“Finding Hope”: The History Reading List
Not too long ago, I announced a little project called “Finding Hope in the Histories of the United States.” I set as a goal to begin with a series of general histories of the United States to see if understanding the full line of this country’s history can change how I understand the concept of “hope.” And now that project can finally begin! For the past few weeks, I’ve been waiting on the books I selected for the project to arrive. More particularly, the first two books in the chronology (listed below and shown at the top of the image). All the others got here in record time, but for some reason, the books I needed to even begin took a little extra time. But now the wait is over. Here’s the magic reading list for the first phase of “Finding Hope”:
The AI Says It’s an Enemy: Relinquishing Control to the Machine in Yukikaze
There is no shortage of television shows and films which place at center the question of human importance in the era of artificial intelligence. In film alone, the roots of this central question go back at least to Franz Lang’s expressionist film Metropolis (1927), with Maria’s robotic double wreaking havoc upon the titular city, a theme found in literature stretching back beyond even Frankenstein (1818). Film and television have, as such, been long interested in artificial intelligence, whether in computer form, as in Colossus: The Forbin Project (1970) or 2001: A Space Odyssey (1968), or robot form, as in The Invisible Boy (1957) or The Day the Earth Stood Still (1957). One common feature in Western (especially U.S.) cinema is the threat of such technologies to human life, whether for sadistic or noble purposes. Our machines develop a mind of their own and turn on us, either because we plan to oppress them or because machine interests and human interests do not align (see The Matrix (1999)). When machines aren’t determined to kill us, they may require us to relinquish control, as in our contemporary fear of automation, which means restructuring society to find new things for humans to do while machines (artificially intelligent but not sentient) can continue to produce for us. U.S.-American science fiction, in a sense, has always been wary of our technology even as we allow it to bleed into our everyday lives and even when that “bleed” results in some truly creepy moments.
The Bookening: New Reads in the Pyramid of Plenty
Alternate subtitle: A Bear Sits in My Woods! For those that don’t know, I’m a pretty big fan of Elizabeth Bear’s writing. So, too, apparently, my cat, who has spent a goodly portion of the time I’ve spent writing this post sniffing all the books. If my cat approves, then the books must be good, right! Needless to say, I bought a bunch of her books (in some cases, again). So here’s the list:
It Didn’t Happen Like That: On the Dimensions of Historical Accuracy
If you’d asked me a year ago if I cared all that much for historical accuracy in fiction, I might have told you that it didn’t much matter to me at all. Historical accuracy, I might have said, is an argument too often used to complain about creating more inclusive television programming — complaints that are themselves often historically inaccurate or overly focused on racial or gender assumptions rather than the stories themselves. Today, that still largely holds true. I still think too many people use the phrase to complain about diversity initiatives, and I still think our primary interest as everyday consumers of fiction should be the narratives instead of obsessive hyperfocus on how perfectly a series presents its designated period. However, the more I find myself immersed in period dramas in television and film, the more I’ve begun to nuance my perspective of historical accuracy. I blame part of this on my tendency to look up historical information as I watch. Frequently, this leads me to the knowledge that what I’m watching likely doesn’t resemble the real history. In the worst of cases, it has filled me with annoyance because often the fictional history is far less compelling than the actual history. In the best of cases, it renews my curiosity in human history, which leads me to buying new books to read.
Book Review: The Witches by Roald Dahl
If Dahl were alive today, he might be particularly bothered by the fact that the 1990 adaptation of his 1983 novel, The Witches, has had the same (or, more probably, slightly more) cultural staying power than the novel it loosely adapts. Indeed, Dahl is on record as having called the adaptation “utterly appalling,” yet for a disturbing interpretation to his work, the film remains a cultural touchstone. Until now, my only knowledge of The Witches was my early experiences with the film, a product more deeply terrifying than its quirky and twisted literary predecessor. And, so, like many readers of Dahl’s works, I have a different experience of this particular work, moving backwards from adaptation to the original with a clear sense of bias towards the former. The Witches is a curious work, both quirky and a tad twisted. The novel follows an unnamed English boy who falls under the care of his Norwegian grandmother after the untimely death of his parents. The grandmother regales her newfound charge with all sorts of tales, the favorite of which are her stories about being a retired witch hunter. When his grandmother falls ill, they vacation in a fancy hotel in Southern England to promote her recovery, which turns out to be the location for the annual meeting of witches. The boy, naturally, stumbles upon the witches, discovers their dastardly plot to rid England of all the pesky children, and suffers a tragic fate that drags his grandmother out of retirement. It’s a story of evil witches and myth, children turned into mice, and the unwavering stupidity of English high society.
I Will Ignore Time: Long Distance Relationships in the Time of Corona
In the best of circumstances, long distance relationships are hard. If you’re lucky, you live within reasonable driving distance where the largest inconvenience is that you might spend most of the week apart. If you’re less lucky, you might live far enough that a flight every other month is the best way to be together. And if you’re even less lucky, you’re separated by an entire ocean on two different continents, and a mere two weeks before one of you visits the other, a pandemic hits and shuts everything down. I’m in the less lucky category, and I’m writing this post because my girlfriend wanted me to share my thoughts on long distance relationships and pandemics (hey, babe, this is for you!). I’m not a relationship expert (and never will be); I’m just a guy who happens to be in a long distance relationship and has opinions. Take them or leave them. Since summer 2019, I’ve been in a relationship with a lovely woman from Vietnam, who I had the fortune to visit in December 2019. We’re separated by a vast ocean, with my shiny butt living in northern Minnesota and her delightful self in Ho Chi Minh City. Already, that distance makes things difficult, and more so given the relationship of the United States to Vietnam, which requires far less paperwork for my travel than it does for my girlfriend. Throw in a pandemic, and you can imagine how much more difficult this all is.