I really think the show suffered, especially in the early stages, from being a vehicle for Eliza Dushku — and I say that without regard to her acting, whatever you may think about it.  Dushku just isn’t the star of Dollhouse, to me, or anyway she shouldn’t be; the Dollhouse is the star of Dollhouse.  The premise has its flaws, but it’s the premise that interests me and keeps me coming back.
•    This show has one of the worst theme songs of all time.  Seriously.  I mean, it gives me a bad physical reaction…
•    Not a hell of a lot of sympathetic characters on this show, are there?  Only the Actives are sympathetic…and they’re all incapable of “protagging.”  Talk about a writing conundrum…
•    I think I’d rather see Amy Acker take on a new role every week than either Dushku or Dieter Lachman (Sierra).
•    If they ever let me reboot Mission: Impossible as a TV series (and hey, uh, I’m available!) I think Enver Gjokaj (Victor) is my Rollin Hand.  Of the regular cast members, he is by far the stand-out for me — and he’s certainly the Active whose mission-of-the-week play-acting I most looked forward to seeing.
•    Boyd sure got boring, didn’t he?
•    I can’t say I like Topher (Fran Kranz), but I find him kind of fascinating.  At first it seemed he was supposed to be the Xander/Wash figure on the show, but his ethics are so wack…now I find the tonal clash of him kind of compelling.
•    Alan Tudyk is fucking brilliant.  His performance in “Briar Rose” alone made watching the lame-to-mediocre “bottle shows” of the early days worth it.  (Speaking of Tudyk, every time I see him in that commercial with Dule Hill, where they’re both lying on the floor of a bank during a hold-up, I always think to myself:  “Alan Tudyk, Dule Hill — I’d totally watch that show.  What channel is that on?”  OK, this had nothing to do with Dollhouse…)

Anyway Dollhouse definitely hasn’t captured my heart the way Buffy and Angel did, but to be honest the first seasons of those shows weren’t pure gold for me either — and the second seasons really caught fire.  (Oh, if only Firefly had gotten that chance…)  I’m looking forward to season two; hopefully it will continue to improve as it goes along.

I’ve done a decent amount of writing since I moved to Los Angeles — scripts, outlines, spec pilots, rewrites, a novel-in-progress — but this afternoon I actually finished a draft of the first new short story I’ve written in a long time.  Woot!   The tentative title is “Perception Shift,” and it’s a standalone spinoff story from my near-future spy novel-in-progress.

There was a time for me when completing short stories happened so often, it didn’t even feel worthy of mentioning, but lately every paragraph of fiction feels like an accomplishment, so getting a draft done feels pretty awesome.

Night Watch (2004), a dark urban fantasy from Russia,  has been half on my radar for a while now, and I finally caught up with it on Netflix.  And it’s about damn time…good stuff!

As a result of an ancient truce between the powers of light and darkness, there exists, underneath the mundane surface of Moscow, a clandestine battle of wills between the forces of good and evil.  Composed entirely of Others — special individuals who can see into the magical underworld — are two rival groups, the Night Watch (Light Others) and the Day Watch (Dark Others), who serve to keep each other in check.  The protagonist, a young man named Anton (Konstantin Khabenskiy), is an Other with a unique power of futuresight, and has chosen the path of light.  Teamed up with shapeshifters and other forces of the Night Watch — who work for the City Light Company, many of them on eletrician covers — Anton roams the streets, protecting the innocent from the vampiric Dark Others.  Then the stakes jump when a young woman with a curse looks as though she may be the source of an imminent apocalypse…

Suffice it to say that Night Watch is a real treat, an iconic battle of good and evil set in the mean streets of Moscow.  It’s a visually striking film with a distinct directorial eye — something along the lines of Terry Gilliam, Jean-Pierre Jeunet or Guillermo del Toro — with effective and often surprising special effects.  The plot is something of a clutter, jam-packed with fantasy elements and ideas, and while it’s hardly a clinic in streamlined story-telling, I found it entirely compelling, and it all clips along so briskly it never felt confusing.  Its story-telling material is much in the manner of, say, Buffy the Vampire Slayer or Angel, but viewed through a darker, vastly different cultural lens.

There is already a sequel, Day Watch, and if I’m not mistaken there is a third installment in the works to round out the trilogy.  The opening chapter was thoroughly enjoyable, and I’m definitely anxious to see the sequels.

I seem to have two reactions to reading James Patrick Kelly.  One is to get depressed that I will never write such a great story.  The other is to get inspired and try to write one anyway.  Strange But Not a Stranger is his second major collection, and like his first it’s full of  great stuff.  On style and subject matter alone I think I preferred Think Like a Dinosaur and Other Stories – I mean, it’s got “Rat” and “Standing in Line with Mr. Jimmy” and “Mr. Boy,” this is formative stuff for me — but on sheer quality this second collection is at least as strong, and perhaps even a bit more adventurous.  (It’s also re-readable — I caught many of these stories when they came out, and it was well worth visiting them again.)

I believe the title phrase is a Talking Heads lyric, and it’s an apt one for this collection.  Many of the fifteen stories here are indeed strange, but not unfamiliar…Kelly is adept at taking SF’s staple ideas and giving them a new spin, and often walks the line nicely between the old sense of wonder and the new and forward-looking.  “10^16 to 1,” for example, is a nostalgic look back at Cold War nuclear dread, but still resonates with contemporary relevance.  Similarly, “Undone” reflects the wild far-futures of some of Kelly’s influences, and manages even to dust off one of SF’s hoariest old tropes for its plot, but its still feels very now.  It’s no coincidence that these two stories — among the book’s strongest — open and close the volume; they probably speak the most to its unspoken theme.  (Which, uh, hopefully I’m not just imagining…)  See also his ghost story (“The Cruelest Month”), his lifeship journey (“The Propagation of Light in a Vacuum”), and a tale examining the future of VR entertainment (“Feel the Zaz”)…maybe this is years of reading slush talking, but these are fairly common core SF story ideas.  At his best, Kelly executes them brilliantly with an inventive spin…but usually, at the least, he pulls them off solidly.

Only a few of the stories here didn’t work for me entirely — specifically, the short-shorts, which struck me as either a bit too twee (“Unique Visitors”) or  perhaps a bit too opaque (“Hubris” and “The Pyramid of Amirah”).  Even so, these three are written with verve and class.  Meanwhile, some of the stories are downright brilliant.  “Lovestory,” which examines an alien society with three gender roles, is a wonderfully executed tale of otherworldly culture shock (and maybe the single most impressive story on offer); “The Prisoner of Chillon” is a classic cyberpunk, proto-futurismic tale involving corporate espionage and the early stages of AI; and “Chemistry” is a terrifically engaging tale of pharmaceutically enhanced speed-dating in the near future.

It’s easy to see why Asimov’s turned publishing a Kelly story into an annual event; his stories feel like events, and in light of the short form’s increasing lack of impact, this is refreshing to see.  Overall it’s a very satisfying collection; I’m very much looking forward to his third.

It’s a new month, which means new fiction over at Futurismic. Head on over there and check out the intense and powerful story  “Under an Arctic Sky” by promising new writer Stephen Gaskell.  And while you’re at it, enjoy some blog posts!