S.M. Stirling's Emberverse Series

Dies the Fire, The Protector's War, and A Meeting at Corvallis are S.M. Stirling's novels of the Change. He is following up with a series that focuses on the exploits of one of the children in the trilogy (also part of the Emberverse series) which I have not read. Essentially, all you need to know is that the world Changed; all electricity, gunpowder, steam power, and engines in general stopped working permanently. Cool. The novel centers around two groups of survivors that build a society, one off of modern Wicca and one off of warlord/woodsman values. Sweet. His villain is a medieval studies professor who tries to reinstate feudalism with an iron fist, styling himself shamelessly as Sauronic. This is starting to sound great.

But...
Stirling plays down characters that are really interesting, and the shift in the personalities of Armiger, who he makes more sympathetic at some points but does not, in the end, succeed in making him more than two-dimensional, Lord Bear, who starts out as a gruff but lovable woodsman and ends up a scary war-king who curses a lot, and Signe, who turns from a sexy and capable lady to a royal bitch are jarring and unconvincing. Rudi is super-weird, Eilir is two-dimensional, and there are certain things that are repeated ad nauseam throughout the book. One of the things that bothered me the most: Stirling has romantic ideas about what Englishmen are like, and the result is a portrait of the English rather akin to the idea of a Spanish man with long hair and an undone poet's shirt riding a white horse on a beach. I'm sure they're out there, those dreamy Spanish guapos, but the reality of being a Spaniard is more mundane. The reality of being an Englishman is not summed up in polite conservatism, a proficiency with sword-fighting, a penchant for tea, and a charming accent with an accompanying battle-cry "St. George for England!" No, no. That's just silly, Mr. Stirling. His Texan character is similarly silly. And his white supremacists. They're not interesting, and don't represent their groups at all. I feel like Stirling was using them as pawns. Or diversity souvenirs. I don't know. But Stirling should have found out more about these groups before he wrote about them. The Wiccan religion is also presented in a light of perfection, without any self-reflection whatsoever. It's just unequivocally good and right. Bother.
S.M. Stirling is an oddball. The three novels of his that I read are original in plot, character, and setting, but they read like a cliché. This is unfortunate, but don't be deterred from reading. When you put the books down, you sit reeling in imaginative outpourings. It sets you thinking about what truly is the source of justification for our societies to exist—how is a society built? The Emberverse answers "myth." That's a damn good answer, and one with which I agree wholeheartedly. But somehow even this answer which is so distinctly anti-modern, so ridden with rectitude and dripping with sincerity, is couched and played with and almost trivialized by the dialogue of the characters. Stirling's shameless plug for Wicca (the Old Religion that is not really Old) and frequent dismissal of Christianity shows a desire to stand against the norms of society, but ends up perpetuating the very myths that uphold current prejudices. It shows a distinct lack of understanding of Christianity's strange history in America to believe that "Christians" as a whole, over all time and places, are responsible for the current state of post-industrial wastelands. But, as many Neo-Pagans are wont to do,  he dredges up the tiresome "Suffer not a witch to live" to characterize those meany Christians, to whom he refers later as "hard men" and "outdated." It's silly to write about the essentially deeply satisfying nature of life without electricity, gunpowder, and engines and still cling to the idea of progress past religion as a good thing to be sorely wanted. It's silly to write basically a polemic for neo-feudalism and yet have all characters except the villain be decidedly against any form of feudalism. Just admit it, Stirling. You are a neo-feudalist Luddite radical traditionalist. One without too much education concerning these positions, certainly, but one nonetheless.
Stirling, in other words, comes up short in ideological consistency, which is not redeemed by his relative originality. If this were a work of pure genre-clichéd imagination candy, then I wouldn't be too bothered by it, but the novels of the Change present themselves as more than that, so I'm a bit bothered that they don't have the metaphysical consistency of greater works.
That being said, I would recommend the novels for anyone who loves both post-apocalypse and fantasy. They hit all the good spots without becoming too trite, and the characters are arresting, compelling, and believable. But I would give the caveat that Stirling's works are filled with wishful thinking on his part and a lot of incorrect views on the nature of society and the history of religious thought. But this, for the normal reader, will not be a stumbling-block. Rather, the "campiness" of the novel is not prominent, and one comes away with a glowing feeling of satisfaction instead of the usual feeling of guilt and pleasure combined. I recommend it with reservations.

She films from 1935 & 1965

Based on Henry Rider Haggard's She: A History of Adventure, the 1935 and 1965 film adaptations of She demonstrate the richness of this novel. The 1935 version featured the direction of Merian C. Cooper (the same director who made King Kong). It combines elements from all the books in the series, including She, She and Allan, Ayesha, and Wisdom's Daughter. Although Hammer Films Vengeance of She bears no little resemblance to Ayesha, it is meant to be a loose sequel to She (1965 Hammer Film), with a reversal of roles.

I urge you to watch these two films. The 1935 version is truly wonderful, complete with art-deco style caves and art pieces.

Movie Posters for She, produced by Merian Cooper

Note the Art Deco elements, even the classic reclining figure bathed in light and the throwback to classical elements of Greek theatre. 

The second is less well done in general. The sets and costumes aren't as stunning or original. Even though the 1965 version followed the novel more closely (for instance, it's actually in Africa this time instead of the arctic), I don't feel it had quite the cinematic power of the 1935 version. That, of course, is not to slight the excellent performances by Peter Cushing and Christopher Lee, two of the greatest horror actors of all time. It's also not meant to slight the beauty of the unearthly Ursula Andress, who commands attention as Ayesha.

The real key to the success of the film is the character of Ayesha. Ursula Andress, though a fine actress in her own right, couldn't radiate the eternal passion of immortal tragic love and furious devotional jealousy—the pure lust for living that Helen Gahagan reveals. Helen's Ayesha is a tragic character of death with whom we fall in love, rather than Andress, who simply inspires desire. Her character is cold, calculating, lustful, and we cannot sympathize with her. She is two-dimensional, a goddess. Kallikrites/Leo ends up walking through the flame of eternal life, and simply waiting for Ayesha to be reborn once more, even shrugging off the love given to him by Ustane (played by the stunning Rosenda Monteros) that saved him in the first place. This is, I suppose, convenient for the sequel The Vengeance of She, but there's no real important lesson to learn, and we never establish enough connection with either Kallikrites/Leo or Ayesha to understand why the love is such a big deal. We do, however, feel adoration for Peter Cushing's Professor Holly, fright for Christopher Lee's Bilali, and sympathy for the gorgeous and sincere Ustane. 

The captivating Helen Gahagan

The thing is, the 1935 version had a definite message. The message was that true love can only be had when one grows old and dies and "hopes to see them again someday." This message is conveyed through the naïve Tanya, who tries to dissuade Leo from walking through the eternal flame and uniting himself with Ayesha. Ayesha is revealed to be jealous beyond belief and vain enough to take joy in making Leo watch Tanya die without revealing her identity (thankfully he does, and ceases the sacrifice). This reveals that Ayesha does not so much want to make Leo hurt as much as she wants to satisfy her ravenous desire for his love for her to be complete. But Tanya thinks that Ayesha's type of love—the jealous obsession she has for her only equal, the only person "whose passion for life is as grat as [her] own"—isn't human. Instead, what love is to Tanya is simple. "Sharing life...growing old together, and when one dies, hoping to see them again someday."

This is a complex argument, and essentially implies that to truly love something, you must love something that is dying. Love and death. This argument is implied in films like Groundhog Day, in plays like Shakespeare's Hamlet, and in Wagner's Tristan und Isolde. Roger Scruton has a book about this very association. 

In other words, whereas the 1965 film is a great film to watch if you are a Peter Cushing or a Christopher Lee fanboy (as am I), or just want to see Ursula Andress—it's always worth it. But really, it is an unsuccessful movie, especially if compared with the 1935 version directed by Cooper. Despite the minor characters being truly two-dimensional, Ayesha played by Helen Gahagan is a truly rich character with a depth that engages with themes that have been central to our literature since time immemorial: the terrible consequences of vanity, the horror of immortality, and the ephemeral nature of true love.

~~~

I think that the "star" system of rating movies is highly inadequate. I look for different things in movies, so I would rate them on different scales. Here is what I propose: To take different aspects of the movie, and give ratings for each one, with no overall "score." Judge the movie based on what it trying to do, not what you were wanting. That system works surprising well for a lot in life.

Here's what the numbers generally mean.

1 - objectively deplorable

2 - terrible

3 - bad

4 - below average

5 -  mediocre

6 - could use improvement

7 - enjoyed it despite reservations

8 - great, with minor problems

9 - incredible

10 - inspired by genius or supernatural occurrence

For the 1935 version of Merian C. Cooper's She:

Main Character   ~   8

Supporting Characters   ~   6

Cinematography   ~   7

Set and Costume   ~   7+

Plot   ~   6+

Dialogue   ~   6

Music   ~   6+

Narrative Concern   ~   8

Effects   ~   6

The 1965 version of She:

Main Character   ~   6

Supporting Characters   ~   7+

Cinematography   ~   6

Set and Costume   ~   7

Plot   ~   6

Dialogue   ~   7

Music   ~   5

Narrative Concern   ~   5

Effects   ~   6

Further note: I have not watched the silent version from 1925, nor have I watched The Vengeance of She. I will review those at a later time in connection with this post.

Well, This is Awkward...

I haven't updated in a long time. If any of you care, sorry.
My thesis, The Kingdom without God: Post-Apocalyptic Survival Narratives and the American Religious Imagination, is finished. Because I now know a little too much about science fiction, I would like to dedicate this blog—at least temporarily—to my burgeoning pulp fiction collection, and reviews of old science fiction movies.  So anyway.
I went to the wonderful 1/4 Price Books today on Shepherd. The guy who runs the store was incredibly kind, helpful, and interesting. But I found three cool sci-fi books that were really great discoveries. They are easy to buy online, but not in this condition! These are not scans—I found these images online. Thanks to whoever uploaded them.

First, the Ace double novel books (two whole books in one!): Stepsons of Terra by Robert Silverberg and A Man Called Destiny by Lan Wright. This book is from 1958 and is in fair condition. The beginning pages are loose and the spine is torn, but it's Robert Silverberg, and it's quite old—so I thought I'd buy it.

Ace Double D-311, cover artists Ed Emshwiller and Ed Valigursky

The next find is pretty special—it's the first edition of Ursula K. LeGuin's Rocannon's World. Since this one is also an Ace Double paperback, it also includes The Kar-Chee Reign by Avram Davidson. This one's from 1966 and is in near perfect condition—never been read. The Rocannon's World was originally published in Weird Tales, but the first full-length novel was published alongside Davidson's novel.

Ace Double G-574, cover artists Gerald McConnell and Jack Gaughan

The last find was a real treat. It was unpriced, and caught my eye because of the condition—it has never been read, perhaps only touched a few times. It's the 1966 Avon publication (fourth printing) of The Ship of Ishtar by A. Merritt (Abraham Grace Merrit). 

Avon S-229, cover artist Doug Rosa

Hope you enjoy the blog as it grows over the summer; I'm planning on reviewing a lot of old sci-fi movies and it might be worth your while to read them—especially if you would consider watching them.

Signing off for now,

R