Sunday, October 30, 2016

Book Review: The Terror




© 2007 by Dan Simmons


First, the prelimaries. Dan Simmons is a writing god. First read him fifteen years ago, his masterpiece Hyperion, a science fiction epic mashing something like Alien with Chaucer’s Canterbury Tales. I read it over the course of a month, mainly while commuting in and out of NYC via train. Recall fondly how I’d read it in Port Authority, leaning against a wall, while the crowds flowed about me negotiating the inevitable delays, which never bothered me so long as I had Simmons on me. The book was so good – too good, in fact – that it intimidated me from ever reading anything further from this master.

That is, until I read The Terror.

I must say it’s been quite a while since I’ve read such a page turner. The paperback clocks in at 955 pages, so I figured I’d be reading it well past Halloween. Turns out I burned through it in two weeks.

What intrigued me most about the novel, and I must admit I did not know it at first, is that it is a historical novel. That is, based on true events. It happened that in 1845, Sir John Franklin embarked from England with two of His Majesty’s ships to search for the fabled Northwest Passage. Equipped with three years’ rations (five if under emergency measures), the 129 men aboard the Erebus and the Terror made contact with some whaling vessels, left provisions and a note on Beechey Island in the Arctic Circle, then became completely icebound a few weeks later.

The summer thaw never came. Nor the one the following summer. Franklin died, and command turned over to Francis Crozier. Facing starvation and mutiny, Crozier led his men south, hauling boats, tinned food and equipment over ice and snow, in search of open water. The fate of the expedition is uncertain, as there were no survivors. A few bodies were found, years later, leading to speculation of infighting and cannibalism, but nothing of certain could be determined as to what exactly claimed the lives of all 129.

In The Terror Dan Simmons weighs in with his theory. That’s where Alien comes in.

Seems that something is stalking the men … something out on the ice, out in the cold, dark fog of nights that last weeks. One by one sailors and marines are killed, slaughtered, in gruesome and macabre ways. My first thought was a monstrous polar bear, and that’s kind of where Simmons leads in the first hundred or two pages, but the truth is actually more brutal, more unstoppable, more alien than that. In fact, the antagonistic creature reminded me of the monster-entity Shrike from Hyperion more than the lethal biological killing machine of Alien. Either way, though, I had to find out how those cold, starving, desperate men would fare against their inexplicable nemesis.

They do it with that admirable stoic ability rarely seen nowadays outside of the military. And though the reader knows that no one will survive, what does happen is surprising – some do. Rather, one does. Or maybe two, depending on who you view as a member of the expedition. I kinda sorta foresaw the ultimate explanation of the Terror, and while the ending chapters seemed a bit loopy and hallucinogenic (a literary parallel to the ending of Kubrick’s 2001, as a very rough metaphor), the story’s resolution satisfied, if unsettled, me satisfactorily.

The best thing about the book is Simmons’ writing, of course. Every crewman comes alive – good, bad, and ugly. Lady Silence, a mute “Esquimaux” who plays some role as the Terror slaying begin shortly after she arrives at the ice-bound ships, Sir John Franklin in his pathetic misleading of the expedition and his terrible fate, the suffering of scurvy, frostbite, lead poisoning, the devolving into mutinous and loyal factions – all is brilliantly portrayed in such a realistic fashion I lost myself in the prose.

So The Terror was quite the pleasant surprise. I knew it would be good, but I thought it’d be an ordeal. Turns out three or four hundred-page-a-day reads, due to the inability to put the damn thing down, made it a great experience.

Grade: Solid, solid A, just a hair’s-breadth shy of A-plus.


N.B.

1) Franklin’s “Lost Expedition” is the subject of tons of literature, explored from various angles and points of view. Never knew that. Might read some more about it.

2) Simmons followed this up with a novel called Drood, where – I assume – he gives similar treatment to the final five years of the life of Charles Dickens. Might read that, too, once I can get my hands on it

3) It also appears that AMC is in the process of developing a miniseries of The Terror, to premiere sometime in 2017. Should be interesting, and might give it a look-see (television tends to ruin everything).


Thursday, October 27, 2016

Twelve Days Out


A few humble election night predictions:


* Hillary wins the general election with an electoral vote count in the upper 300s, more than doubling Trump’s gain.

** The popular vote will be much, much closer. Clinton by less than five points.

*** And no one will be happy Wednesday morning.


I know, I know: nothing really bold about these prognostications.


Four years ago, to make the Presidential Election a little interesting for me, I promised that if Romney won, I’d read the Book of Mormon. If Obama, then I’d re-read Atlas Shrugged.
Well, we all know what happened. And I managed to get near page 800 in Rand’s doorstop before I realized life was too short, &c.

So how will I make Decision 2016 interesting?

Well, it ain’t gonna involve reading. I’m halfway through Shelby Foote’s first tome on the Civil War, 300 pages into something that’s three volumes and close to 3,000 pages in size. That’ll take me up to Easter to complete at the rate of busyness I’m experiencing. I also just finished the 955-page The Terror (review to follow shortly), and have Dicken’s David Copperfield on deck (which clocks in itself at 800-plus pages) for November. So my reading life is kinda full.

Then I figured – how ’bout making the election choose an exercise for me? I am desperate to get back into shape, for a whole host of reasons (weight, energy, and sleep problems form a few broad categories). Say Trump wins, then I start an intense alpha-dog weightlifting program. Like I did two summers ago. My energy doubled, as well as my confidence. And if Hillary wins, keeping in mind her fragile brain health and all, perhaps I should focus on yoga, stretching, and gentle aerobic activity, like a daily dawn walk.

Since I think I know how the election’ll turn out, I might be in the market for some Rodney Yee DVDs this Christmas.

But that’s not getting me jazzed up.

Then I thought about the geopolitical situation. Something that’s always intrigued me, to greater or lesser extents, throughout my life. During the rocky transitions of the leadership of the Soviet Union, from Breznev to Chernenko to Andropov to Gorbachev, in the early 80s, I read a few books on Russia as a high school nerd. Studied the language a bit (the Cyrillic alphabet fascinated me to no end), its history and geography. Might I do something again, if Trump wins, seeing he’s an alleged Putin-o-phile? And if Clinton’s our Dear Leader for the next four years, how ’bout a quick study of China, our biggest adversary in the world that you’ll never hear about on the nightly news?

Eh … I dunno.

Maybe there’s just no way to make this Election interesting.

Maybe I’ll just keep reading about the Civil War, and the greatest man to ever hold elected office, Abraham Lincoln (despite some of his dictatorial overtures), the great struggle for the soul of the nation, a nation who willing tore itself asunder and warred against itself to cleanse its body of its horrible sin.

Yes, I think that’s what I’ll be doing regardless of the outcome Tuesday twelve days out.


Sunday, October 23, 2016

Unclean! Unclean!


Oh man. I just went outside and painted a big letter Q on my front door, in heavy, dripping paint.

Q, for “Quarantined.”

Last Monday, after running around with the little ones after school to buy last-minute gifts for their mother’s birthday, right in the middle of dinner, Patch announces that her stomach feels funny.

She barfs.

I take Little One to the middle school, to band practice. While I’m gone, Patch barfs again. While I’m home, she barfs yet again. Then, when I go to pick up my oldest at band practice ninety minutes later, I learn that she christened the middle school band room bathroom with barf.

Oh dear.

I felt good all day, and all evening. Until 11:15.

Then I barfed.

I stayed home, unpaid, from work for the next two days to watch my daughters and take time to get myself healthy. All told, all tallied, we’ve barfed just under two dozen times.

Tuesday I slept a lot – something like ten hours during the day – that weird, off-putting feeling of half-waking, half-dreaming as the sunlight and shadows grow and diminish across the room. But I managed to sneak in viewing 1979’s Alien with Little One. Ah, a classic! She gave it an A-minus, and she jumped during all the requisite stomach-churning scenes. The next day we watched one of my favorite comedies, Planes Trains and Automobiles. They both laughed during all the requisite, stomach-chuckling scenes. Ah, good times!

Went back to work weak and shaky on Thursday, and finished strong on Friday. Then, yesterday, both little ones came down with regular, run of the mill colds. I’m up to my ankles in used tissues right now. Ah, gross times!

Good news is I’ve read something like five hundred pages in The Terror, Dan Simmon’s 956-page speculation on what happened to the ill-fated 1840s expedition to find the fabled Northwest Passage. Just found out the book is in development to become an AMC series. Probably’ll be overdone, but has potential; I’ll have more to say when I review the book later this week (Note: its currently trending in the solid-A-with-a-couple-of-qualifiers).  

That’s really about all I did over the past six days. No further math explorations. Did not attend my tax class due to illness. A disconcerting sense of time is flying by faster and faster, and nothing is getting accomplished. Something needs to get done, but of what I know not.

Well, I guess I can start by scrubbing that giant red letter Q off my front door.