The Iron City

Part of the appeal of attending NASFiC last week was the chance to see parts of the country I'd never visited before, and Saint Louis certainly qualified. And while I expected to get my fair share of full-on skiffy immersion at the convention itself, I didn't have the slightest inkling that the most affecting speculative fiction I'd experience during my week-long road trip would not be at Archon, but rather at the stunning Saint Louis Art Museum. Science fiction has struggled, rightly or wrongly, for literary acceptance for more than a century, so imagine my cognitive dissonance when coming face-to-face with science fiction as fine art. The mind boggles.

Matthew Ritchie is a British-born artist with a fixation on information and communication. One suspects he's just the sort of fellow Bruce Sterling would get along with famously. At first glance, Ritchie's not the kind of person who I'd normally think of nominating for some sort genre award, but one glance was all that it took to get me hooked on an installation piece of his titled "The Iron City."

The presentation is deceptively simple: A single ceiling-mounted projector casting a circular scene onto the wall of an unassuming alcove on the second floor of the Saint Louis Art Museum. The circular image is evocative of a ship's porthole, or perhaps the view from a submarine's periscope. Through this plays a continuous, 1.5 hour loop of a flooded, post-apocalyptic world. A richly-detailed vision which looks all the world like animated woodcut, or perhaps metal etchings. Profoundly striking, mesmerizing even, as the woodcut waves ebb and flow, breaking against ruined bridges as debris of lost civilization litter the seascape. Through surround-sound speakers mounted at various points in the room, recordings of the Earth's magnetic field play for the viewer, haunting and disconcerting. Motion sensors trigger automatic playback of pre-recorded radio transmissions, fragments of communication that are as fleeting as they are intriguing.

As I sat watching, entranced, a growing feeling came over me that I'd experience this before, and it only took me a little while to put my finger on it--reading Nevil Shute's On the Beach. Even all these years later, that stoic work of impending nuclear extinction still has quite a hold over me, it seems. "The Iron City" never quite delves into the history of this particular holocaust, but some of the snatches of radio transmissions are evocative of Heston's famous rant at the finale of Planet of the Apes.

As it is, the film unfolds at a languid pace, a desolate travelogue of animation. In one of the most striking sequences lasting more than 10 minutes, an indistinct object comes into view, and grows significantly larger as the viewer's ship/submarine creeps closer to it over the waves. A flurry of possibilities tumble through the viewer's head: Is it a derelict supertanker? A dead whale? The woodcut style, amazingly detailed yet also maddeningly imprecise, blurs the identity of the object perfectly until our view comes around the side of the object and it suddenly becomes crystal clear that those things are Saturn 5 engine nozzles the waves are sloshing in and out of. Having visited the famous rocket garden at the Johnson Space Center many times over the years, the effect was immediate and tangible for me, a proactive case of déjà vu. "The Iron City" is captivating in equal measures for its simplicity and simultaneous complexity. This could be one of the greatest computer screen savers of all time, and I don't say that in any way to diminish the level of this work, but rather to bring it to the greatest possible number of admirers.

Ritchie is no stranger to computers, or the internet either. Long before "The Iron City" became a reality, Ritchie launched an ambitiously interactive SFnal-themed project with elements both online and off. The touring art gallery aspect seems to have passed beyond this mortal coil, but the web-based component, The Hard Way, is still live, awaiting new users to find their avatar and navigate Ritchie's imaginative creation. Again, the SFnal tones are undeniable, low culture elevated to high art. This man's work is just a small glimpse of what is possible for us humble folk who work with the literature of ideas, and that's an exciting prospect. Bravo, Mr. Ritchie, for a job well done.

More pithy one-liners than the law allows

So day one of Armadillocon is over and turned out to be a pretty fun one at that. The writers workshop had good quality manuscripts (from my perspective, at least) and the structural changes Patrice and I implemented appear to have alleviated some of the "Bataan Death March" syndrome experienced in the past and left the participants fresher for the evening's programming. And Sharyn November arrived not nearly so late as she could have, missing a critique of just one of our group and promptly scheduling a make-up session with that writer for Sunday. Everyone was happy. Yay.

Saw too many people and had too many interesting conversations to relate here at this late hour, but my evening panel "Group Blogging" proved to be a blast. Some genius decided to toss the contributors of No Fear of the Future together with those nut jobs from Eat Our Brians and see what happens. Well, lots of smart-assery happens, that's what. And the truth finally came out that Steve Gould, the diseased mind behind EOB approached many of the writers on my short list for NFOTF at World Fantasy last year shortly before I approached said writers to participate in this here blog, resulting in a surreal, skiffy Comedy of Errors. Actually, it was nothing so Shakespearean, but it did a good job of making me look like a goob and everyone else on the panel sage as magi in comparison.



Above we have EOB contributors Steve Gould and Caroline Spector, with NFOTF's in-house Encyclopedia Brown stand-in, Jess Nevins. All of them are smarter and more quotable than yours truly, by the way.



And here is the rest of the panel, starting with Maureen McHugh and Brad Denton of EOB, and the incomparable Chris Nakashima-Brown from NFOTF. All of whom are more attractive and more talented than yours truly (but I suspect that goes without saying). Tomorrow should prove to be interesting, as I have my daughter's swim meet to attend in the morning before trekking back up Austin way for several panels and assorted shenanigans, some of which involves home brew beer.

Armadillocon

Here's where you'll find me pontificating this weekend, at the swank Doubletree Austin (which is decorated in a suitably surreal marriage of 1980s corporate chain hotel with Bring Me The Head of Alfredo Garcia Mexican Rancho).

ArmadilloCon 29 Schedule for Chris Nakashima-Brown

Fr2200Dz Group blogging by SF authors
Fri 10:00 PM-11:00 PM de Zavala
Nevins*, Blaschke, Nakashima-Brown, Gould, Spector,
Denton, McHugh
Jess Nevins and Chris Nakashima-Brown, et al. proffer
dueling bloggers, complete with PowerPoint live
blogging.

Fr2300Dz Why are most comic books that are made into
movies so friggin' bad?
Fri 11:00 PM-Midnight de Zavala
Roberson*, Nakashima-Brown, Porter, Wilson, Miles,
Klaw
Every once in awhile, a comic book movie will be
great, but for the most part, they are terrible. Is
it the screenplay? The director? The acting? The
comic book? Or something else?

Sa1800De Reading
Sat 6:00 PM-6:30 PM DeWitt
Chris Nakashima-Brown

Sa2100PN Politics in the 21st century and beyond
Sat 9:00 PM-10:00 PM Phoenix North
Conrad*, Nakashima-Brown, Rountree, Taylor, Stoddard,
Trimm, Spencer
How will today's politics affect future genre-related
media?

A preview of my reading (an excerpt from a new story, "Scrapbook from an Interrogation"):

IV. Regarding middle-class white boys

What a fucking awesome party. Talk about “obscene enjoyment.” Who knew the mujahideen assassins would have even better reefer than those Scythian priests camped out on top of the parking garage doing their blood bowls? The whole thing was like a post-apocalyptic Cheech and Chong flick.

Osama opened up his Blofeldian mountain hideout for a house party. The place was shaking with woofed up synthesized Fezcore running through the rebar. You were kind of spaced out, writing rhymeless poems in your bad calligraphy on the fuselages of the anti-aircraft missiles arrayed for launch. I got lost in the rave Abu Ghraib downstairs, with all the Dionysian Abercrombie P.O.W.s acting out their skankiest warporn fantasies. “Frat boys are so much better when they are on leashes,” you said. I came looking for the tough loving Lynndie England of my private midnights, and instead I found you. Who knew a latex Barbara Bush mask could be so fucking hot?

Liberian teenagers toting AK-47s haul ass down the David Addington Allée in an overloaded Lincoln Navigator with the top sawed off, dragging the bodies of a well-regarded architect and your vice president of marketing behind the car. You tell me to throw something at them, but come on, you know what a chicken shit I really am. I could lose my job.

In the bar called Heaven, they have all these Lolita-looking chicks cage dancing over the crowd like a Christmas tree decorated with clips from an old Robert Palmer video. After I drove your exploding X5 through the main reception lobby of your glass and steel office complex in a pathetic but undisputably stylin’ effort to free you (or at least get your attention), I hung out in the club until sun-up, drinking blue martinis in the hope that they would rewire my brain.

Armadillocon off the port bow

Tomorrow is Armadillocon in Austin, and I still haven't quite caught my breath from Archon 31/NASFiC in St. Louis this past weekend. That'll teach me to look at the calendar more closely. In any event, fellow No Fear of the Future contributors Chris Nakashima-Brown, Jess Nevins and Alexis Glynn Latner will be in attendance as well. Here's my schedule (not included is Friday's day-long writers workshop):

ArmadilloCon 29 Schedule for Jayme Lynn Blaschke

Fr2200Dz Group blogging by SF authors
Fri 10:00 PM-11:00 PM de Zavala
Nevins*, Blaschke, Nakashima-Brown, Gould, Spector,
Denton, McHugh
Jess Nevins and Chris Nakashima-Brown, et al. proffer
dueling bloggers, complete with PowerPoint live
blogging.

Sa1200De Revolution SF
Sat Noon-1:00 PM DeWitt
Klaw*, Finn, Bey, Wilson, Blaschke, Porter
Being an editor for a small SF site can be
challenging.

Sa2000De Hypotheticals
Sat 8:00 PM-9:00 PM DeWitt
Porter*, Roberson, Sturges, Wilson, Blaschke, Benjamin
A role playing panel wherein comics professionals take
a set of interlinked and developing hypothetical
scenarios regarding the comic book industry and play
them out. There’s no audience participation, other
than the audience getting a lot of enjoyment out of
it.

Su1300De Mythology/Schmythology
Sun 1:00 PM-2:00 PM DeWitt
Wilson*, Gilman, Blaschke, Denton, Gould, Kimbriel,
Spector
In presupposing that only a "chosen one" and/or
demi-god can save the world, are Star Wars, Harry
Potter, Lord of the Rings and other such works
anti-humanist at the core?

I'm quite looking forward to Alan Porter's "Hypotheticals" panel, which I understand was originated in the U.K. by Alan Moore and some other folks whose names escape me. It should be an interesting romp. Also, we're finally doing an actual Revolution SF panel after several years of threatening to do so--any time you get Mark Finn and Rick Klaw on the same panel, watch out. $20 and a jelly donut says apes manage to creep into the conversation at some point.

Postmodern Flotsam

Zandvoort.

Lost Books, Part II: Aggressor Six, by Wil McCarthy

Yet another damn good book that shouldn't be out of print, Wil McCarthy's Aggressor Six is not only one of the best first contact stories I've ever read, it's also one of the very best first sf novels. It combines the well-worn military sf idea of a war against a spacefaring insectoid foe, a la Starship Troopers and Ender's Game, with the badly-neglected idea of humans trying to understand and communicate with an alien race which thinks as intelligently as we do but differently.

McCarthy's insectoids, the Waisters, are far more advanced technologically than the spacefaring humans and are systematically wiping out our colonies, even though we apparently pose little threat. The heroes aren't trying to retaliate: they're trying to tell the Waisters that we don't want to fight. We're trying to surrender before we're made extinct.

The 'Aggressor Six' of the title is a group of five people and a Martian retriever trying to simulate, and thereby understand, the behaviour of standard Waister fighting team: a Queen, two workers, two drones, and a 'dog'. The most recent recruit is Marine Corporal Kenneth Jonson, a hero (e.g. one of the few survivors) of the 'Flyswatter' operation, a raid on a shattered Waister scoutship. Jonson, who has seen the Waisters raze his native Albuquerque, uses implants and equipment to help himself see and vocalize like a Waister. Wracked with post-traumatic stress and living in a recreation of a Waister ship as well as a Waister social unit, he throws himself into the nightmarish task of trying to think like the enemy and work out the reasons for their genocidal and apparently illogical strategy.

Increasing the tension, the Waisters have just killed another seven million humans on one planet and are headed for the system where the psyops team is stationed, the commander in charge of the project thinks it's a bad idea and is trying to isolate them, and most of Jonson's team-mates suspect he's going crazy.

Intelligent, taut and fast-paced, with an advanced technology that I found utterly convincing (McCarthy is Chief Technology Officer for Galileo Shipyards, an aerospace firm), the novel had me completely hooked as soon as I met Shenna, the voder-equipped dog, on the second page. And I'm a cat person.

Apart from Jonson, xenobiologist Marshe Talbott (the six's 'queen') and the rigid Colonel Jhee, the rest of the characterisation is pared back to a minimum, but this fits the economical style and the claustrophobic tone of pressure and urgency. And the depiction of the scientific process is so interesting that even if the survival of the human race didn't depend on the six finding a solution, it would still be a riveting novel for those of us interested in well-crafted puzzles.

It amazes and saddens me that this excellent book is out of print, unfilmed, and so little known. If you see a copy, grab it.

The long way to St. Louis

Normally, driving from Memphis to St. Louis is a straightforward affair. Simply take I-55 north and you're there 3-plus hours later. Except when I'm in this part of the country--which is to say, almost never--certain opportunities are not to be missed. Therefore, I did not drive to St. Louis in a straightforward manner, but rather took a more circuitous route, but one that was significantly more rewarding.

It's not every day I get a chance to drive through Metropolis and see the giant Superman statue, not to mention visit the Superman Museum. And the statue is giant, as they say. I stood beside it and my head only came up to the Big Blue Boy Sout's knee. Photos may follow, once I get home from NASFiC. The museum itself was a fun--if cluttered-affair. Tons of collectables from over the years, not to mention movie props and displays from everything from the old George Reeves television series to Superman Returns. There was a surprising amount of material from the late, unlamented Superboy series, and an entire room (well, room is something of a strong word. Let's say "squarish, closed-off section") devoted to Kara Zor-El, aka Supergirl. One of the highlights for me was one of the actual space suits worn by the ill-fated astronauts from Superman II. That was pretty cool, as were all the 1970s-vintage Slurpee cups from 7-11, Pepsi glasses, chunks of translucent green Kryptonite, and, bizarrely, quite a few Underdog toys. Why Underdog? I saw only one Mighty Mouse toy on display, which makes more sense, since the original incarnation of Mighty Mouse was litigated out of existence due to blatant similarity to Superman. But Underdog? I don't get it.

I feel a little sorry for the workers at the Superman Museum/Gift Shop, however. The entire time we were there, a non-stop loop of John Williams' Superman soundtrack interspliced with various "Superfriends" theme music incarnations played over the speaker system. Even for someone like me, who really gets jazzed hearing those great, bombastic melodies, it was wearing pretty thin by the time we left. But hey, where else are you going to see one of the evening gowns Terri Hatcher wore on Lois & Clark, or Christopher Reeve's toupee collection from the first movie, or Nuclear Man's black leather boots (far less intimidating than the Phantom Zone criminals' black boots, which were also on display). For that alone, it's more than worth it.