This is a fine story and an interesting idea–what would a group of dogs do if suddenly given human intelligence? The problem comes not in the quality of the novel but in terms of my expectations of it.
(Minor spoilers follow but they reveal nothing the reader won’t encounter in the first few pages.)
The framing device of the story is that the gods Hermes and Apollo place a bet on whether a group of dogs, given human intelligence, would be happy at the time of their deaths. Occasionally Hermes, Apollo, Zeus and other gods step in to interfere or complicate matters further for the dogs.
I found this a little too twee and it also saps much of the emotional depth of the novel, since the author has a literal set of gods that can and do change things on a whim. Just as the reader becomes immersed in the struggles of the dogs to balance their canine and human selves (one dog creates poetry, even as he still craves to eat poop) another scene comes along that reads like a smirking college paper interpretation of the Greek pantheon, employing a droll sort of wit that wears thin quickly.
My other problem with the story is the strong tone of the author’s voice. With (god-like?) omniscience, the author often explains precisely what every character is thinking, whether they are right or wrong, what consequences are to come and so on. At times it feels more like reading a detailed summary of events rather than vicariously experiencing them.
Still, these are deliberate style choices and while they didn’t work well for me, it is very much a matter of personal taste. The meat of the story still holds up so anyone who appreciates the framing will simply appreciate the novel all the more.
Given the unique subject matter and the way the author Alexis commits to the dogs’ perspective, I would still recommend Fifteen Dogs, just be aware of what you’re getting before jumping in.
Where the snow previously saw a huge boost in attendance, today’s writing group saw attendance drop to a mere four amid what Dave described as “ornamental snow” (that same snow eased up for most of the day, only to begin again with renewed fury tonight. Spring officially starts in 15 days).
I was the first one there and early. The group that has the room before us had vacated early so I took advantage and moved in and began writing before 11 o’ clock. By the end of the three hours I’d written just under 4,000 words, all of it on the new Chapter 2b, which is still not complete.
I don’t really have anything to add. I’m pleased with the output and am staying nearly completely away from editing mode. I look forward to hacking the writing to bits later.
Oh, and the snow can bugger right off. After six (or is it seven? Or eight?) major snowfalls I’ve had enough, thanks. I want flowers and t-shirt weather now, not sub-seasonal temperatures and weather you have to be under 10 years old to enjoy.
As always when reading older science fiction–this collection of stories dates from the early 1950s–it’s important to remember what we take for granted today, what actually transpired over the last 60+ years, and how attitudes have changed regarding the sexes.
Regarding the latter, one of the longer stories, “Holiday on the Moon”, is a sweet tale that ends with a girl who becomes so entranced by what she sees while visiting the moon with her family that she (secretly) decides to pursue a career in “the quest for the secret of the stars.”
Clarke usually couches his technology in sufficiently magic-like explanations but there are still amusing bits, like when a futuristic submarine relays important information to its pilot by way of a ticker-tape machine.
This particular collection–the middle of a trilogy–focuses most of its stories on space travel and the moon. The opening story “The Sentinel”, which ultimately led to 2001: A Space Odyssey is about the discovery of an obviously alien machine on the moon (not the famous monolith). My favorite part is how attempts to analyze the machine result in its destruction.
A number of stories highlight the dangers in creating and then trying to control new technology, ranging from machines that can record and playback thoughts, to others that can allow one to control another mind–provided the batteries hold out. Clarke offers a wry, not quite cynical take on the inventors and scientists in these stories, highlighting both the dangers of technology and the fallibility of humans.
The strong voice of the author–almost a narrator in some of the stories–may feel anachronistic today but it also gives the stories the feel of someone sharing a good yarn. You know, sitting by a cozy fire in a pub and hearing about that time two guys talked about parallel dimensions and then got devoured by a monstrous alien beast of some sort when they merely thought that in some dimension they’d be attacked by a tiger.
In the end, I enjoyed this collection for both the strength and imagination of Clarke’s writing and as a kind of time capsule that captures the prevailing moods of the early 1950s, when the threat of the atom bomb loomed over everything and the promise of space travel and all the possibilities it could open, was tantalizingly close.
By request, I did a drawing of a robot eating a fork with a spoon. I call it Robot Eating Fork With Spoon. This is my virgin effort using Sketchable on my Surface Pro 3. It’s kind of slapped together.
I draw forks the same way Rob Liefeld draws feet.
I can see how someone with actual talent could make something nice in Sketchable, though. It’s a pretty nice program.
How goes my goal of getting to 145 pounds at two months into the year? Let’s have a look at the past month:
February 1: 163.6 pounds
February 28: 165.8 pounds
Weight loss gain: +2.2 pounds
Whoops.
I was 165.9 pounds on January 1, so my total weight loss for the year-to-date is:
0.1 pounds
It’s impressive in a way.
On the plus side (that’s a weight loss joke), my body fat percentage has changed in a more positive way:
January 1: 19.1%
February 28: 18.3%
Body fat percentage change: 0.8%
Also on a positive note, I met one-half of my January goals by going donut-free for the entire month, no minor feat given that donuts were present throughout the month in plentiful quantities.
My goal for March is to have actual weight loss with less body fat, too. I get three extra days to accomplish this vs. February, so there’s that, too.
I was remiss in reporting the events of my fifth The Other 11 Months Write-In last Sunday but for a brief time, it almost looked like there would be nothing to report. I arrived a few minutes early and no one else was there, which was a first. The people who had the room booked till 11 seemed contact to stay until they were kicked out, but if no one else was showing I didn’t want to be that person.
A few minutes after 11 we got another arrival and she did not hesitate to ask the others to get going. We moved in and two more joined in for a very intimate group. There was some discussion to start and it went on longer than usual, then we got to work and I continued to read and mull on Road Closed.
In the intervening week I came up with some ideas and when I got to Waves I read a few chapters then went over my notes and added Chapter 2b. I haven’t found a nice way to renumber chapters in Ulysses yet. This chapter expands on Christian’s early days at the college and serves as the catalyst for the spooky shenanigans that follow when he has a near-miss driving home drunk from a house party.
I didn’t finish the new chapter but I wrote over 2,700 words, my best production in months. More importantly, I feel I’ve gotten past a hurdle and both my writing in general and Road Closed specifically are on track, if only for the moment–but hopefully for longer.
Oh, and attendance was up to six, which to be frank is ideal as it gives everyone space at the table without it getting crowded and cramped.
Overall, my most productive outing by far and one that gives me strong encouragement to continue. Eight thumbs up.
Run 481 Average pace: 5:43/km
Location: Burnaby Lake (CW)
Distance: 5.06 km
Time: 29:00
Weather: Cloudy
Temp: 5ºC
Wind: light to moderate
BPM: 165
Stride: n/a
Weight: 164 pounds
Total distance to date: 3795 km
Devices/apps: Apple Watch, iPhone
For the first time in 82 days, I ran outside. Like, actually outside. Outdoors. In nature and stuff.
It was nice.
Haven’t walked the Brunette River trail earlier in the day I knew the snow had retreated a lot more than I’d expected over the past week. The third patch near the far end of the trail was completely gone and the remaining two patches had shrunk enough that there were comfortably wide paths to avoid the snow. I logically concluded that this meant Burnaby Lake, which I had judged better for running last weekend, would be even better.
My plan was thus: Walk to the lake, then keep walking for 5 km clockwise along the south shore, since I haven’t seen it in those 82 days. I’d then run the remainder, exit the park and head to the Production Way SkyTrain station for a triumphant ride home.
I started walking along Avalon Trail and ominously came across snow quickly. It wasn’t much–a few steps to get by–and the snow was both crunchy and yielding, so not slippery. As I approached the first km I asked myself, “I’ve already walked nearly 5K at this point. Do I want to walk another 4K before even starting my run?” The answer was, “Hell no.”
I started my run.
I wrapped up shortly after climbing the hill past Still Creek, where the path turns onto the Cottonwood Trail. Walking the rest didn’t seem as intimidating at that point.
The weather was cool, hovering around 5ºC, and while clouds gathered as I ran, it remained dry. The trail itself was still muddy and wet enough to leave my legs streaked with dirt. I felt macho.
Despite the chilly conditions, there were quite a few people out, walkers and runner alike. I don’t normally run on Saturdays so this may be typical. The people didn’t pose any particular hazards in terms of navigation.
What did pose a hazard was, surprisingly, not the snow. The south side of the trail did have numerous patches but like the ones on the Avalon trail, they were small and not slippery, so I was able to run over them. So yes, I technically ran in the snow. And the north side of the trail was, unlike last weekend, completely devoid of snow. The patch at Still Creek was gone along with every other. It was a pleasant surprise.
Less pleasant were the numerous fallen trees. Most were either already cut up into blocks or fell alongside rather than over the trail, though a few were teetering ominously. One large tree had a snapped branch, the end of which looked like it had already come free, leaving another large and pointy piece dangling above the path like the proverbial Sword of Damocles. I skirted off to one side as I passed–better safe than stuck with a giant pointy piece of wood in your skull. Another tree had bent over the trail, forming an arch. It looked spectacular. It also looked like it wasn’t going to last. Again, I dashed quickly under it.
The worst bits, though, were the bramble. In many places, large clumps of bramble had collapsed on the trail, as if they had heavily sighed, given up and then surrendered and thrown themselves at the mercy of the park workers. Who then hacked them up. The collapses were sometimes caused by one or more trees falling on them, pushing them forward and in other cases, it may have been the weight of the snow stuck to them and frozen for weeks that led to them breaking.
Most of the debris was cleared off the trail but in a few places the bramble was almost but not quite collapsed, leering over the trail rudely and forcing you to dodge around. One short leg had this on both sides. It felt like running through a bunch of spectral fingers trying to grab you from all sides.
My pace of 5:43/km is slow for a 5K but perfectly in line with what I’d expect after nearly three months of no outdoor runs. More importantly, it just felt good to get outside and run on an actual trail, to feel the shifting terrain under my feet, to adjust my pace without having to press buttons. I’m reasonably confident that any more snow will be in the form of dustings that shouldn’t interfere, and with Daylight Saving Time coming in a few weeks, it won’t be long until I can resume runs after work.
All in all, a good if brambly time today.
I am going to be very sore tomorrow, though. I’m already a little sore today. I’m currently at 33,301 steps according to the Apple Watch. That’s a lot. Which reminds me, I need new walking shoes. Soon™.
Sean Trinder’s The Guy Who Pumps Your Gas Hates You is part of NeWest Press’ Nunatak First Fiction Series. As stated in the introduction, these books are “specially selected works of outstanding fiction by new western writers.” This is Trinder’s first novel, and though the author draws heavily on his own experience and background (“write what you know,” indeed) he does it with a sure hand, authentically (and as the title makes clear, humorously) capturing the angst of suburban youth.
The short novel tells the story of Brendan, a 20 year old living in the small Manitoba town of Oakbank. Brendan is at that awkward age between teenager and adult, where life is open to possibilities and the fear of making the wrong choice–or sometimes any choice–can lead to paralysis and inaction, dooming yourself to a life of mediocrity and failed ambitions.
As the story begins, Brendan acknowledges that he is quite good at pumping gas, then admits that no one should ever become quite good at pumping gas. From there he details his daily life, which consists of working at the gas station, getting into regular arguments with his father (his mother having long-since divorced and moved to Toronto), hanging out with his friends, smoking, drinking, and yearning to have a career as a writer. Also, more smoking. Lots and lots of smoking. Export Gold is almost another character here.
Brendan grows increasingly frustrated by his life, feeling trapped in his hometown, and seeks escape by taking an evening writing class. There he meets the “older” woman Anne, who is 27. When you’re 20 every adult approaching 30 seems old. They hit it off and become friends and then start dating. There are ups and downs.
The same happens with Brendan’s friends. They enjoy spending their weekends drinking, smoking pot and drinking more. They insist it is normal and proper for guys in their early 20s to do these things, but Brendan begins to bristle at the routine.
Eventually everything comes to a head–the relationship with Anne sours over a revelation, a party with his friends goes sideways, a fight with his father ends with him wondering if he’ll be kicked out of the house.
At times the story almost reads like a diary, with Brendan’s first person voice providing a level of intimacy beyond just telling what happens. You find out what size his penis is, which comes out of his confession that he doesn’t like talking about sex. It sounds weird, but it works.
As a coming of age story, The Guy Who Pumps Your Gas Hates You doesn’t do anything especially new, but the tone is consistent and witty, and though Brendan occasionally has, you know, opinions, he never comes off as obnoxious or unlikable. The spartan scenes work surprisingly well in sketching out the life of the protagonist as he reaches a crossroads.
My only real complaint is that some of the bones here could use more meat. A number of plot elements hint at more–such as the increasingly shady behavior of the drug dealer contact–but are left unexplored.
Overall, though, this is an entertaining and engaging debut. I’m jealous. My first novel was a half-baked piece of science fiction. Not even half-baked. Maybe one-quarter baked, then dropped on the floor when I took it out of the oven, after which the dog ate it, threw it up, then ate it again.
As someone who was once an angsty 20 year old myself, I related to Brendan’s struggles, even if my own path involved a lot less sex, drugs and rock and roll. I’m not entirely sure how well someone who was not an angsty 20 year old guy would appreciate Brendan’s trials and tribulations, but it’s ultimately a sweet story. Recommended.
The Gum Gum People were small, pink elastic beings that giggled a lot (specifically “HEE! HEE!”) and in a handwritten and unfinished screenplay for what would have been the best Gum Gum People movie of all time, they plot to take over Earth, without having any real malicious intent.
I occasionally doodled out the GGP (if I write it as The GPP it looks a bit like a funky band name) and below are a few sketches that appeared to be a part of a series explaining them, perhaps as a primer before people went to see Invasion of the Gum Gum People. By the third sketch (not included here because it’s little more than a few errant lines) I either ran out of ideas, enthusiasm or pencils.
Sketch 1:
It just seemed obvious that Gum Gum people would race on magic bananas.
Sketch 2:
I have never found gum on my toothbrush.
The GGP getting scratched looks positively delighted. It almost makes me want to try using a toothbrush the next time I’m itchy.
You may have noticed the first drawing looks a lot dirtier. This is because it was on the top of the drawing pad and picked up something like 20 years of crud that the scanner accurately captured. Hooray for technology. (I chose not to clean it up because cleaning up art can have unintended consequences.)
Today I went to the doctor because my efforts to remove wax from my left ear failed, though I did manage to loosen whatever was in there (wax, actually) enough to make it even more annoying than before.
My doctor recalled the old days of the giant metal syringe, which I remember being used on me once as a child. The fact that I vividly recall this is a testament to how awful an experience it was to have water hosed into my ear via a giant metal syringe.
The procedure today was done using a much smaller tube-like device that does the same thing (shoot warm water into the ear) but in a gentler manner. The procedure required four steps to complete: hose the ear, use a plastic picker thing to hook what was jostled loose (it sounds gross and trust me, it was), then the same two steps repeated.
The two chunks of wax were not insignificant in size. The doctor noted the skin inside the ear looked irritated due to these mini-boulders being lodged in there for the better part of a year.
I wouldn’t be surprised if I have nightmares tonight with the two balls of wax appearing as evil twins to torment me.
And while I can’t say I can hear better out of the left ear now, it definitely feels better.
Fifteen Dogs by André Alexis
