From the Blog

The Dispossessed: One of those novels I wish I’d found sooner. Le Guin has a beautiful economy of language not often found in fantasy writers: making the terse but poetic choice, rather than bombarding a scene. The Dispossessed feels like an epic, though it comes out fairly slim.

And like all good science-fiction, the story focuses less on a naturalistic depiction of how a What-If would come to pass than what such a What-If would mean. Le Guin rejects the notion of a true utopia, depicting the lunar colony of Anarres as an anarchist state slowly ossifying into a socialist oligarchy. Anarres is poor, while its neighbor Urras is rich. But it’s the richness of cloying food and it makes the protagonist – Shevek, an Anarrean physicist visiting Urras, the first person to do so in over a century – literally ill.

Le Guin has always excelled at making the alien seem truly alien, and her depiction of how a true anarchist would react to a capitalist society reads very true. She doesn’t use Shevek as a platform for anti-capitalist polemics: people on Urras are wealthy, happy and comfortable with their station in life. But to someone who doesn’t want property, life on Urras is mystifying and weird. Adequately conveying the stilted weirdness of a capitalist society is no mean feat – considering that Le Guin, her audience, and the publishers who made such a novel possible spent their whole lives in one.

(As an economist, I always read anarchist fables looking for solutions to the calculation problem. The Dispossessed doesn’t provide one, although a good portion of the book deals with a famine on Anarres. Maybe it’s implied)

Why We Fight: A meticulous recounting of the history of American presence in the Middle East would be enough. Start with the Iranian coup against Mohammed Mossadegh in 1953; continue through the U.S.’s efforts in training, arming and bankrolling the Taliban in the 70s, our installation of Saddam Hussein in the 80s and the troops in Saudi Arabia in the 90s. Why We Fight accomplishes all that.

Documenting the growth of the defense industry in the United States since the Eisenhower era would be enough. Begin at the end of the second World War; continue through Korea, the Philippines, Okinawa, Vietnam, Laos, Cambodia, Chile, Honduras, Colombia, etc. Add the nature of American representative politics and the inextricable link between defense contracts, jobs and votes which guarantees escalations in defense spending.

Taking a look at the aftermath of the September 11th attacks would be enough. The world went from universally supporting America (there were marches of solidarity with the U.S. in Tehran and Pakistan in the days after the attacks) to distrusting and fearing America. What changed in that time?

A movie that did all that would be enough.

Where Why We Fight triumphs is twofold. First, the documentarians interview several prominent conservative voices to answer these questions. And not in an attempt to bait them. And not cherry-picked fringe cases either: William Kristol, Richard Perle and John McCain are among them, as well as several Naval pilots. The movie’s prejudices are obvious, but these speakers don’t get the sneering dismissal that (say) Michael Moore would give them.

Second, the way the movie manages to weave together disparate threads into a single story. The narrative begins with a retired NYPD cop who lost his son in the September 11th attacks. A Vietnam veteran, he decides that an appropriate tribute might be to get his son’s name written on a piece of munition – like an aerial bomb – to be used in Operation Iraqi Freedom. This story weaves in and out with several others, like the story of a Boeing weapons technician who helped invent the “bunker buster.” Only later in the film do we hear that this technician, Anh Duong, fled Saigon near the end of the Vietnam War – a war that the retired NYPD Officer fought in. And only much later do we learn that the bomb with his son’s name on it – like all bombs dropped in the first 60 days of OIF – missed its primary target.

Why We Fight was the name of a series of propaganda films made by Frank Capra during World War II. The U.S. has established a military presence in over 130 countries around the globe since that time, and fought a variety of police actions, covert operations and wars in that time. This documentary seeks to answer the same question Capra’s films did, albeit with a more critical tone. And it finds no definitive answer. The documentarians interview an eager young recruit, two Naval stealth bomber pilots, a retired Lt. Colonel from Pentagon intelligence, Dwight Eisenhower’s son, Gore Vidal, a few military historians and a CIA consultant to get an answer and finds nothing. It’s no one person’s fault – certainly not President Bush’s. But when you combine a perpetually growing defense industry, a global military presence, a first-in-class hunger for resources and a doctrine of pre-emptive warfare, the question becomes not why we fight, but why wouldn’t we.

“It is nowhere written that the American Empire goes on forever.” – Chalmers Johnson

Perdido Street Station: Weird, original and engrossing; a blend of Cronenberg and Dickens. China Mieville builds a city full of fascinating characters and baroque institutions: the steampunk slum of New Crobuzon, where cactus-men jostle with insect-headed khepri and where the militia stalk the skies on tramlines, capturing criminals and sentencing them to Remaking. In this dense little world we find Isaac van der Grimnebulin, rogue scientist, chartered by a nomadic bird-man (a garuda) to restore his mutilated wings; Lin, his khepri lover, an artist commissioned by a grotesque crime boss to sculpt a statue in his image; Derkhan Blueday, itinerant journalist, who writes for the underground tabloid Runagate Rampant. The sinister government project that unites these three threads will unleash a murderous terror on the city that no one knows how to stop.

Mieville does a lot of detailed, ingenious scene-setting in the first half of the novel, but then devolves into standard Fantasy Quest Problem Solving in the latter half. I suspected Mieville had some tabletop RPG roots, given how the latter half focuses on assembling a party and fighting monsters; Wikipedia confirms it. Not to say that the latter half of the novel is bad, mind you: it just doesn’t have the same grand, Neal Stephenson-esque scope. We get no more tantalizing glimpses of a rich world – vodyanoi stevedores on strike, the intricacies of the Mayor’s office, the institutional brutality of the militia, etc. It goes from being an urban epic to an urban picaresque.

Mieville’s politics are evident but not obvious: a sympathy for labor, a faith in the power of journalism and democracy to shake the foundations of power. Also, you have to go into the novel with the understanding that New Crobuzon itself is the protagonist, not any of the humans or xenians involved. The prolix descriptions Mieville devotes to each overcrowded, architecturally jarring neighborhood will convince you of that. I have little use for overly detailed descriptions of scenery, but I recognize this as a personal quirk.

It’s a tricky read, but I recommend it.

The Ophiuchi Hotline: My second time reading this. I remembered a few of the interesting scenes but not it’s overall scope: a distant future, where the human race has been kicked off the planet Earth by the fifth-dimensional inhabitants of Jupiter. They survive in underground cities thanks to technological advances beamed at them, in code, from the star 70 Ophiuchius. Not all of these advances are distributed freely, of course, and when our protagonist Lilo gets arrested for illegal genetic manipulations, she’s sentenced to death. Yet the mysterious political mastermind called Boss Tweed (really) offers her a way out, if he’ll come work for her …

A breezy little read. It shows the tentative beginnings of what we’d today call the transhumanist strain of sci-fi: the idea of humans changing themselves, through technology, into something no longer recognizable as human. Of course, Ophiuchi‘s far too short and hardly shocking enough to get published today. It would need at least three hundred more pages, more detailed descriptions of fantastic settings, and a few jaunts behind the doors of perception or to the other end of the galaxy.

This media blow hasn’t read anything in a while.

Brave New World: Again, I read a book that everyone else on the planet has read years ago. I have nothing to add to the decades of critical acclaim heaped on this book, so I’ll talk more about my reactions to it than a critique of the book (savagely funny, frighteningly telling, oddly paced).

First, I went in expecting something more of the tone of Nineteen Eighty-Four – not a biting satire obsessed with sex written in a postmodern style. Which isn’t bad – it’s very true to the moral of the story – but it was certainly a surprise. Could you imagine a book written by an American, today or in the recent past, which features seven-year-olds engaging in “erotic play”? American Puritanism has always been stiffer than British Victoriana in certain ways. Sure, we invented the blues, but we also held onto slavery quite a bit longer (cause/effect? anyway).

Second, I don’t quite know the effect the story had on me. For one thing, its brilliant, reductio ad absurdam critique of fascism, corporate psychology and Keynesianism suits me just fine. I don’t genuinely believe that we’ll all worship Henry Ford in the future (and Huxley probably didn’t either), but science fiction isn’t a lens through which we view the future. It’s a lens through which we view the past – what concerned the author and his contemporaries at the time the novel was written. So, on that level, the novel works.

But I don’t know that I buy every criticism. “There isn’t any need for a civilized man to bear anything that’s seriously unpleasant,” Mustapha Mond tells John the Savage at the end of the novel. And I believe that. At the very least, I see that as an ideal. I believe that relief of human suffering is one of the noblest ends to which one can commit a life. You can measure the progress of civilization by how far it takes humans from the state of nature – when we died young, hungry and often at each other’s hands. The romance of chivalry, exploration and surviving by the sweat of one’s brow that Shakespeare (and through him, John the Savage) idealize is just that – an idealization, passed down to us by the one person in one hundred who was taught to read.

And yet I wonder if I would still think that if I hadn’t been so thoroughly conditioned to. I had a comfortable childhood and live a steady life now. The adventures I allow myself exist within controlled confines – train trips to Baltimore, weekends in Reykjavik. Am I just one of the Deltas clamoring for their soma ration – ignorant of what real freedom is because I’ve never known it?

The 36th Chamber of Shaolin: That rarity among 70s kung-fu flicks: a well-paced story that a Western audience can access with little trouble. Leonard recommended this in an AVClub column on gateways to geekery as a good intro to the genre. I wanted to stick up for Fist of Legend or Five Deadly Venoms or even, just to be snobbish, Magnificent Butcher, but, having seen the movie, I can’t fault his choice.

The plot’s an afterthought, but here: callow student Gordon Liu (whom Western audiences might recognize as bearded master Pei Mei from Kill Bill Pt 2) joins the revolution against the Manchu dynasty at the instigation of his philosophy teacher. When things go south, he flees the city to the esoteric Shaolin Temple where he hopes to learn martial arts. The Buddhist monks enroll him in a sequence of bizarre and demanding trials to build up his body and kung fu: think “wax on, wax off” on HGH. Then he returns and kicks butt all over the place.

If film students should watch William Goldman films for dialogue, Spielberg movies for pacing and Kubrick for cinematography, they should watch Shaw Brothers’ films for editing. Not scene transitions necessarily, but the way the Shaws compose a fight scene. You never lose track of who’s doing what or in relation to whom – a rarity in this era of Tony Scott smash cuts. More importantly, you can always tell who’s winning a fight, even if no one draws blood, thanks to musical cues, camera angles and pacing. Watch Gordon Liu fight the monastery’s abbot to see what I mean.

This is the film (along with Five Deadly Venoms, Shaolin and Wu-Tang and Mystery of Chessboxing) that inspired the Wu-Tang clan’s debut album. This is The Realness.

This media blow might get political, but that’s no fault of mine:

The Lives of Others: Oscar-winning German film from 2007. Set in East Berlin in 1984, it follows a Stasi captain ordered to surveill a popular playwright and his actor girlfriend. The passion in their lives draws him in, until he finds himself bending the rules to keep them safe. Like The Conversation, but heartwarming and taking place outside of Gene Hackman’s head. Phenomenal – moving, funny and rich in historic detail.

(Note: National Review called it the best conservative movie of the last twenty-five years – which, coming from a magazine that’s spent hundreds of pages defending warrantless wiretaps and detention without trial in the last decade, ranks as one of the sicker ironies I’ve read in some time)

Half-Life 2: Acquired it with the Orange Box; finished it last week. I see what all the fuss is about! The grossout horror aspects don’t do it for me (zombies! ceiling barnacles!), but the shooting felt more intuitive and intense than any other FPS I’ve played in recent memory. The house-to-house urban levels (Anticitizen One and “Follow Freeman”) justify the sticker price – which isn’t much in 2009, so go get a copy.

And the in-game dialogue does not disappoint (as it shouldn’t, coming from the makers of Portal). Dr. Breen’s tired lectures to the troops at Nova Prospekt beat the writing in any given Michael Bay movie, hands-down. “This brings me to the one note of disappointment I must echo from our Benefactors …”

I started in on HL2:Ep1 but logged off pretty early. Given the cataclysmic ending of HL2, I figured that Ep1 would put you in control of Alyx Vance as she fled City 17. Now that would have been cool. But no, once again it’s Gordon Freeman, forced to invade the same Citadel he just spent several hours blowing up. I’ll pick it up again once time has cooled its memory, I’m sure.

Slan: Typical ’40s pulp – lots of action, lots of breakneck pacing, lots of pseudo-scientific talk. In the distant future, the human race has united into a single global police state, fanatically devoted to one end: killing the super-mutants called slans. Slans look exactly like humans, except for the golden tendrils emerging from their skulls that give them telepathic capabilities. That, plus their superhuman speed and reaction time, make them a threat to the human race.

The story moves along at an engaging clip, pausing only on occasion for lengthy lectures on the history of the current situation. In these lectures we get a definite sense of the time in which van Vogt wrote this novel: 1940, when the world hadn’t quite lost its fascination with fascism yet. Because fascism isn’t just jackboots and insignia (though those are essential). It’s any political system which treats culture, genetics and politics as different facets of the same machine, a machine that, if it were only tempered just so, could launch the human species at a lightning pace.

Still, it’s pretty understated. Get past that and you have a classic piece of sci-fi history.

Buffy: I haven’t forgotten you. A couple more episodes, then I’ll have my next batch of 5.

Black Summer: Superhero comics stem from adolescent power fantasies, and the passing decades have not matured that appeal much. Sure, comic books sometimes touch on political issues of the day, but almost always within their own limited language – “hey, wouldn’t it be cool if a super-soldier punched Hitler in the face? and he had a sidekick who was my age?” At the end of the day, it’s still wish-fulfillment. And that’s fine. Indulging in wish-fulfillment gets the human race out of bed in the morning. But let’s call it what it is.

Black Summer is an independent comic series written by Warren “&%$#” Ellis and illustrated, sometimes too ornately, by Juan Jose Ryp. It tells the story that brings the Seven Guns, America’s only cybernetically enhanced vigilante team, out of retirement. Each of the Guns combines cutting-edge information processing nanotech with handguns of unequalled power – some can run faster than light, some can throw tanks at helicopters, some can see through every satellite or computer in the world. Four of them can hold off an Army battalion.

The series begins with the most trusted member of the Seven Guns, John Horus, killing the President and Vice-President with his bare hands moments before they’re scheduled for a press conference. He appears before the White House press corps and charges the (unnamed) President with a number of crimes, including but not limited to prosecuting an illegal war in Iraq and ordering the torture of enemy combatants. He demands a new election take place as soon as possible, and then flies off.

To Ellis’ credit, John Horus is insane. No one – not even his teammates – thinks that murdering the President will solve what’s wrong with America. As one of his allies puts it, John Kennedy was so unliked that he barely got elected, and now look what people think of him. So is Ellis saying violence won’t fix the system? That violence is an ugly but necessary first step? That the system can’t be fixed?

I don’t know that he’s saying any of those. I think Ellis took a dark idea that writers have been batting around since Watchmen (“what if someone truly invincible, and maybe a little bit crazy, were as mad at the President as I am?”) and ran with it. The result is an interesting, and brutally violent, little story. I don’t think it’ll change anyone’s mind on anything important. But, again, it’s a comic book.

WALL-E: Another touching and awesome Pixar spectacle. Pixar has mastered animation to the extent that a one-foot robot with only two words in its vocabulary can emote more effectively than most of the stars expected to carry a summer picture today. They’ve mastered comic timing on a level that puts 99% of comedies released today (Mike Myers films, the [Genre] Movie series) to shame. And I’m not the best barometer for tearjerkers, sensitive twit that I am, but very few human actors can move me like Pixar’s wooden toys, fuzzy monsters, colorful fish or rusting robots.

(No, I haven’t seen Up yet; planning on it)

Red Mars: I started this book when I was 14, maybe, got about 100 pages into it, and couldn’t sustain interest. Don’t know why I stuck to my initial judgment for so long – putting too high a premium on my adolescent judgments – but man, was I wrong. Red Mars works on all levels. As a compelling story of social orders in development, Red Mars tells the story of the first permanent colony on Mars – dedicated scientists at constant odds, each with their own vision of utopia that they seek to impose upon a lifeless planet. I also found myself able to follow the hard science aspects to a greater extent than in other sci-fi novels – I got the importance of aerobraking, and moholes, and the Phobos oscillation on the space elevator. So few engineers-turned-authors can make that work for an English major like me.

But above all else, Red Mars tells my favorite story: of how the war between institutions grinds humans in its wake. Red Mars lacks any overt villains. Though the United Nations and the megacorporations that run it draw no real sympathy, they do have a compelling case: they made a significant investment in Mars by getting the colony there, and they want to see that investment recouped. The environmentalists and the terraformers both make solid arguments for their points of view. Even the saboteurs draw the reader in, with their hokey Rousseauvian mysticism.

What else was I wrong about at age 14, I wonder?

Your Religion is False: Asked and answered, I suppose.

Atheists will never gain much traction in the public forum with the cranky attitude that people like Richard Dawkins and PZ Myers adopt in talking about faith. The ancient churches of the world have dealt with better (and better armed) vitriol for centuries. But gone are the years when joking about a holy man would get you exiled from your village, or burned at the stake, or eaten by bears. Laughter is a hard weapon to deflect.

Joel Grus puts humor to good use in Your Religion is False, by taking a John Hodgmann-esque look at all of the major world’s religions. He alternates between straight-faced looks at the absurdity of religious doctrine and exaggerations for comic effect:

Conservative Protestants strictly follow three universal principles, all of which revolve around the idea of “I’m sick of the Pope telling me what to do”:

  1. “If the Bible says it, I believe it. If the Bible doesn’t say it, I don’t believe it. If the Pope says it, for sure I don’t believe it, unless the Bible says it too, in which case I have to ask my pastor what I think.”
  2. “It doesn’t matter how good or evil you are – if you accept Jesus as your savior, you’re going to heaven, and if you don’t you’re going to hell.”
  3. “I’m sick of the Pope telling me what to do.”

The first causes all sorts of problems, as it forces Conservative Protestants to believe that the world is only 6000 years old, to disbelieve in all sorts of useful science, to insist that one man both built a boat capable of carrying and subsequently discovered two members of every species on Earth (including, apparently, all five million-plus species of beetles), and to assert that pi equals 3. The second causes all sorts of problems, as it has allowed a number of Nixon-era criminals to establish lucrative post-incarceration prison ministries. The third is actually an exceptionally sensible position.

And he devotes attention to just about every religion I’ve heard of, from the obscure (transcendental meditation, Jainism, giant stone head worship) to the institutional (Christianity, Judaism, Islam, Buddhism, etc). I think this is the book’s greatest strength and the key to its outreach. Every believer thinks that religions other than his own are silly, or false, or harmful, and wouldn’t mind a chance to poke fun at them. Maybe by seeing them juxtaposed with his own beliefs – equally silly in Grus’s eyes – he’ll have cause to rethink them.

Highly recommended. Buy a copy today.

(Disclosure: I advised Joel on certain portions of the book and provided some feedback on an early draft. However, I think you all know me well enough to know that, if I didn’t think this was a genuinely worthwhile book, I’d put off Joel’s persistent requests for a glowing review with a polite passive-aggression until he lost interest or took the hint. I’m that sort of asshole. But I haven’t; it’s legitimately funny)

This week’s media blow can download over either the 3G or standard wireless networks.

House of Sand and Fog: Brutal and moving and impressive. Kathy, a recovering addict whose husband has just abandoned her, gets evicted from her Pacific Coast bungalow for failure to pay a small business tax that she does not owe. In the ensuing time that she’s absent, her house is bought up by Massoud Behrani, former colonel in the Iranian Air Force and current convenience store clerk. Neither Kathy nor Behrani seem willing to give up the house, and they both have perfectly valid claims to it.

The premise itself is amazing enough – two families whose lives are ruined by the brute ignorance of large institutions – but Dubus’s ability to put the reader inside each character’s head is what makes this genius. Both Kathy and the Colonel are equally pitiable and sympathetic. Sure, Kathy could have probably stayed in the house by organizing her correspondence with the state a little neater, but she clearly doesn’t deserve to be evicted for that failing. And, yes, Behrani may have served the Shah of Iran, but he’s merely trying to provide a home and an income for his family. Both sides to this struggle have equally valid points of view, and it takes Dubus’ genius to depict them.

In the broadest scope, House of Sand and Fog is about how hard a time we have adapting to change. Kathy is given the opportunity to sue the county for wrongfully evicting her, but she doesn’t want a lawsuit. She wants to be back in the house her father built; she wants to not be the fuck-up addict daughter her family thinks she is, who lost their dead father’s last treasure. Similarly, Behrani has the chance to sell the house back to the county at the price he paid, but he’s already had it appraised at four times its auction value. He wants to restore his family to the life of prosperity they knew in Tehran. Both sides want to cling to a prettier past life, and the steps they’ll take to get it turn this story into tragedy.

State of Play: Saw this with the family this past weekend. A fun little government conspiracy thriller, but it’s not going to win any awards or light anyone’s ass on fire any time soon. Russell Crowe is That Sloppy Journalist who believes in following hunches; Rachel McAdams is That Spunky, Fresh-Faced Cub Reporter who’s still getting her balance; Helen Mirren is That Hard-nosed Editor who wants the hot story but is getting pressure from the publishers to go to press now; Ben Affleck is That Young, Impassioned Congressman who gets in trouble. You’ve seen this story before; what makes it interesting is the caliber of actors telling it.

Also, according to Dad, it’s nowhere near that easy to get into Crystal City at night, to say nothing of the Capitol Building.

Accelerando: Singularity sci-fi on hyperdrive. Stross buffets the reader with concepts from page one, barely wasting a second on exposition. Don’t worry if most of the jargon, like “gravity well” and “nanoassembly conformation” and “surplus neurotransmitter molecules,” run over your head. Stross takes frequent breaks to recap, recontextualize and give a tired reader a break.

Although, in a way, the breathless rush of unimaginable concepts sets a good tone for the story – an explosion of technology that transforms What It Means To Be Human, pushing the species along so fast that the next generation looks alien.

The first (of several) protagonists, Manfred Macz, is a hyperactive information junkie who gives away lucrative business propositions for free in an effort to liberate the human race from the constraints of classical economics. As an econ nerd, I find the notion of freeing human beings from Supply and Demand about as plausible as freeing human beings from evolution – but then, a significant portion of the novel is given over to uploading our neurons into massive computers, so why not? I have no particular bias toward marginal utility, downward sloping demand curves and time preference! They’re cruel beasts. It’s just that right now they’re the only game in town.

Also: I wonder how Stross avoided getting tagged with the “asshole” brush that so many people labeled Rand with. Both Accelerando and Atlas Shrugged are about the same thing: Nietszchean super-geniuses who never make mistakes, doing end-runs around giant government agencies and incompetent corporations, bringing the benefits of high technology to their like-minded friends and family while the rest of the human race gets eaten alive. But I’ve never seen Stross get the same griefing that Rand does.

(This may be partly because Rand spends a lot more time dwelling on how pathetic and miserable her ideological enemies are, and partly because Stross is a genuinely better author)

And on the third day, they went to the media blow, only to find the stone rolled aside:

The Limits of Power: A book-length op-ed. Heavy on assertions, backed up by telling but sparse anecdotes, Bacevich’s new book on American imperialism likely won’t convince anyone who wasn’t one foot in the bag already. But for those of us who were, it’s a stirring call: an indictment of the view that American military presence is capable of bringing peace and democracy in “small wars.” Bacevich does a good job of separating Democratic rhetoric from the historical record. The wars that Bush started were hardly a break with American tradition: Presidents have been intervening in regional conflicts, starting wars on spurious pretenses, and expropriating foreign resources for domestic use since the late 40s. Hell, if you include the Louisiana Purchase, it’s been happening for centuries.

(I know that little blurb’s going to rile up readers on both the Left and Right, but I’m not really interested in debating it. If you want to defend American exceptionalism, take it up with Bacevich, not me)

Crank: I watched this on Sunday in anticipation of Crank 2: High Voltage this weekend. It’s vacant and dumb, but it’s well-paced. I’ve said this several times before, but Jason Statham can hold an action flick together with his tired, unshaven Everyman nature. He works best when he isn’t given zany one-liners – just a weary look and a bruised resiliency.

Despite its shallow appearance, Crank has a lot going on beneath the surface. Expect me to write more on that subject on Overthinking It later this week. We already touched on the Easter symbolism in Sunday’s Overthinking It podcast, which you should definitely listen to.

Xenos: In contrast to the decrying of fascism in Bacevich’s The Limits of Power, I read Dan Abnett’s breezy glorification of Sci-Fascism, Xenos, at about the same time. Abnett’s novels take place in the Warhammer 40,000 universe, known for its tabletop strategy games and online multiplayer RTSs. Xenos follows Gregor Eisenhorn, a gun-toting Inquisitor in the Church of the God-Emperor of Mankind. He jaunts from planet to planet with a retinue of psychics and gunfighters, hunting down twisted worshippers of the Chaos Gods.

Xenos is fun, mindless pulp. The body counts are high – over twelve thousand people die in the first three chapters (most of them all in one blow) – and every other chapter ends with someone kicking in a door with a gun in his hand. Abnett tosses around sci-fictionisms like “ceramsteel” and “data-slates” with abandon. A diverting guilty pleasure.

Mass Effect: Beat it this past Saturday. Rebooting after the first 5 hours and tinkering with some of the auto-target settings cured what ailed the game – I enjoyed it much more throughout. I’d still rather read a novel set there then play a game, but I’ll buy the sequel (eventually). My advice to the first timers:

  • Order of planets: Lissa, then Feros, then Noveria, then Vermire. Trust me.

  • Give everyone without the Fitness trait or the Soldier trait an armor upgrade that regenerates their health. You’ll save medi-gel, and mental effort, if you don’t have to worry about healing the other guys between combats.

  • Get comfy with the squad orders on the D-pad. If an enemy digs in, use the Up button to send your other two guys forward, laying down covering fire. If enemies are strafing your weaker engineers or biotics, use the Down button to tell them to dig in, then charge ahead with grenades and autofire.

  • Do as many side-quests as you can before visiting the first plot point planet (see order above). Also, visit as many other planets in the Galaxy as you can. Mineral deposits and random scavenging leads to boatloads of cash, and cash is only useful in the early game.

A pre-birthday media blow:

Mass Effect: I can’t get over the feeling that I’m playing this game wrong. Part of this feeling arises from the fact that Mass Effect has no tutorial to speak of, throwing you into the action with limited instruction but deep backstory. But most of this feeling arises from the hundred different variables the game asks you to worry about. Do I want to upgrade my armor to improve its “hardening,” its “physical protection” or its “damage reduction”? Do I need my weapons to do more “physical force” or to reduce “cooldown”? Is it better to bring a squad mate with four dots in Sabotage or five dots in Overload?

I played this game for five hours before abandoning my first build – reluctantly, after several attempts at driving across a frozen tundra in an ATV that handles like two drunk cows, only to arrive at a distant lab, be denied the opportunity to save, and then die at the hands of a giant robot four times. I considered those first five hours my tutorial, started a new game, and have since enjoyed it much more. As with all Bioware games, the setting oozes detail and history from every pore. Cultures and factions exist not just to provide obstacles but to add depth to a rich mural.

I could spend weeks reading a novel set here. I just wish I knew how to keep my team behind cover.

A Brief History of Time: I think I get it. Fortunately, Hawking has a unique gift for clear language in the deep sciences, and he repeats details as needed. For every two things I missed there was one thing I nailed dead-on.

Dead Man’s Shoes: Not as clever as it thinks it is, but still inventive and engaging. When a small town gang of North England drug dealers torture a mentally retarded boy, his brother (Paddy Considine, who also wrote) comes home from the army to enact his revenge. Were it not for a lot of long tracking shots over local soundtracks this movie would be 48 minutes – long enough for an hour of TV with commercials. As it is, it moves at an okay pace in ninety minutes. It’s all character study – little plot, little growth, little except some inventive cinematography and Considine, who’s very fun to watch.

Cosmos: John Scalzi pointed out that this entire series is now available on Hulu. To think that such a thing could exist – a slow but opulent procession of computer-generated imagery, teasing us with glimpses of distant galaxies and subatomic biology. Watching it in hi-def is a tonic: a means to restore your sense of wonder at a mundane universe. Take an hour, pour yourself a cooling drink, and watch an episode.

I also recommend this fan-produced video of an excerpt of Carl Sagan’s “Pale Blue Dot.” It instills in you a feeling of awe, humility and optimism. It’s the closest thing I have to the divine.

[youtube=http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=2pfwY2TNehw]

And now, the remainder of your media blow:

Kitchen Confidential: Now I see what the fuss was about! Bourdain writes accessibly, but also with the intent to educate – about what goes on in kitchens, the way restaurants are run and, most importantly, what separates good chefs from the great ones. A fun read.

Killing Pablo: Perfect airplane reading from the author of Black Hawk Down. Bowden chronicles the rise to power of Pablo Escobar, a man so ruthless that he cowed the largest Colombian cartels into obedience and so wealthy that he talked the Colombian government into letting him build his own prison once they caught him. He also discusses the efforts of first the Colombian police, then of America’s Delta Force, to bring him down. It’s a gripping story that moves at a good clip.

It’s not perfect, mind you – Bowden tries to force some parallels between Escobar and his son vs. a father-son team of Colombian inspectors who track him. But Bowden gets major cred for all but accusing U.S. Army Intelligence of aiding the efforts of rival drug cartels and disenfranchised cops in terrorizing Escobar: assassinating his men, planting car bombs in his family’s neighborhoods, and the like. The evidence seems pretty compelling, and the implications are heavy.

Emergency: A rather self-absorbed but still informative look at one man’s efforts to survive “off the grid.” Over the course of several years, the author rolls through a virtual checklist of both left-wing and right-wing escape tactics: hiding your currency off shore, getting a second passport, learning how to shoot and survive in the wild, and urban combat. He ends up becoming more self-aware and active in his community as a result, “graduating” from an L.A. music writer to a part-time paramedic and emergency responder.

The book’s downside arises from the name on the cover: Neil Strauss, author of The Game: Penetrating the Secret Society of Pick-up Artists. This book isn’t about how you can prepare yourself to survive a disaster – it’s about how Neil Strauss can prepare himself. Step one is to have wealthy, equally paranoid friends who put him in touch with immigration lawyers on St. Kitt’s. Step two is to expense a variety of survival retreats and self-defense lessons to your publisher. Strauss spends equal amounts of time puffing himself up – telling anecdotes about busty publicists who throw themselves at him, or the creepy neckbeards who expect the U.S. is going to collapse – and poring over his own soul in agonizing detail – am I not really a man unless I can slit this goat’s neck and skin its corpse?

If you’re looking for actual ways to hide assets, get out of the country, survive in the wild or defend yourself, this book will be of limited help. It’ll point you in the direction that Strauss took, but that’s it. Contra the reviews of Tim Ferris or Rolling Stone, this book is not a manual. It is, if anything, a tawdry and flimsy overview.

Kings: When Leonard first mentioned this NBC drama, I decided I had to watch it just for the balls-out lunacy of its concept alone. A modern day retelling of the Biblical story of King David, set in a one-step-removed America called “Gilboa”? Starring Deadwood‘s Ian McShane as King Saul Silas? How did that ever get greenlighted? “It’s, er, like Dallas … but with actual royalty!”

Don’t ask me how, but it works. Like Battlestar Galactica (in its S1-S2 heyday), Kings overlays medieval sensibilities onto a modern setting. You have kings and high priests and court historians and the occasional coronation, but you also have cell phones, global news networks and runs on the Treasury. King Silas, pulled in a hundred different directions by his family, his faith, his subjects and the corporations that helped rebuild his city, latches on to a farm-boy hero – David Shepherd – who singlehandedly takes down a Goliath tank and saves the King’s son. David gets promoted to high office and drawn into the inner circle of court.

I like Kings – the one episode I’ve seen so far – for its political maneuvering and for the “how are they gonna bring this in?” puzzle of all alternate universes. I like watching Ian McShane play the Shakespearean patriarch, and even the pretty faces playing the next generation aren’t bad. But I’m most fascinated by its take on religion. Kings uses religion not as an excuse to be preachy, or even as the butt of a joke, but as a crucial factor in court politics. The God they refer to is the God of the Old Testament – not the source of right and wrong, but the source of power. When Silas is warned that he’s turning away from God, it shakes him, and rightly so.

Sadly, Kings probably won’t last a season. But I really hope it does.