Next book on the reading list:

Update: I’m reminded that you can sample the first few chapters of Cryoburn at the Baen website.

Next book on the reading list:

Update: I’m reminded that you can sample the first few chapters of Cryoburn at the Baen website.
From an interview with CultureLab:
I am putting the finishing touches on Rule 34, as in rule 34 of the internet, which says if you can imagine it, there’s a porn community around it somewhere on the internet. It’s my big gay near-future Scottish police procedural, featuring alarming and innovative business models for organised crime, Gangster 2.0 and iMob. Most business models for organised crime would be familiar to Al Capone, so the California venture capital community is funding criminal start-ups with new models. It’s about 15 years out, and about 90 per cent of it is familiar right now, but the other 10 per cent will be unspeakably weird and strange, and perhaps 1 per cent of that will be beyond your imagination. It will be published next year.
Remember the “Flying Jeep” proposal? It’s still being pursued, as the initial funding for a flying gyrocopter/SUV has been awarded by DARPA:
Transformer TX, as we have previously reported, is intended to produce a vehicle able to drive on the ground with similar performance to a Humvee or other offroad vehicle. It must also be able to take off vertically with 1,000lb of passengers and payload aboard and fly about at altitudes up to 10,000 feet at speeds equivalent to normal light aircraft.
Perhaps best of all, the Transformer TX is also intended to be fully automated, capable of flying itself with only the most basic guidance from its human operator — who would not, therefore, need to be a highly trained pilot.
Admittedly, I know almost nothing about flying, but this sounds like getting something for nothing (that is, aren’t there laws of physics against this?):
The SR/C idea is basically a winged, propellor-driven light aeroplane with a set of free-spinning autogyro rotors on top. It’s not a helicopter: the engine can’t drive the rotors in flight, and a sustained hover isn’t possible. Nonetheless, though, the CarterCopter can take off vertically as required by Transformer TX rules.
It does this by having weighted rotor tips, meaning that a lot of energy can be stored in the spinning blades (rather as in a flywheel). Sitting on the ground, a small engine-driven “pre-rotator” assembly can gradually spin the rotors up to high speed. The pre-rotator, pleasingly, doesn’t have to transmit a lot of power — thus it is lightweight, cheap and simple compared to a helicopter’s transmission. Nor is the engine required to deliver the massive grunt required to keep chopper blades spinning hard enough to support the aircraft.
Once the rotors are at takeoff speed, the pre-rotator is declutched, the prop engaged and the pitch of the rotors pulled in so that they start to bite air. As they slow down, the energy stored in their whirling weighted tips blasts air down through the disc and the aircraft leaps vertically into the air in a “jump takeoff”.
Sounds amazingly like pulling yourself into the air by your own bootstraps . . .
Still, I’d like to eventually get that flying car I was promised all those years ago.
I’m eagerly awaiting Lois McMaster Bujold’s next novel Cryoburn, which is due to be released next month. Here’s the first preview I’ve seen:
If you’re a big Lois McMaster Bujold fan, you probably already know this. If you’re sort of a fan and haven’t heard, you’ll want to know. If you’ve never heard or read her stuff — well, you really should.
Cryoburn is the latest installment in Lois’s wonderful series featuring Miles Vorkosigan, the frail, dashing, ever-resourceful and hopelessly romantic space-traveler who uses brains and charm to overcome severe physical handicaps as he flits around the universe in the service of his home planet’s security force. If you’re not familiar with these books, I can barely attempt to sum them up. Ms. Bujold has created a finely-textured, richly detailed, eminently logical — and deeply human — universe. The first in the series, Shards of Honor, finds Miles’s future parents on opposite sides of a planetary war. Romance blossoms and in Barrayar they have married and are attempting to conceive in the midst of a fierce political battle that turns violent, with devastating effects on the child they finally manage to bring into the world. With Warrior’s Apprentice, we jump ahead sixteen years to pick up the story of Miles and his struggle to live up to his father’s — and his own — high expectations. And on we go from there — for ten (now eleven) terrific books, plus some short stories and spin-offs — following Miles as he learns the ropes of war and politics to become ever more respected — and powerful.
[. . .]
I think her fans assumed that with Diplomatic Immunity, she had pretty much wrapped up Miles’s tale. To our delight, she has sprung Cryoburn on us and I can safely say that it does not disappoint. Miles, now married and with a growing family, and thoroughly enjoying his job as an Imperial Auditor (read: galactic trouble-shooter), is sent to Kibou-Daini (also known as “New Hope”) to investigate peculiar goings-on in that planet’s cryogenics industry. Getting cryo-ed is now big business and virtually everyone, at some point, opts to be frozen alive, in the hope of awakening to a cure for disease or old age, or simply a more pleasant future. But corporate shenanigans threaten to wreak havoc on millions of slumbering customers unless someone gets to the bottom of a burgeoning scandal.
One of the best parts of Bujold’s Vorkosigan series is that each one stands on its own as a novel: you don’t need to read them in sequence to get full enjoyment. I happened to read them in a mixed-up sequence myself, starting with Warrior’s Apprentice, then going backwards through Barrayar and Shards of Honor to get to Falling Free. In spite of that, I thoroughly enjoyed each book as a book despite taking them chronologically backwards.
When I got back from lunch today, the UPS truck had delivered my weekend reading material:

Update: The first fifty pages have been excellent. It’s interesting how many characters in his fiction are recognizably people from his early life in Missouri.
I spent too much of my childhood TV watching time hiding behind the couch whenever this program was on. I was too scared to watch, but wouldn’t let my mother turn off the TV:
Listening to all of them now, it’s only the first one that really sets the hair on the back of my neck quivering . . .
H/T to Rob Beschizza for the link.
The Register looks at the “Tyrannos” flying jeep:
Who remembers the “Transformer TX” flying-car project, intended to equip the US Marines with a small four-seat vehicle able to drive about on the ground like a jeep, hover like a helicopter, or fly like a plane? The first team to publicly offer a contending design has now stepped forward.
That design is the “Tyrannos” from Logi Aerospace, allied with other companies and organisations including the South West Research Institute and Californian electric-vehicle firm ZAP.
The Tyrannos is nominally intended to provide Marines with the ability to leapfrog over troublesome roadside bombs, mines, and ambushes while remaining able to drive on the ground as they normally might. However, it promises to be much quieter than ordinary helicopters in use and far easier to fly and maintain.
If the Tyrannos can do all its makers claim, it really does have the potential to become the flying car for everyman.
That last sentence really does wrap up the situation: if it can do all that is claimed, it’ll be a fantastic new toy for the military and (eventually) lead to the flying cars we were promised forty years ago. The specs seem hopelessly optimistic, but perhaps I’m just jaded because I don’t have a flying car of my own yet . . .
Reader beware, however. The Transformer TX project is being run not by the Marines themselves but by DARPA, the Pentagon crazytech agency which won’t even touch a project unless it is extremely unlikely to succeed.
“Give us ideas that probably won’t work,” that is DARPA’s motto: and the Tyrannos team assembled their design specifically to DARPA requirements. And, let it be noted, they have yet to satisfy even DARPA’s very relaxed rules on what kind of ideas should get taxpayers’ money spent on them.
Charles Stross gets sandbagged by the unforeseen:
Back in mid-2008 I mentioned that what I thought was a futuristic-circa-2023 technology for the next novel was too damn close. Slightly more recently, in Living through interesting times, I mentioned that it was becoming near-as-dammit impossible to write near-future SF; I was sore because Bernie Madoff had stolen the plot of my next novel.
Well, I picked myself up, dusted myself down, re-framed the novel in question, and I’m currently about 80% of the way through writing it when it all happened again. First of all, Lothian and Borders Police actually established a recognizable-as-the-embryonic-form version of the unit that one of my protagonists, circa 2023, manages. (Only I got the staffing level and departmental mission statement slightly off-whack …) Next, there’s just been another revolution in Kyrgyzstan (a country which, for reasons I’m not going to discuss here, plays a significant role in “Rule 34”).
But the worst thing? I’ve been sandbagged by an unanticipated event.
Of course, it’s quite understandable — after all these years, who knew there even was a “libertarian arm of the Conservative party” to mess up Charlie’s plot of the near-future?
Charles Stross lays out the miserable truth about the practical issues when you try to write fiction for a living:
Most people have a very romanticized view of what it is that authors do. Firstly, there’s a widespread perception that the workload involved is relatively easy — in modern western nations, the level of functional literacy is high enough that a majority of the population can read a book, and write (at least to the extent of thumbing a 160-character text message on their phone). Because there is no obvious barrier to entry as with music (where proficiency with musical instruments clearly takes practice), most people assume that writing a novel is like writing a text message — you put one word in front of another until you’re done. The skills of fiction composition are largely invisible, until you try to actually do it. Secondly, many people harbour peculiar ideas about how much money there is in commercial publishing — and when disabused of the idea that selling a first novel is a road to riches, they assume it’s because the evil publishers are conspiring to keep all the money to themselves (rather than the unpalatable truth — publishing commercial fiction is hard work for little reward). Finally, there’s the Lifestyle chimera.
In short: it’s actually work to write for a living. The pay sucks for the vast majority of fiction writers. You face all the risks of a start-up business, but the potential pay-off is lottery-odds unlikely to come your way. Unlike other work, creative writing can’t be done (for most authors) in a predictable regular way:
Putting words in a row is wearying work. When they’re flowing fast, I can sometimes reach a dizzying peak output of 2000 words per hour for a couple of hours — not in fiction, but in a blog entry or a non-fiction essay. I’ve occasionally had death march sessions in which I pumped out as much as 10,000 words in a day. But such Stakhanovite output isn’t sustainable; a 10,000 word day is usually followed by a three-day-weekend to recover from it. A more realistic target for a full-time professional writer is 500-1000 words of finished prose per workday, corresponding to about 1-2 hours of writing, 2-4 hours of polishing, and another couple of hours of thinking about what they want to say, and how to say it. Like anyone else, they need weekends and vacation weeks and time to do the housekeeping. 1000 words per day for a 250-day working year (50 weeks of 5 days a week) works out at 250,000 words per year — or two 320 page novels.
There’s one SF/Fantasy author who seems to publish a new book every month, but he’s extremely unusual. For most authors, one or two books per year is pretty good output.
Charles Stross is celebrating the release of the final novel in the “Family Trade” series of fantasy novels by going over the genesis of the series. Before he hit on the concept that eventually became six novels, he worked through a few alternatives with his agent. I dunno about you, but I think I’d buy this one:
Idea number two: I’ve been interested in alternate history as a sub-field of SF for a while. There are a couple of ways of writing alternate history; you can do it straight (as an historical novel set in a history that never happened) or if you bend the rules enough to allow for a visitor from our own world to get a tourist visa to the universe next door, you can use it as a tool to poke at our conceptions of how our own world operates.
First I took a stab at designing a straight alt-hist novel. (Elevator pitch: “I’m going to cross the streams of The IPCRESS File and Heart of Darkness in a universe where the first world war ended in 1919 with allied tanks sitting in the wreckage of Berlin, and the decaying British empire went on to invent fascism in the 1940s. It’s 1962, and two OSS agents are injected into British-dominated Europe to trace the underground railroad that is funneling abducted/brainwashed American scientists east. Our two spooks, “Wild” Bill Burroughs and his swivel-eyed Californian sidekick Philip K., follow the trail — by way of a sleazy S&M nightclub in Hamburg presided over by ageing queen Adolf and his boyfriend Rudi Hess — to Ceylon, where in the guts of a hollowed-out mountain they confront the jackbooted, monocle-wearing Air Commodore Arthur Clarke and his program to build an atom-bomb powered space dreadnought.) My agent shot it down as “too weird”. With 20/20 hindsight, I think she may have had a point.
Actually, the fact that I think it’d be a fascinating read probably proves that his agent was quite correct.
Update: Well, to be pedantic, the latest book isn’t the final book, although it concludes the second (of four) story arc. Charles doesn’t intend to write the other two arcs for a few years yet.
Tyler Cowen linked to Alex Carnevale’s top 100 SF&F works, which has some odd choices (Jack Vance and Ursula K. LeGuin appear to have been the compiler’s favourite authors). In the comments to Tyler’s post, an alternate (unannotated) list by David Pringle was recommended. Pringle’s list doesn’t include Fantasy books, so there’s less overlap between the two than you might expect.
No list of this kind is, or can be, truly authoritative, but there are some common items on each list I can’t criticize as being in the top of the field:
What’s that? No Clarke? No Asimov? No Sturgeon? No Card? No Zelazny? No Brunner? Not in the top whatever-number-I-stopped-at. Each has strong fans, and some good work, but not top-rank in my view.
A clearly impartial and unbiased advance review of James Cameron’s Avatar, due for release in December:
Budgeted at a reported $237m (£143m), Avatar is Cameron’s first dramatic feature since the record-breaking Titanic, back in 1997. The film is a science-fiction fantasy set on a verdant planet called Pandora and following the adventures of a US Marine played by Sam Worthington. Cameron shot the film on his own patented “fusion digital 3D camera system” and experts argue that the results take 3D techniques to a whole new level. [. . .]
The reviewer, however, begs to differ, describing the film as “alienating” and “weird”. Moreover, he/she argues that its pioneering visual technology is liable to induce nausea in the viewer. “The problem is with cutting in between 3D focus points and perspective,” the mystery critic writes. “The mind cannot adjust to it without a buffer — thus, Avatar is literally vomit inducing.”
Even the review’s praise comes with a sting in the tail. “There are some beautiful moments [in the film],” it concedes. “But overall it’s a horrible piece of shit.”
You felt that the “chance” meeting between the new Kirk and the old Spock was more like a run through the infinite improbability drive than a sensible plot point? Wait . . . it gets more improbable:
When Star Trek arrives on Blu-ray and DVD Nov. 17, extras like deleted scenes and commentary will answer some lingering questions. Abrams said the DVD includes a scene cut from the film that features Spock Prime (Nimoy) dropping some logic about the unlikely chance meeting.
“In the scene, Spock explains that (the encounter of Kirk and Spock Prime) is a result of the universe trying to restore balance after the time line is changed,” Abrams said. “They acknowledged the coincidence as a function of the universe to heal itself.”
Abrams said he cut that scene because he liked the mystery the chance meeting provided — and the idea that Kirk and Spock are destined to be friends. (Another DVD mini-feature, titled “The Shatner Conundrum,” will tackle the absence of William Shatner, the original Captain Kirk, from Abrams’ movie, according to io9.com.)
Dmitry Chernikov looks at the nonsensical economic “system” of the Star Trek universe:
Similarly, we never see Quark, who owns a bar on the space station, get paid for dispensing his drinks; at least, I don’t recall ever seeing that. For a guy obsessed with latinum (now there’s your sound money—latinum-standard; and in another episode we learn that gold is worthless compared to latinum) this is a problem, especially given that the Federation military employees on the station don’t receive any wages. Once again, the necessary obscurity of how Quark’s business worked (because it obviously cannot work) seems rather annoying. So the conundrum remains. And even for the Ferengi, all business and consumer transactions appear to be performed with cash, that is, actual bars of latinum. They apparently have no stock market (the litmus test for whether a society is capitalist or socialist), no electronic asset transfers, no banking system (banks have two distinct roles, often unfortunately confused under the present fiat money regime: they are (1) warehouses storing valuable property, such as gold coins, a function called deposit banking; and (2) intermediaries between lenders and borrowers, called loan banking), no insurance companies, nothing. There are no big corporations, no brand names, no advertising (on the absence of any kind of commercial mass media see below), no private retail outlets, no Internet shopping. There aren’t even latinum coins, for goodness’ sake! And if not the Ferengi, then who else?
Note that the Ferengi are, of course, the classic stereotype of the Jews, as propounded by Nazi and Soviet propaganda: ugly; crass, materialistic, and base; grasping and scheming; and treacherous. But, in the case of Quark, not entirely without redeeming qualities, particularly when he cooperates with the ruling regime on the station. That is, quite despite his perverse nature, there exists within Quark’s ignoble little soul a weak aspiration to be like the far more noble humans. What a grotesque and utterly false parody of a typical businessman (and Jews, to boot) within a system of natural liberty and free enterprise! In the unhampered market economy the “superior men,” the better-off, the elite or the society’s “natural aristocracy,” are drawn into service to the common man. Entrepreneurs become rich because the masses, the “poor,” rush to outbid each other on the products offered to them for sale. If they fail to satisfy the consumers’ wants, they will forfeit their wealth and their vocation as entrepreneurs and be demoted into the rank of laborers. Personal wealth in a free society is thus a consequence of previous success in serving consumers.
[. . .]
Now it is obvious that the variety of goods and services available on DS9 is extremely limited. The personnel seem to be, as one, ascetic workaholics. I’ve never seen any character go shopping. I suppose that these guys are supplied with government-made standard-issue everything. This can’t be a lot of fun, don’t you think? Also, don’t misunderstand me, I love classical music, but is that all that the Federation citizens are allowed to listen to (I am referring to ST: The Next Generation, in particular)? In other words, instead of a highly developed commercial culture expected of a sophisticated multi-planet division of labor, we get almost complete conformity and uniformity. To put it another way, the characters “have no life”; they are totally devoted to the welfare of the “collective,” the collective being, of course, their superior officers. I could never understand why the Federation was so contrasted with the Borg. The Borg are very much like the Federation, only perhaps with slightly less individual freedom. (Maybe the difference is that, unlike the Borg captives, the Federation serfs love the Big Brother.)
Powered by WordPress