Freedom's Landing, Anne McCaffrey. New York: G.P. Putnam's Sons, 1995. Hardbound, 277 pps.
A University of Denver student is captured along with a bunch of other people and taken to another planet. She, other earthlings, and aliens from other places are held as slaves. When Kris escapes, she is rounded up along with other troublemakers and dumped on a different planet thought to be uninhabitated. Folks keep getting dumped there, some go rogue, and some die. Freedom's Landing concerns itself with the initial setting up of the colony which the settler-slaves have named Botany. There is of course a swank alien dude with whom Kris becomes enamoured and a few troublemakers on the side.
Place plays an important role in this particular book. The place settings are integral to the plot and I like that in a story. Interspecies love is also something that I like (and something that Anne McCaffrey explores in other books of hers as well as in this one).
sapphoq reviews says: Folks looking for either fuzzy science or hard science in a science fiction novel are not going to find it here. Folks who are interested in the building of relationships during hard times will. Highly recommended for science fic afficiandos who appreciate well done interspecies romance born in the middle of the hardship of settling in a hostile environment.
Wednesday, September 08, 2010
Saturday, August 21, 2010
The Happy Isles of Oceania by Paul Theroux
Paul Theroux, The Happy Isles of Oceania. New York: Mariner Books, 1992. Large Paperback, 528 pps.
I've been curious about the dots of land in the Pacific west of Hawaii ever since I read J. Maarten Troost' The Sex Lives of Cannibals. I was delighted to discover Paul Theroux' account of his trip through Meganesia, Melanesia, Polynesia, and Hawaii. As he paddled his kayak around nooks and harbors, Theroux frequently listened to c.d.s of various artists. He met locals and tourists, slept out under the stars and in slovenly motels, recorded local stories about cannibalism, cargo cults, and missionaries.
Theroux wanted to go to the island Tanna specifically because the Jon Frum cargo cult was flourishing there [N.B. and is to the present day]. The followers of Jon Frum believe that he will return in a future February in order to rescue them from the ministrations of the missionaries. On the day of his return, the rich white people will be forced to leave Tanna. The missionaries wanted to rescue the natives from such evils as cannibalism. The natives yearned for rescue from the missionaries.
The Happy Isles of Oceania was a fascinating in-depth account of many islands and peoples. The mention of related literature left me with a desire to seek some of it out, the cargo cults' description resulted in my own interet-related. the foibles of the misguided missionaries and the remark that humans tasted like pork had me laughing out loud. Folks who relish the dream of a tropical paradise will do well to read this account of traveling throughout the Pacific in a kayak.
radical sapphoq reviews books and more
I've been curious about the dots of land in the Pacific west of Hawaii ever since I read J. Maarten Troost' The Sex Lives of Cannibals. I was delighted to discover Paul Theroux' account of his trip through Meganesia, Melanesia, Polynesia, and Hawaii. As he paddled his kayak around nooks and harbors, Theroux frequently listened to c.d.s of various artists. He met locals and tourists, slept out under the stars and in slovenly motels, recorded local stories about cannibalism, cargo cults, and missionaries.
Theroux wanted to go to the island Tanna specifically because the Jon Frum cargo cult was flourishing there [N.B. and is to the present day]. The followers of Jon Frum believe that he will return in a future February in order to rescue them from the ministrations of the missionaries. On the day of his return, the rich white people will be forced to leave Tanna. The missionaries wanted to rescue the natives from such evils as cannibalism. The natives yearned for rescue from the missionaries.
The Happy Isles of Oceania was a fascinating in-depth account of many islands and peoples. The mention of related literature left me with a desire to seek some of it out, the cargo cults' description resulted in my own interet-related. the foibles of the misguided missionaries and the remark that humans tasted like pork had me laughing out loud. Folks who relish the dream of a tropical paradise will do well to read this account of traveling throughout the Pacific in a kayak.
radical sapphoq reviews books and more
Thursday, June 10, 2010
The Man Who Mistook His Wife for a Hat, by Oliver Sacks
Oliver Sacks, The Man Who Mistook His Wife for a Hat. New York: Harper & Row, 1970. paperback, 243 pps., incl. biography.
Dear Oliver Sacks,
You are the person I would most like to have tea with on a calm uncluttered California afternoon sitting on your veranda sharing the silence that embraces both of us. You are my hero. You remind me intensely of my humanity-- my intense unwavering humanity-- in the midst of dealing with the professional robots who would rather work to reduce me to deficits and lapses that they can pigeon-hole into stereotypes. I suppose that dealing with the authentic self that is me and more than me is riskier. I am not at all gracious nor grateful for their "help." I have lived quite well over the past six and a half years without their "insight, wisdom, knowledge." For like you, I have learned and relearned that the clinical without the human being is dead, empty stuff. I am weary of these professional robots who cannot hear me when I tell them that my brain damage did not kill off my memory. My memory ranked in the 99th percentile when tested at the rehab hospital six months after my motor vehicle accident. My ability to multi-task has bit the dust, my vision and perception are somewhat skewed, and I've been told that I am now highly distractible. But my memory is intact and I do not need the professional robots to extoll the virtues of writing things down nor of following a written checklist.
Oliver, if I can be so brazen as to refer to you by your first name in this blog post, you declared to the world in this book that the oft-cited axiom that the brain-damaged have only the concrete at their [our] disposal simply is not true. I needed the concrete during the first several months of living with my rearranged brain. I had to teach myself to write in sentences again-- I did this through the internet-- and when I was able to read, I turned to factual books rather than the fantasies that I previously had enjoyed. But brains do heal somewhat and after a time I was able to revel in the abstract once again. You have taught me to focus and build on my strengths rather than to batter away at my difficulties which in fact may not be ameliorable. Oliver, I am so sick of people blindly repeating the phrase, "The brain re-wires itself!" They don't really know what they are talking about, do they? Some of my wires re-connected but not to where they were originally. Dirt roads replaced freeways. Others grew but didn't connect anywhere, thus my central nervous system tremor is one of the prices of recovery. I have named my post-head injury brain Briella. Briella-- still brilliant but a bit sideways. Now I can describe who I used to be in halting unsure words. For a time, I could not even do that. I had to learn my self over again. You remind me not to leave my self behind. For indeed, we are more than our pathologies, labels, problems, diagnoses. So much more!
When I re-read this book, I found again a reunion with friends. I could love Rebecca and Mr. MacGregor and the others. I touched them through your pages. I held my breath as I witnessed Madeleine J. reaching for a bagel. I watched transfigured as she sketched and then made models of what she perceived through her treasured hands, once thought of as "lumps." I was there in your office as you helped Dr. P. put on his shoe. How fortunate your patients are to have had you! I recognized bits of my own difficulties in some of their stories.
Thank you, Oliver Sacks for writing about your patients in such a humane accessible way. My world is a brighter, kinder place with you in it. I take my tea with a bit of lemon sometimes, but no milk or sugar or honey. I'll be up sometime after lunch. Looking forward to it!
sapphoq reviews books n more
Dear Oliver Sacks,
You are the person I would most like to have tea with on a calm uncluttered California afternoon sitting on your veranda sharing the silence that embraces both of us. You are my hero. You remind me intensely of my humanity-- my intense unwavering humanity-- in the midst of dealing with the professional robots who would rather work to reduce me to deficits and lapses that they can pigeon-hole into stereotypes. I suppose that dealing with the authentic self that is me and more than me is riskier. I am not at all gracious nor grateful for their "help." I have lived quite well over the past six and a half years without their "insight, wisdom, knowledge." For like you, I have learned and relearned that the clinical without the human being is dead, empty stuff. I am weary of these professional robots who cannot hear me when I tell them that my brain damage did not kill off my memory. My memory ranked in the 99th percentile when tested at the rehab hospital six months after my motor vehicle accident. My ability to multi-task has bit the dust, my vision and perception are somewhat skewed, and I've been told that I am now highly distractible. But my memory is intact and I do not need the professional robots to extoll the virtues of writing things down nor of following a written checklist.
Oliver, if I can be so brazen as to refer to you by your first name in this blog post, you declared to the world in this book that the oft-cited axiom that the brain-damaged have only the concrete at their [our] disposal simply is not true. I needed the concrete during the first several months of living with my rearranged brain. I had to teach myself to write in sentences again-- I did this through the internet-- and when I was able to read, I turned to factual books rather than the fantasies that I previously had enjoyed. But brains do heal somewhat and after a time I was able to revel in the abstract once again. You have taught me to focus and build on my strengths rather than to batter away at my difficulties which in fact may not be ameliorable. Oliver, I am so sick of people blindly repeating the phrase, "The brain re-wires itself!" They don't really know what they are talking about, do they? Some of my wires re-connected but not to where they were originally. Dirt roads replaced freeways. Others grew but didn't connect anywhere, thus my central nervous system tremor is one of the prices of recovery. I have named my post-head injury brain Briella. Briella-- still brilliant but a bit sideways. Now I can describe who I used to be in halting unsure words. For a time, I could not even do that. I had to learn my self over again. You remind me not to leave my self behind. For indeed, we are more than our pathologies, labels, problems, diagnoses. So much more!
When I re-read this book, I found again a reunion with friends. I could love Rebecca and Mr. MacGregor and the others. I touched them through your pages. I held my breath as I witnessed Madeleine J. reaching for a bagel. I watched transfigured as she sketched and then made models of what she perceived through her treasured hands, once thought of as "lumps." I was there in your office as you helped Dr. P. put on his shoe. How fortunate your patients are to have had you! I recognized bits of my own difficulties in some of their stories.
Thank you, Oliver Sacks for writing about your patients in such a humane accessible way. My world is a brighter, kinder place with you in it. I take my tea with a bit of lemon sometimes, but no milk or sugar or honey. I'll be up sometime after lunch. Looking forward to it!
sapphoq reviews books n more
Ghost Train to the Eastern Star by Paul Theroux
Paul Theroux, Ghost Train to the Eastern Star. New York: Mariner Books, 2008. large paperback, 496 pps.
I've been engaged in reading as much Paul Theroux as I can get my hands on over the last several months and am now just pausing long enough to write the reviews. Ghost Train is the repeat of a trip which Theroux took as a younger man in The Great Railway Bazaar. He left from London (now on a second wife) and trained his way through to India (this time with a detour around Iraq, Iran, and Afghanistan), The Far East, Japan, and back via Russia. He also had to take an occasional bus and a couple of plane flights. Along the way, Theroux mixes with the local folks, stays in hostels and hotels, and reads. As in his other accounts of his travels, Theroux has a gift of mixing history of a place with literary works and stories told by people he meets along the way.
Theroux is quick to point out what has changed and what hasn't. Several Indian cities have become meccas for IT, manufacturing, and call centers. The call centers themselves I found interesting. The Indians who work there take on American sounding names and are tutored extensively so that they "sound" like native speakers rather than like Indians. Often it is a college graduate making less than 4000 U.S.D. a year providing customer/tech support India relies on cheap labour in order to be competitive. In India, Theroux comes across many people who dislike Bush 43 especially in relation to the war over in the Middle East. There is abject poverty in India also which he describes without romance or rancor. There are bits also about Buddhism, Islam, and Hinduism. There are riots and bombing in Ceylon. Over in Thailand, there is a movement among fundamentalist Moslems to establish their own country in the south. Everyone certainly seems to be fighting these days, that is for sure.
Theroux also recounts bits of history while he is visiting Myanmer (Burma), Cambodia, and Vietnam. The behind-the-scenes decisions of politicians (Bush 43, Nixon in particular) were a fascinating glimpse into some of the background behind military actions. He describes in detail his tour of the killing fields, the genocide commited upon the orders of Pol Pot and exactly who helped that corrupt murderer to attain and stay in power. India, China, and Russia all continue to support Pol Pot (each for their own reasons). Theroux also talks about Vietnam and how the Viennese are faring these days. Although he leaves out the prison terms being bantered around for such offenses as e-mailing a relative in the U.S.A. from an internet cafe, he does address the war in Vietnam quite well.
There are throngs of people in the larger cities in Japan. Theroux takes some time there to go cross country skiing in the less populated north and to enjoy the use of two bathhouses before setting off for a final train trek through Siberia and China back through Poland and Germany to England. On the trains themselves, berths (sleeping compartments) are almost always shared and food bought at train stations from the locals is usually safer than what is offered in the dining cars. There is a bit of reflection in this book not present in his earlier journey across Asia. I enjoyed in particular Theroux's musings on invisibility and ageing.
sapphoq reviews says: This book comes highly recommended to the armchair traveler who likes a true sense of place along with an interweaving of history and a sprinkling of literature.
I've been engaged in reading as much Paul Theroux as I can get my hands on over the last several months and am now just pausing long enough to write the reviews. Ghost Train is the repeat of a trip which Theroux took as a younger man in The Great Railway Bazaar. He left from London (now on a second wife) and trained his way through to India (this time with a detour around Iraq, Iran, and Afghanistan), The Far East, Japan, and back via Russia. He also had to take an occasional bus and a couple of plane flights. Along the way, Theroux mixes with the local folks, stays in hostels and hotels, and reads. As in his other accounts of his travels, Theroux has a gift of mixing history of a place with literary works and stories told by people he meets along the way.
Theroux is quick to point out what has changed and what hasn't. Several Indian cities have become meccas for IT, manufacturing, and call centers. The call centers themselves I found interesting. The Indians who work there take on American sounding names and are tutored extensively so that they "sound" like native speakers rather than like Indians. Often it is a college graduate making less than 4000 U.S.D. a year providing customer/tech support India relies on cheap labour in order to be competitive. In India, Theroux comes across many people who dislike Bush 43 especially in relation to the war over in the Middle East. There is abject poverty in India also which he describes without romance or rancor. There are bits also about Buddhism, Islam, and Hinduism. There are riots and bombing in Ceylon. Over in Thailand, there is a movement among fundamentalist Moslems to establish their own country in the south. Everyone certainly seems to be fighting these days, that is for sure.
Theroux also recounts bits of history while he is visiting Myanmer (Burma), Cambodia, and Vietnam. The behind-the-scenes decisions of politicians (Bush 43, Nixon in particular) were a fascinating glimpse into some of the background behind military actions. He describes in detail his tour of the killing fields, the genocide commited upon the orders of Pol Pot and exactly who helped that corrupt murderer to attain and stay in power. India, China, and Russia all continue to support Pol Pot (each for their own reasons). Theroux also talks about Vietnam and how the Viennese are faring these days. Although he leaves out the prison terms being bantered around for such offenses as e-mailing a relative in the U.S.A. from an internet cafe, he does address the war in Vietnam quite well.
There are throngs of people in the larger cities in Japan. Theroux takes some time there to go cross country skiing in the less populated north and to enjoy the use of two bathhouses before setting off for a final train trek through Siberia and China back through Poland and Germany to England. On the trains themselves, berths (sleeping compartments) are almost always shared and food bought at train stations from the locals is usually safer than what is offered in the dining cars. There is a bit of reflection in this book not present in his earlier journey across Asia. I enjoyed in particular Theroux's musings on invisibility and ageing.
sapphoq reviews says: This book comes highly recommended to the armchair traveler who likes a true sense of place along with an interweaving of history and a sprinkling of literature.
Tuesday, May 18, 2010
First a lousy poem
No apologies for merging with the stillness,
no regrets for eating the sun.
No tears for a broken heart,
no recompense for a broken brain.
No recognition or awards for greatness,
no publicity for mediocrity.
No affection for privacy panels,
no love for ignorant neighbors.
No sympathy for Georgie Reyers,
no condemnation for Lucien.
No reason will be given for this lousy pretend poem,
no explanation for sudden clapping of hands.
sapphoq doing "more"
no regrets for eating the sun.
No tears for a broken heart,
no recompense for a broken brain.
No recognition or awards for greatness,
no publicity for mediocrity.
No affection for privacy panels,
no love for ignorant neighbors.
No sympathy for Georgie Reyers,
no condemnation for Lucien.
No reason will be given for this lousy pretend poem,
no explanation for sudden clapping of hands.
sapphoq doing "more"
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