SF/F Commentary

SF/F Commentary

Death Star Economics and Ethics? (Or, What Would You Do With a Death Star?)

I find it amusing when smart people take science fiction concepts seriously enough to question their validity in the real world.  From rocket packs to hover cars to laser guns, the smart ones have destroyed our childhoods, one reality-based argument at a time.  The Death Star is no different (and I’m going to add to the hurt). Earlier this year, Paul Shawcross, acting on behalf of the White House, released a statement on We the People in response to a petition requesting the U.S. government to build a real-life Death Star by 2016.*  Because petitions that receive 25,000 signatures require a response from the White House, there wasn’t any way to avoid this humorous situation.  Thankfully, they took the issue with a heavy dose of humor and succinctly reminded us that such a project is pretty much impossible — it would cost $850,000,000,000,000,000 (or, as we poor people like to say, “a friggin ton of money”).  io9 recently explored this number in some depth, using a Centives.net article as support; they concluded that the $850 quintillion figure is more tongue-and-cheek than an accurate measurement (this is one of many conclusions, of course), but it fulfills the purpose of keeping the genocidal geek community at bay. Disney will probably turn this into a musical in a few years… Setting aside arguments about how much the Death Star would cost in exact terms, the real question is two fold:  how would a country or a world economy come up with that kind of money, and how would they justify the expense? First, the size of the loan necessary to build a Death Star would exceed the GDP of the entire world by a factor of approximately 12,100 (based on figures acquired here).  Assuming, then, that the world agreed to sacrifice its entire GDP to pay off said monumental loan, it would still take 12,100 years to pay that loan off, assuming no growth in GDP and no interest.**  And let’s face it, there’s no way we can assume there won’t be inflation, interest, and so on for the next 12,100 years.  I’m no economist, but it seems to me that taking on a project at this point in time, without any easier means for manufacturing the materials and the Death Star itself, would lead to worldwide financial disaster.  Besides, what exactly would a budget debate about the Death Star look like?  Imagine, if you will, the Death Star is 50% behind schedule due to 800 straight years of economic shortfalls, politicians are bickering back and forth, some running around like chickens with their heads cut off in a pathetic attempt to balance the world budget.  Meanwhile, poverty rates increase exponentially, because too many resources have been pegged for the Death Star Fund; healthcare, scientific progress, and so on and so forth have likewise crumbled beneath the pressure.  Perhaps stress-related baldness will become the new “epidemic” of the future… I’m the Death Star on a budget deficit.  Any questions? All of this assumes that we take seriously the financial viability of a 12,100-year construction project.  Considering that we can’t even resolve the relatively simplistic budget problems in the United States without all of Washington D.C. losing its mind, the idea is just three shades shy of batshit.  Even if the money and resources existed to make constructing the Death Star possible in 100 years (a big if), the political environment surrounding such an international effort would make the project practically impossible.  The United Nations, bless its heart, tries to get everyone to work together towards common goals, but after 71 years in operation, it still struggles to address the most obvious of human rights issues (among other problems).  It’s like watching a puppy who tries to jump onto the couch, but its legs are too short, so it keeps falling off — only this puppy may or may not grow up, may or may not develop more efficient motor skills, and may or may not stare at you with its puppy eyes, vainly hoping that you’ll lift it up to your lap. But the even bigger question is this:  Why would we bother doing this, and what would we do with a Death Star?  Let’s imagine the scenarios:*** 1) Some large, planetary body is on a collision course with the Earth.  It must be destroyed. Han:  And that, kids, is what we call a Solo Seduction Device.Chewie:  Ra-a-a-a-a-a-a-a-gh! Fail:  If we need something with the firepower of the Death Star to destroy a planetary body, there’s no valid reason for constructing the whole thing.  After all, this scenario does not require the laser system to form part of a much larger military function.  You can’t exactly threaten the Earth with its own destruction, can you?****  Even so, we could probably put the laser on the Earth without decreasing its firepower significantly (I’m guessing) or use our mountains of nuclear weapons to pound the living hell out of said planetary body.  The latter seems a cheaper option, though certainly less cool than a giant green laser. 2) An alien species attacks us with firepower that far surprises our current military might.  They must be stopped. It’s okay.  There aren’t any real people there. Fail:  Setting aside the fact that such an alien species would have some method of faster space travel than currently available on Earth AND the technological means to subjugate us anyway — not to mention the fact that building the Death Star would take far too long to make it useful to us — there is the disturbing question of whether it is right to commit genocide as a last resort.  Are there no other ways?  If not, should we commit genocide for our own survival?  I realize that The Doctor does it all the time, but we are not Time Lords.  We’re supposed to have a moral framework.  Then again, “right” is sometimes not an important factor in our decisions as species, since we’ve committed acts of genocide against

SF/F Commentary

Video Found: John Simon vs. Siskel & Ebert (The Star Wars War)

There’s something enjoyable about watching critics from the 80s battle over whether Star Wars is actually a good movie.  It’s equally enjoyable to listen to a somewhat bitter man battle his inner child over whether to actually let loose while watching something like Star Wars, a series that, at the time, offered the world some of the best entertainment money could buy. Class 1980s entertainment, this (after the fold):

SF/F Commentary

The Hugos: Testing the Waters — What will win?

In the interest of filling my blog with all your lovely voices, I want to know your answer(s) to the following question: Which novels, novellas, short stories, films, fanzines/writers, fancasts, and so on do you think will win the Hugo Award this year? I have a secret agenda for asking this question, which I will now reveal (thus stealing its secrecy) — I am curious what I might have missed this year, for one reason or another, what others think were Hugo-worthy (which may reflect a particular taste), and so on.  In other words, you’re going to give me a taste of a world I’ve never experienced (though I am attending Worldcon this year). So have at it!

SF/F Commentary

“You Haven’t Read That, Teacher?” and Other “Not a Real Field” Fallacies (Teaching Rambles)

I just had a rather strange short conversation with a fellow about The Iron Heel by Jack London.  That conversation went something like this: Guy:  Is that Jack London? Me:  Yup.  The Iron Heel. Guy:  I’ve never heard of that one.  I wonder if I have it on my reader.  (checks)  Yup!  I’m currently reading The Sea-Wolf.  It’s a post-apocalyptic book. Me:  I’ve never heard of that one.  Cool! Guy:  Why are you reading The Iron Heel.  A fan? Me:  I’m teaching it. Guy:  Are you an English major? Me:  Yup. Guy:  And you’re teaching a book you’ve not finished? Me:  Yup. Guy:  Good luck. (turns away as if annoyed) I don’t know anything about this individual.  Perhaps he’s an England major or just an avid reader or a philosophy major or whatever.  But it was clear from his tone that he found it rather distasteful that one might teach a book they haven’t read yet (if I didn’t plan to read the book at all, then I’d deserve the tone — keep in mind he had no idea when I planned to teach said book). Of course, he might think this because many people don’t know much about literature courses — particularly, surveys, in which you have less freedom for selection (thus, we end up teaching a few things we haven’t read simply because much of the study in any major literary field — American, British, etc. — has moved beyond standard canonical studies).  But we don’t select books in a vacuum (I don’t, that is).  When I select books, my criteria focuses first on my own personal readings, and second (and most importantly) on the critical literature.  In the case of The Iron Heel, I selected it because it fit into the themes of the course (Dystopia and American Anxiety) and because it appears in great detail in much of the critical literature on dystopian writing.  In other words, I know what this book is about, I know about its themes and issues, and I know much of the major interpretations of the work as they relate to the theme in question.  This isn’t a book I’m reading blindly.  It’s a book that I’ve practically already read, minus the fact that the actual pages have never flitted before my eyes.* And, surprisingly, this is not unusual in academia at large (I know many people who teach introductory courses in their fields who effectively teach from knowledge obtained elsewhere than the books they assign — the same happens in a lot of introductory college argument classes, since the general information rarely changes, though the structures and pedagogical practices do).  Part of the problem is the assumption that all humanities courses are entirely and utterly subjective, and that we come to literature simply from some ingrained interest or feeling about a work.  This is false.  Literary studies are far more than just “reading books and responding to them.”  It is a tradition and a body of research that transcends the limits of the page.  That literature has remained a major field of study for centuries is a testament to its validity as a scholarly field (the same is true of much of the humanities, including philosophy, religion, and so on). I can’t say for certain, but I suspect this false perspective derives from the teaching practices in the K through 12 system (everything prior to Uni for non-U.S. folks).  Much of my evidence is anecdotal, though I think the shocking percentage of students I’ve taught who don’t even know what “literary analysis” means is credible enough (at least a third of all students in the few literature classes I’ve taught, if not slightly more**).  In other words, if we teach literature not as a discipline of study on par with the sciences (in terms of its academic output, not necessarily in terms of its applicability to the everyday world), we might curb some of the misunderstandings that contribute to the nationwide attempt to devalue and defund literary study (and other humanities fields). If this narrative sounds familiar, it’s because a very similar narrative was used by literary scholars to disregard genre fiction — one of my major fields of study.  Just as those scholars didn’t understand the value of science fiction, so too do many universities and a portion of the public often fail to understand the value literary studies.  Some of that is undoubtedly because the people within my field have failed to convey the message about literature to the general public in a way that attracts interest and understandng (in particular, an answer to the question “Why should we take you seriously?”).  There is already a small movement in genre studies to convince scholars to attempt to bring their work to the masses, and no insignificant amount of push back by scholars from the old guard.***  I’m not sure if it will succeed, though McFarland Books is largely considered by many faculty to fulfill that role, more or less.**** Maybe what literary studies needs is a Neil deGrasse Tyson to play Literary Populist for everyone who doesn’t become an English major.  What do you think? ———————————————— *As a general rule, I do not fill my syllabi with works I have no read.  The only works I will include that fall in the “I know everything about it, but I haven’t read it” category are those works that I feel are crucial to the theme I am trying to explore. **This statistic is not meant as an insult to students or to education at large.  There are a lot of reasons why students don’t know X, Y, and Z, just as there are a lot of reasons why schools often can’t teach those subjects. ***I still recall attending a PCA/ACA conference wherein the keynote declared in his speech that genre studies must reframe itself for everyday folks if it expects to survive.  Some people were quite unhappy with that speech. ****Despite the image as a pop academic press, McFarland has

SF/F Commentary

Say What? J. J. Abrams and the Star Wars Shuffle

It’s official.  J. J. Abrams is going to direct the new Star Wars movie.  The good news?  He’s not writing it.  Nope.  That would be Michael Arndt, who is best known for Little Miss Sunshine and Toy Story 3.  That’s good news indeed. When I set out to write this post, I imagined it would begin and end with a long diatribe about how many times I have been burned by J. J. Abrams since the travesty that was Cloverfield.  As a writer, Abrams is, in my opinion, no better than whoever Michael Bay pays to write his bloated scripts of plot-ological stupidity (Transformers 2, anyone?).  But he’s not a terrible director, given a good script, and he’s worked with amazing folks like Steven Spielberg. This post, then, will take a far different approach to whether Abrams is a good pick for the Star Wars universe (i.e., a randomly numbered string of equally random thoughts — sort of): 1) Considering what the Star Wars franchise has become, and the unlikelihood that Disney will make significant changes to the model, I can’t say that Abrams is necessarily a bad choice, given his work on Star Trek.  Star Trek, after all, wasn’t necessarily a bad movie in terms of its presentation.  It had a lot of the things that the franchise had been missing all lined up in near-perfect order; all of those elements are crucial to Star Wars movies anyway, minus glaring plot holes.  On this front, I agree with John Scalzi. 2) Whatever will happen to the Star Wars universe under Abrams, I can’t imagine it can end up any worse than Attack of the Clones.  The new movie won’t be another prequel, and is likely to take us away from the stock characters (not that I don’t like Skywalker and Solo or anything).  Even if the second half of that sentence isn’t true, at least we’ll have new stories to think about, with different writers and directors behind the helm.  At worst, Abrams can only offer a different look at a commercial franchise.  At best, he might actually make something that we’ll fondly remember. 3) I care more about the continuation and improvement of the Star Wars franchise in film form than I do about my well-documented dislike of J. J. Abrams.  In other words, I will see the new movie whether Abrams is a part of it or not.  That Arndt is writing the screenplay leads me to believe I’m not irrational to expect a decent movie. None of this means that I’m not apprehensive about the selection of Abrams.  I’d rather have a different director behind the helm, if I’m honest.  But the more I think about the selection, the less inclined I am to think, as I stupidly said on Twitter the other day, that Abrams will have a negative impact on the franchise.  Lucas kicked it when it was down well enough on his own… What do you all think?

SF/F Commentary

Distracting the Internet with Frankenstein, Dionne Brand, and Belated MLK Day!

Wouldn’t it make the world a better place if we all randomly searched through our grandparents’ stuff and one day discovered some super important antique book signed by the author?  We could all share our magic book stories with one another, hold hands, and frolic in fields of emerald grass… Or we could just sell them to one another and make hundreds of thousands of dollars, which is what this guy did when he discovered a copy of Mary Shelley’s Frankenstein in his grandfather’s house (one of two inscribed by the author to have survived the evils of time).  We don’t know how much he sold the book for because the final auction price has been kept private (it exceeded his asking price of £350,000 ($567,000)).  That’s a lot of money, no? This guy is way cuter than I am, but it’s all the book.  Honest. The question, for me, is whether I would have sold the book if it had appeared on my grandmother’s shelf.  I’m not sure I would, to be honest.  A good chunk of my book collection is, well, collectible.  I’ve got some 100+-year-old books, lots of signed and personalized ones, and so on and so forth.  I even have a 1st Edition of the U.S. edition of the Silmarillion floating around in this apartment of mine (I think that’s important, but it’s probably not).  But no Frankenstein.  In fact, the most exciting discovery I recently had was realizing that my copy of Dionne Brand’s A Map to the Door of No Return had been signed by the author.  See? This is me trying my best creepy stalker / seductress pose.  Any tips? In any case, we now have two sexy copies of Frankenstein to hoo and haa over.  Hopefully I’ll get a chance to see one of them before I die… And on a completely random note, this: It’s now Thursday, but Monday was kind of an important holiday for us American people — Martin Luther King, Jr. Day.  MLK, I think it’s fair to say, is one of the world’s greatest heroes — I still tear up when I hear his “I Have a Dream” speech. He also has a unique connection to the genre community through Nichelle Nichols, who played Uhura on the original Star Trek.  You can hear her talk about her brief interactions with MLK Star Trek on this repeat episode of Neil deGrasse Tyson’s StarTalk podcast.  I just thought it was worth mentioning on this blog, even if the day is over. What nifty stuff has been going on in your worlds?

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