Speaker for the Dead

Speakerforthedead
You might think that the sequel to Ender’s Game would be set shortly after the events of that novel.

Nope.

Instead, Speaker for the Dead is set 3,000 years later, yet it still continues the story of Ender Wiggin.

How does that work? Is he an immortal being? Has medical technology banished death? Or perhaps time travel is involved. Or cryonic suspension.

Actually, it’s as mundane as the known effects of relativistic spaceflight. After the events of Ender’s Game, Andrew "Ender" Wiggin left Earth for the stars, and the only way to get there in his universe, as in ours, was by slower-than-light travel.

So while 3,000 years have passed for mankind by the time the novel begins, far fewer have passed for Ender, and he’s now a young-ish adult.

In those 3,000 years mankind has moved out into the stars and set up colonies on different worlds.

The world that is at the core of this novel is called Lusitania–the ancient name of Portugal–and it is so named because it is inhabited by Portuguese-speaking colonists from Brazil.

It is also inhabited by the second intelligent race mankind has found in the universe.

The first was the Buggers, and things went very, very badly with them. Mankind is determined not to make the same mistakes that it made with them.

The new race, known in Portuguese as the Pequeninos or "Piggies" because of their snouts, are a small, unintimidating, technologically primitive, forest-dwelling race.

But as soon as it’s found out that they have intelligence and language, mankind’s government slaps draconian restrictions on the Lusitania colony that are like the Prime Directive on steroids.

A fence must be build around the colony, whose population must now be sharply limited. The colonists must have virtually no contact with the Piggies except for two xeno-anthropologists (xenologers or xenodors) who are allowed brief, daily contact with the Piggies with the condition that they do not show human technology to them or disclose information about human society or ask questions about Piggie society that would betray human expectations of what our society would be like.

It’s maddening.

But there is a mystery on Lusitania, and the Piggies are closely connected with it.

When one of the xenologers figures out the secret, the otherwise friendly Piggies suddenly, brutally kill him.

Then they act like nothing is out of the ordinary, and the surviving xenologer can’t even ask why this was done, due to the Uber Prime Directive.

But Andrew Wiggin is called in from a nearby world to speak the death of the xenologer who was killed.

Since the events of Ender’s Game, Ender has become a speaker for the dead. This is a person who, after someone has died, performs a service (a "speaking") in which the person’s life story is reviewed and analyzed in such a way as to make sense of it. It’s not the same thing as a eulogy, because in a eulogy you say nice things about the dead. In a speaking you say honest things about them. That includes the nice, but it also includes the ugly. And yet the effort is made to understand the ugly things a person did and why he did them.

It takes twenty years for Ender to arrive on Lusitania due to slower-than-light travel, but he appears and must penetrate the mystery of the planet in order to perform his duties as speaker for the dead. He must find out why the xenologer was killed.

Speaker for the Dead is a very different novel than its predecessor. It is much more an adult novel, about ideas and adult relationships rather than kids and games and kid relationships. There are no sex scenes in the book, though there is substantial discussion of human reproduction and adultery.

It is also different in that we have a real alien environment in this novel, and much of the plot centers on figuring out the mystery of this environment and the Piggies who inhabit it.

It is a very good novel, and it also won both the Hugo and Nebula awards the year it came out (1986, the year after Ender’s Game, making Orson Scott Card the first author to win both awards two years running).

In a postscript to the audio book version, Card notes that readers are often divided about whether Ender’s Game or Speaker for the Dead is the better novel and that his idea of an ideal world is one in which people are evenly divided on this question.

Given how different the books are, it’s a bit of an apples and oranges comparison, but there is an answer to it, and I’ll tell you what it is . . .

Ender’s Game is better.

The reason is that, while both books contain very good elements, the sequel contains a prominent flaw due to the limitations of Orson Scott Card’s religious imagination.

Card is a Mormon, but the world he’s writing about has been colonized by Catholics.

That much is fine. It’s quite possible for a person of one faith to write convincingly and even movingly about the people of another. The guy who wrote A Man for All Seasons wasn’t Catholic, but he was able to tell the story of St. Thomas More beautifully.

But to do this kind of thing you have to be able to put yourself in the shoes of someone of a different faith in a way that Card can’t quite pull off.

It’s not that he doesn’t try. He thinks that he’s giving the Catholics a fair shake, showing good ones and bad ones, showing faithless and faithful ones, showing the joys and sorrows that apply to everyone regardless of their religion, even having a moment where Ender wants to weep because of the beauty of the poignancy involved in a married religious order (the Children of the Mind of Christ) where the spouses renounce sexual relations to better serve God, while still living together in a monastic environment.

But ultimately Card can’t do it.

In real life, Card spent time as a Mormon missionary in Brazil. He went there to convert Catholics, and he’s drawing upon his experiences there to shape his depiction of Lusitanian society.

The society he shows us is largely repulsive, with the vast majority of Lusitanians being insular, blindly obedient followers of the unsympathetic, rigid, uncompassionate bishop who opposes Ender at every turn and only starts to friendly up once Ender points out to him that, if they throw off the Uber Prime Directive, he will be able to evangelize the Piggies.

The problem is not that Card shows bad Catholics. The world has many bad Catholics, just as it has many good ones.

The problem is that the only good Catholics that he shows us are those who take their faith least seriously. The sympathetic Catholic characters are the ones who struggle with their faith or question or doubt it or who even have virtually no faith at all. (Ender falls into that category; he was baptized Catholic but not raised in the faith.)

Those who take their faith seriously end up being presented as harsh, insular, intellectually simple, under the domination of their bishop, and suspicious of outsiders like Ender.

The message that comes across is: simple, devout Catholics = bad; sophisticated, doubting Catholics = good.

All this is like the reception that a Catholic culture in Brazil might give to a visiting Mormon missionary, like Card.

Thus this novel is not as good as its predecessor. It’s still very good, and still worth reading, but it is also flawed. Card chose to set his story on a Catholic world; he chose to make religion a prominent theme in the novel; but he either wasn’t able or wasn’t willing to do artistic justice to a Catholic culture.

NEXT: Xenocide.

Ender’s Game

Enders_game_3
Lately I’ve been reading my way through Orson Scott Card’s Ender’s Game series. I’ve got the first major chunk of the series finished, and I thought I’d provide a review.

The series is divided into two main forks, one of which tracks the story of the title character, Ender Wiggin, and the other of which tracks the story of another character named Bean.

I wanted to wait until I’d read the novels in the Ender fork because of some of the religious issues in the novels. I wanted to make sure that what I’d have to say about the way Card handles religion, and specifically Catholicism, wouldn’t be contradicted by something in the next novel.

So over the next few days I’ll give you my thoughts on the series.

 

Its foundational book is Ender’s Game, which is  set a century or two in the future (the exact time is ambiguous), when humanity is  terrified that it’s going to be wiped out by an insect-like alien race known as the Buggers.

The Buggers have invaded our solar system twice, and the second time we were seriously threatened. A third Bugger war is looming, and humanity is under the gun to produce a military leader capable of saving us from extinction.

What humanity needs is not just another Lee or Grant or Patton or Eisenhower or MacArthur. It needs another Alexander or Julius Caesar or Napoleon. Or better.

It therefore has set up a world-wide program designed to find, evaluate, and train potential military leaders. It wants to find these leaders young so that they can have time to be trained in the intricacies of starship combat and the kind of 3-D thinking that is involved in fighting in a zero-gravity environment.

Earth’s government therefore invasively (it’s not very friendly) monitors and tests the world’s children and, when they find a promising one, they scoop him up and take him off to battle school for training to maximize his potential as a military leader.

Then they find Andrew "Ender" Wiggin.

He is the most promising student they have ever found. The adults are hoping he will become humanity’s savior, and they’re terrified by the prospect he might not.

This novel therefore falls into the category of "most important child in the world" novels, along with the Harry Potter series and Jerry Pournelle’s excellent Starswarm.

As novels of this category go, the first Harry Potter book (the only one I’ve read) is–to my mind–lame. (You may disagree, which is fine; de gustibus non disputandum est.) It’s structured completely wrong for how to tell this kind of story, and it comes off as ham-fisted wish fulfillment. If you’ve got a kid who lives a dreary life but is, unbeknownst to himself, the most important child in the world, you don’t announce this secret and hand him fame and glory on a platter in chapter two.

Instead, you make him work for it. He needs to pay his dues and have the secret of his identity revealed slowly, over the course of time.

That’s what happens in Starswarm, which to my mind makes it "Harry Potter done right" (except that it’s sci-fi rather than fantasy).

Ender’s Game takes a similar path.

The adults around Ender suspect that he may turn out to be a military genius, but Ender only finds out about this slowly, and he most definitely has to work for his place in the world.

Why’s that?

Well . . . how do you know if you’ve got a real military genius, on whose shoulders you can rest the fate of humanity?

You test him, of course.

And that’s what the adults in the story do. They put Ender through a series of progressively harder and more impossible situations to see if he can rise to them without cracking under the strain.

They start doing this even before he gets to battle school. On the shuttle up to the orbiting space station where the school is housed (we need a zero-g environment for this training, remember) they turn every single boy on the shuttle against Ender so that he has the decked stacked against him from the very beginning.

And they do nothing to help him.

Their philosophy is that if Ender is to be able to shoulder the responsibility that will one day be his then, above all, he must never–ever–think that an adult will bail him out of a situation. No matter how hard or impossible it gets, he must deal with it on his own. Even when there is a homicidal bully determined to kill Ender.

Only by putting him through a ruthless program in which the rules are changed every time Ender meets a challenge will they find out whether Ender has what it takes to fill the role mankind needs, which requires a unique balance of tactical skill and empathy for others.

A key element in the novel is the zero-gravity combat simulation that is used as a learning tool to help the kids think in terms of the three-dimensional warfare needed in outer space. This one-ups quidditch. It isn’t just about kids flying and playing a fanciful game. The physics of fighting in zero-gravity are real, and the combat tactics that Ender comes up with, based on the way the game works, are sound. So, to my mind, Ender’s Game beats Harry Potter on this score as well.

But ultimately the story isn’t about zero-g combat.

It’s about the characters, and the bottom line is that the novel is extraordinarily good.

It deserves the Hugo and Nebula awards that it won. (For non-sci-fi fans, those are the two most prestigious awards in the sci-fi community.)

The thing that makes it so good is not that it involves space ships and aliens and hi-tech and similar sci-fi tropes. Actually, it de-emphasizes all of these.

Card doesn’t try to wow us with futuristic tinsel. He doesn’t spend time showing off the tech, which is barely ahead of our own. We don’t go to exotic alien planets. We haven’t even gotten out of the solar system. Ships travel slower than light, so it takes months just to get from one point to another in the solar system. The kids are using "desks" that are recognizable as tablet-style laptop computers. They entertain themselves with video games. And we never even see an alien in the book.

What this book is about is psychology–the psychology of command and leadership and human relationships.

That’s what makes it more than just a standard outer space adventure.

It also happens to be readable by kids (though there is some crude language in it, largely related to flatulence–which, as Card points out in an afterword to the audio book edition, is inescapable if you want to write realistically about boys).

NEXT: Speaker for the Dead.

ADDED: Please AVOID SIGNIFICANT SPOILERS for books in the Ender universe in the combox.

At Long Last

For all of you who may have wondered… and wondered… and wondered…

“…Just what does SDG think of The Wicker Man…?”

…now, at last, the truth can be told.

Review of the 1973 original by Robin Hardy

Review of the 2006 remake by Neil LaBute

Also, for all of you who wondered, “Why does SDG keep The Wicker Man in ‘Other Coming Adds’ for months on end, into years?“…

…well, this is the best answer I can give.

With apologies to all who watched that space for so long, wondering what on earth was wrong with me … and to those who, reading the reviews now, may still wonder.

Aesthetic Escalator

Hey, Tim Jones, here. The following is a post I just put up at my blog, but I thought Jimmy’s readers might find of interest;

St_joseph_rb_lg
I’m going to hurriedly try to respond to some recent art posts over at
The Aesthetic Elevator, even though I can’t give them the time and
thought they deserve, right now.

First, on the art of Guy Kemper
(pictured); Here’s the long and short, for me; this represents
precisely the problem with a lot of contemporary Catholic liturgical
art, and more broadly with non-representational art… the question is
this; where couldn’t this art function just as well as it does
here (the Catholic Memorial at Ground Zero)? It would be as much at
home in the entryway to a shopping mall, or a high school, or in one of
our new, featureless contemporary church buildings. It is art devoid of
communication. It’s called "Rise". It could be called anything.

It does do one thing admirably well; it breaks up the enervating
monotony of rectangles that make up the space. It beats looking out on
the parking lot. Let’s be honest, modern architecture doesn’t make use
of repeated rectangles because the rectangle is a shape the meaning of
which we just never get tired of exploring. Rectangles are cheap and
plentiful, and curves cost money. Look at the granite slab tub at the
left. A baptismal font, or a water feature with coi fish? Generic
acoustic ceiling tiles (how daring!) and floor tiles just like I have
in my bathroom. Look, I know the architect is dealing with a limited
budget, as well as building codes, so a lot of this is simply
fore-ordained and out of his/her control. Our culture just makes dull
buildings, that’s all. In this context, the artwork is a
welcome relief from the assembly-line blankness of the space. It is
aesthetically pleasing (competently composed and harmonious) and gives
the eye something to do for a few seconds. In that sense, it performs a
function. That’s setting the bar awfully low, but there you go. Kemper
doesn’t need me to like his art… he is successful and there are
plenty of people who love this sort of thing. It functions as a
placeholder for the idea of a piece of art, and it offends (could
offend) no one.

This is the kind of art that I hope the Vatican’s Council for
Catholic Culture studiously avoids in it’s search for new talent, which
TAE notes here.

Moving on…

TAE has some thoughts
on the Catholic League’s Bill Donahue having some thoughts about the
art of some college student, who further has some novel thoughts
regarding the proper use of rosaries and other devotional items…

"Whoa, lad! That crucifix doesn’t go there!" (think Robert Mapplethorpe).

TAE makes one good point; nine times out of ten, pounding the table
about stuff like this only draws attention to it. In that sense, I
would rather that "Shoutin’ Bill" would just let things be. His heart
is in the right place, but I look forward to seeing him on the news
probably about as much as thoughtful evangelicals look forward to
seeing Jerry Falwell.

That said, how anyone could mistake the art for anything but plain,
bigoted hate speech is beyond me. The paintings are calculated to
disgust and offend, and yet TAE manages only;

"I can’t help but think he could have approached his canvases in a more deft manner."

Deft manner? Does anyone really hold out the possibility that the
artist has some genuine, thoughtful critique of the Catholic Church,
but (poor boy) chose an unfortunate way to express it? Is anyone naive
enough to suppose that the artist seethes with loathing for Catholics,
but generally thinks highly of other Christians? Do you figure that he
quite approves of Pentecostals, for instance? Yeah, and rosaries might
fly out my butt.

Let’s imagine a college art exhibit critical of gay marriage that
made it’s point by pornographically lampooning Matthew Shepard and
Harvey Milk. How many hours would it be be open before someone was
fired? Yet, this art is no different. Some adolescent wanted attention,
and his fawning professors (with the help of the Catholic League) have
obliged.

Finally, in his post on Donahue, TAE says;

Referring back to Donahue’s criticisms, perhaps he believes his own
denomination to be Divine and infallible as an institution. I’ve known
of Catholics with this attitude, although I don’t sense it’s a
prevailing conviction. If I may be so bold, this would in fact be a
naive belief, and I don’t understand how anyone could presently think
so highly of the Catholic Church in light of the recent scandals that —
unfortunately — plagued this enduring institution. No part of the Body
of Christ can say with a straight face that they or their particular
congregation has not made certain gross missteps along the way…"

This
will require another post to address, but in brief, it (unsurprisingly)
reflects what seems to be an incomplete and overly simplistic view of
what the Catholic Church believes on the subject(s)…  very similar to
what I thought Catholics believed… before I became one!

Of Raiders and Crystal Skulls

Why RAIDERS OF THE LOST ARK is the greatest action–adventure film in history.

Why INDIANA JONES AND THE KINGDOM OF THE CRYSTAL SKULL is worth catching.

Eight years ago, before Decent Films existed, I jotted down a few quick sentences on Raiders as part of a list of 35 or so movies I particularly liked and recommended. Those sentences wound up on the first version of Decent Films, and have remained on the site ever since… until yesterday, when I finally posted a full-length review. I hope to get around to writing up Temple of Doom and Last Crusade sometime soon… I’ll have to see how it goes.

Incidentally, it occurs to me that as an "action–adventure film," Raiders straddles two overlapping but distinct genres: Not all adventure films are action films, and not all action films are adventure films.

For instance, consider Star Wars and Die Hard. Star Wars is a classic adventure story, but I wouldn’t call it an "action film." Likewise, Die Hard is one of the pinnacles of action moviemaking, but I wouldn’t call it "adventure."

Raiders, on the other hand, is clearly both action and adventure. That’s part of the reason that, while all three are four-star classics in my book (though Die Hard in particular certainly isn’t for everyone), Raiders would probably make my personal all-time top 10 list, if I ever drew one up, while Star Wars and Die Hard wouldn’t. (They’d probably make the top 100, though.)

A Little Cylon Speculation

Ellen_tigh_1I’ve been thinking for a while about doing a post on who I think the final cylon is. I’ve even started the post at least once, but I haven’t finished it.

This post isn’t it, by the way. (So let’s not speculate on who the final cylon is in the combox; let’s save that for next time.)

But I thought I would do a little bit of speculating about who is a cylon in this post, and I think that the woman on the left is.

Who is she?

Well, it’s Ellen Tigh, wife of Col. Saul Tigh.

Why do I think she’s a cylon? A big reason is that there was a lot of hinting in the very first episode she appeared in that she is a cylon.

Remember? She was found mysteriously on one of the ships of the ragtag fleet, unconscious, with nobody remembering how she got there. Then she wakes up and is brought to the Galactica, where she proceeds to bring out all the worst aspects of her husband, like a cylon sleeper agent might want to do to undermine fleet command.

And to settle the question of whether she is a cylon, Dr. Baltar gives her his cylon-detector test and publicly says that she’s a human but privately admits to Head Six that the test may have indicated otherwise but that he’ll "never tell" if it did.

So there’s all that.

It later became clear that, if Ellen was a cylon, she wasn’t a sleeper agent who knew what she was doing, because she was willing to risk everything to help her husband during the cylon occupation of New Caprica. Or at least she didn’t care about betraying cylons to help her husband.

But that’s not a problem since not all cylon sleeper agents know that they’re cylons. The original Sharon "Boomer" Valerii, for example, did not know she was a cylon and others, like Sharon "Athena" Valerii have sided with humans against cylons.

So things were looking pretty inconclusive regarding Ellen, until . . .

"Wait!" you say, "I haven’t seen any season 4 episodes! Don’t spoil this for me!"

Okay.

I won’t.

Stop reading now.

"Wait!" you say, "How can you say this post isn’t going to be about who the final cylon is if you’re about to say that Ellen Tigh is a cylon? Wouldn’t her being a cylon mean that she’s the final cylon?"

No, because I think she’s just a version of one of the cylons that has already been established.

Specifically: I think she’s a Six.

She’s just an older version of Six–perhaps one of the first Sixes to be made.

After all, the Sixes don’t all look the same. Even when they’re played by Tricia Helfer, they look different. Some, like the "Gina" Six (the one who was on the Pegasus and later set off the nuke) or the current "Natalie" Six (the one leading the cylon resistance to the Ones, Fours, and Fives) wear their hair notably different than the platinum blond curls of Caprica Six or Head Six (and Head Six herself has worn her hair differently, as she did in the episode where she got Baltar to get the brainscan that convinced him she wasn’t a chip in his wetware).

So Sixes don’t all have to have an identical physical appearance, and thus there might be older versions of some models that have aged in a way that simulates human aging.

But that’s not the core reason.

The core reason is that in the recent episode "Escape Velocity," Col. Tigh interrogates Caprica Six in her cell on the Galactica and, during the course of the event, starts hallucinating that Caprica Six is Ellen.

What they did was bring back the actress who plays Ellen and got her dressed up and coiffed as Caprica Six, platinum blond curls and all.

And, wow, is it convincing.

There are moments, watching the transitions between Six and Ellen, when you say "Which actress am I looking at here? They’re so close once you put the same hair on them!"

And then there’s this . . .

The characters act the same.

They’re both highly manipulative and willing to use their feminine wiles to achieve their ends.

Also, neither seems to mind the concept of extra-marital affairs as long as some kind of fundamental love/loyalty-to-one-spouse isn’t compromised.

And–perhaps most uniquely–they’re both manipulating their Significant Others to make something more of themselves in the world.

I mean, think about it: From the moment Head Six shows up, she starts manipulating Gaius Baltar to ensure that he assumes his "destiny," right?

And from the moment Ellen Tigh shows up, she starts manipulating Saul to get him to assume command of the fleet/increase his influence and power, right?

Both of them are catty, morally loose manipulators who are trying to drive their chosen men reluctantly into positions of prominence and power.

So, not only do they look the same, they act the same. They have the same basic personality and modus operandi.

Okay, that’s it.

Unless the creators of the show choose to establish otherwise on screen, as far as I’m concerned, Ellen Tigh is simply a more mature Six.

Which makes her story all the more interesting.

Why Is Christian Art So Lame These Days?

That’s a question that’s worth asking.

I mean, it isn’t as if Christian art has always been lame. A visit to the Sistine Chapel or a read through Dante or a listen to Mozart will tell you that.

But for some reason, right in the here and now, an enormous amount of Christian art–whether visual, literary, or musical–is just really, really lame.

And it’s not driving the culture the way it used to.

Instead, it feels like a shallow copy of secular culture.

That’s something explored in a recent article at Salon.Com. Here’s the money quote:

For faith, the results can be dangerous. A young Christian can get the idea that her religion is a tinny, desperate thing that can’t compete with the secular culture. A Christian friend who’d grown up totally sheltered once wrote to me that the first time he heard a Top 40 station he was horrified, and not because of the racy lyrics: "Suddenly, my lifelong suspicions became crystal clear," he wrote. "Christian subculture was nothing but a commercialized rip-off of the mainstream, done with wretched quality and an apocryphal [sic] insistence on the sanitization of reality."

SOURCE [WARNING: There are a few just plain gross references in the article.]

The article largely focuses on culture schlock in Evangelical circles, but we all know the same thing is true in Catholic circles, as the insipid folk-esque musical spoutings of Oregon Catholic Press or the chunky abstract patterns that pass for stained glass windows in many parishes reveal. Those are just cheesy ripoffs of secular music and secular art (and dated ripoffs at that.)

So why isn’t contemporary Christian art better than it is?

Classic Lit Bleg

Perov_dostoevsky_2
Hey, Tim Jones, here.

One thing I have wanted to do for a while is go back and read all the classic Western literature I missed in college. They don’t exactly require a lot of reading from art students (which is a pity) so I feel impoverished in that area.

What I would like is some guidance. If anyone knows a good list of, say, the top 100 works of Western literature (the Must Read stuff), please let me know and provide a link, if you can. Also, please feel free to make your own classic lit recommendations in the combox.

I’m already primed to read a few by Dostoevsky. That’s him, pictured. A portrait by Russian artist Vasily Perov (1834-1882).

(Visit Tim Jones’ blog Old World Swine).

A new rhyming review

SDG here with my new Seussian review of Horton Hears a Who (opening today).

My habit of reviewing Dr. Seuss adaptations in Seussian anapestic tetrameter began eight years ago with the Jim Carrey How the Grinch Stole Christmas, which I felt deserved to be trashed, if not in the good Doctor’s own voice, at least in a reasonable facsimile thereof.

A couple of years later I continued the conceit with Scooby-Doo, this time writing to the tune of the well-known Scooby-Doo theme song. (This approach permitted only 24 lines in a very limited meter, so I cheated by adding line-by-line annotations. However, it did allow me to sing a review on the air.)

Then the following year I went back to Seussian verse for the Mike Myers The Cat in the Hat.

This time, though, my Horton review is a bit different from these previous efforts.

How?

Three ways: First, the first three were all of live-action films; this one’s a computer-animated cartoon. Second, the earlier Seuss adaptations were both Universal; this one is 20th Century Fox.

Neither of those is the big difference, though (although the big difference is certainly impacted by the first, and possibly by the second).

So what’s the big difference with this review?

IT’S POSITIVE. Never got to recommend a movie in verse before.

Enjoy!