So that’s done. I’ve completed the book review archive for 2012, which means that I’ve finally finished importing my old book reviews from previous versions of my websites into my Reviews section. (The year-by-year review pages also link to more recent reviews posted elsewhere. An index by subject is also available.)
The Pontiac and Ottawa Valley Writers Circle, a new group for fiction writers in my neck of the woods, is having its inaugural meeting next month in Portage-du-Fort. It seems a bit excessively structured for a group that’s just getting started, but is probably something I ought to check out — assuming they’re open to speculative fiction writers, that is. Coverage in The Daily Observer.
I’ve been concerned about the privacy implications of party databases for some time now: political parties are exempt from privacy legislation like PIPEDA, and as far as I’m aware there are no real limits on what data they can collect on voters and how it can be used. As Susan Delacourt notes on iPolitics,
because political parties are neither entirely private nor public institutions, they fall into a grey area when it comes to privacy protection — and those databases, as the outgoing Chief Electoral Officer put it, are operating in the “Wild West” of privacy laws.
The lack of a firewall between party and government bothers me even more: contacting your MP, which is something every engaged citizen ought to do, is a good way to get your details entered into a party database, and during my ministerial correspondence years I handled a number of letters forwarded by the Harper PMO to our department for a response that were tagged with the Conservatives’ party database, CIMS.
But now it looks like party databases are finally getting some overdue scrutiny, with a House of Commons committee set to explore whether there should be rules on how parties collect and use data.
It’ll be interesting to see what comes of it. At a minimum, I’d like it if I had the right to see exactly what data the political parties keep on me. That ought to go some way toward keeping the parties in line.
I’ve been expecting a short story collection from John Scalzi for some time now: it’s the sort of thing one periodically sees from science fiction writers, once their novel-writing careers are established enough to warrant one. But Miniatures: The Very Short Fiction of John Scalzi
Scalzi’s past career in the newspaper biz trained him to write short and make your point fast: the average length of these 18 stories is 1,310 words. Most of them adopt the form of interviews, memoranda, transcripts, or other non-typical narrative styles — there are even two tweetstorms — which I heartily approve of on general principle, but is almost essential when dealing in super-short lengths.
And they’re also appropriate when you’re writing humour. Because, make no mistake, there are some very funny pieces here. Laugh-out-loud funny. In another context I called Scalzi quite possibly the best humorist working in science fiction today, and these pieces do little to disprove that thesis. (Though I should warn you that there is a cat-story-from-a-cat’s POV in here.) If anything his humour works
The entire book is about the length of a novella, and will afford a pleasantly diverting afternoon’s worth of reading. His longer short stories are generally available online or as individual ebooks; whether those stories will also be collected remains to be seen.
What I like most about Arrival (which, believe it or not, I still haven’t managed to see) is that it’s stimulating interest in Ted Chiang’s work. People who haven’t read him are in for a real treat. (The book you want is Stories of Your Life and Others.) Now Chiang has gotten that rare thing for a science fiction writer: a profile in The New Yorker, in which his legendary reticence — he’s laconic to the point of monosyllaby — is on full display. (I’ve met him: he’s like that in real life.)
More than 14 months after the election is hardly the definition of timely, and it’ll be a few years before the next one, but I suddenly remembered that I meant to look at the poll-by-poll results for my electoral district, Pontiac, and see how much the vote in my particular sector — the Pontiac MRC (municipalité régionale de comté, roughly equivalent to a county) — differed from the electoral district as a whole.
In last week’s post about opposing the Trump administration (which kind of went viral, much to my surprise), I mentioned Gene Sharp, who, as I said, literally wrote the book — or rather, books — on nonviolent resistance. In a piece profiling Sharp that appeared on the Scientific American blog network last November, John Horgan noted something that’s very important about Sharp’s point of view: his nonviolence isn’t born out of principle; it’s pragmatic. Violence, “even in the service of a just cause, often causes more problems than it solves, leading to greater injustice and suffering. Hence the best way to oppose an unjust regime is through nonviolent action.” Sharp doesn’t advocates nonviolence because it’s kinder, gentler, more compassionate or otherwise better; he advocates it because it works. (Photo: Albert Einstein Institution)
So in the end, I finished 45 books in 2016:
- Radiance by Catherynne M. Valente
- Quantum Night by Robert J. Sawyer
- The Planet Mappers by E. Everett Evans
- Adventures in Academic Cartography by Mark Monmonier
- Arguably: Selected Essays by Christopher Hitchens
- My Father, the Pornographer: A Memoir by Chris Offutt
- Thomas the Rhymer by Ellen Kushner
- Persona by Genevieve Valentine
- China at the Center: Ricci and Verbiest World Maps edited by Natasha Reichle
- Binti by Nnedi Okorafor
- Snakes of the Southeast (revised edition) by Whit Gibbons and Mike Dorcas
- Wings of Sorrow and Bone by Beth Cato
- Get in Trouble by Kelly Link
- The Winged Histories by Sofia Samatar
- Uprooted by Naomi Novik
- Barsk: The Elephants’ Graveyard by Lawrence M. Schoen
- Too Like the Lightning by Ada Palmer
- Discovering Scarfolk by Richard Littler
- Company Town by Madeline Ashby
- SPQR: A History of Ancient Rome by Mary Beard
- The Usual Path to Publication edited by Shannon Page
- All the Birds in the Sky by Charlie Jane Anders
- The Invention of Nature: Alexander Humboldt’s New World by Andrea Wulf
- The Girl Who Fell Beneath Fairyland and Led the Revels There by Catherynne M. Valente
- The Girl Who Soared Over Fairyland and Cut the Moon in Two by Catherynne M. Valente
- Ventriloquism by Catherynne M. Valente
- Necessity by Jo Walton
- Ghost Talkers by Mary Robinette Kowal
- The Fifth Season by N. K. Jemisin
- Slow Bullets by Alastair Reynolds
- Not So Much, Said the Cat by Michael Swanwick
- Atlas Obscura by Joshua Foer, Dylan Thuras and Ella Morton
- The Man Who Made Models by R. A. Lafferty
- Shoot the Moon by Nicolas Dupont-Bloch
- Speak Easy by Catherynne M. Valente
- Pirate Utopia by Bruce Sterling
- Updraft by Fran Wilde
- The Tyrannosaur Chronicles: The Biology of the Tyrant Dinosaurs by David Hone
- Invisible Planets edited by Ken Liu
- Bridging Infinity edited by Jonathan Strahan
- The Sorcerer’s House by Gene Wolfe
- Treasures from the Map Room edited by Debbie Hall
- The Glass Universe by Dava Sobel
- A Field Guide to Getting Lost by Rebecca Solnit
- The Nasty Bits by Anthony Bourdain
(Links are to my reviews.)
I like to track what and how much I read. It amuses me to crunch the numbers, but most of you will be bored stiff by what follows.
On December 25 the American astronomer Vera Rubin, whose discovery that galaxies were rotating too fast given the mass of their constituent stars provided evidence for the theory of dark matter, died at the age of 88. Her obituaries note the challenges Rubin faced as a pioneering woman in an overwhelmingly male field: prevented from doing graduate work at Princeton, she got her Ph.D. at Georgetown in 1954; in 1965 she became the first woman allowed access to the Palomar Observatory. In the June 2016 issue of Astronomy, Sarah Scoles decried the fact that Rubin’s discovery was somehow insufficient for a Nobel Prize, which she will now never win.
Inasmuch as Rubin was a pioneer, she was not the first woman in astronomy, nor the first to obtain a Ph.D., nor the first to be responsible for a discovery that fundamentally reshapes our understanding of the cosmos — nor the first for whom recognition was unfairly delayed. Some of the women who came before her are the subject of Dava Sobel’s new book, The Glass Universe, coincidentally out this month from Viking.
From the 1880s to the 1980s, the Harvard College Observatory amassed a collection of half a million glass photographic plates of the night sky, and catalogued hundreds of thousands of stars’ luminosity and spectra. The work, along with some significant scientific discoveries, was largely done by a group of women known as the Harvard Computers. If you watched Cosmos: A Spacetime Odyssey, you saw a bit of this in the eighth episode, “Sisters of the Sun,” which talked about the computers, especially
The Glass Universe charts the history of the group, from the bequest by Henry Draper’s widow, to Observatory director Edward Charles Pickering’s decision to hire women to do the work (less expensive), to the achievements and discoveries that followed. It’s not a scholarly work, though it’s assiduously researched, drawing on the correspondence of the principal figures. Nor is it an explicitly feminist analysis, or for that matter strictly focused on the women themselves, as the narrative takes the reader far and wide, to remote stations in Peru and South Africa. Sobel (whose previous work includes Longitude, the story of Harrison’s chronometers) provides context, and a whole history, to help us understand not only who these women were, but what they accomplished.
The sheer volume of data collected — Pickering agonized over losing the irreplaceable glass plates to fire — was the basis not only of the Bright Star Catalogue and the Henry Draper Catalogue (if you see a star identified by a number with an HD prefix, that’s where it came from), but of the discoveries that resulted from the mass of data collection, and the fact that the principals stayed at their work for decades, building up a wealth of experience and perspective at, frankly,
It is a paradox of popular culture that while the women of the Observatory who made these discoveries received credit for their work — first in acknowledgements in Pickering’s own work, later as co-authors and authors in their own right, and in the honours they eventually received from their peers (though not, it must be said, from Harvard University itself) — their names have not penetrated the popular-science zeitgeist to the same extent as, say, Hubble’s, Lowell’s or Tombaugh’s. You might argue that stellar spectra are a more rarefied subject, but I’d counter that (a) we know who Hubble is, and his discoveries are a direct consequence of their work; and (b) I knew what their discoveries
I knew, for example, about the system of stellar classification based on stellar spectra (“Oh Be A Fine Girl Kiss Me” and all that), but I didn’t know that it was developed by Annie Jump Cannon — as a compromise between earlier systems devised by Williamina Fleming and Antonia Maury. Classifying stars was long, tedious, repetitive work — women’s work — but it was vital, and enduring.
I knew what a Cepheid variable was, and how the relationship between its pulsation and its luminosity allowed it to be used to calculate interstellar (and later intergalactic) distances; I didn’t know that this relationship had been discovered by Henrietta Swan Leavitt. And it was Cecilia Payne (later Cecilia Payne-Gaposchkin) who determined that Cannon’s
I’m trying to reconcile the hostility Rubin faced with the relatively warm reception given the women of the Harvard College Observatory. It’s possible that Rubin’s obituaries and Sobel’s book are each reporting a different side of the same coin: the story in both cases is incomplete. But the women of the Observatory were likely seen as exceptional, which is to say exceptions, and as such less of a threat to the profession. In any case, the field needed their work, their data and their discoveries, and was happy to have it. And in the end, the Harvard Computers, once referred to as “Pickering’s Harem,” managed to transcend what in science is called the “harem effect” — the hiring of large numbers of female subordinates at lower pay — to reshape our understanding of the stars.
I received an electronic review copy of this book via NetGalley.
Some links on venom, rattlesnakes, and rattlesnake venom:
- In April, BBC Earth explored venom overkill — why are jellyfish, snake and other creatures far more venomous than they need to be, especially given the metabolic cost of producing venom? The answer is deceptively simple: “[t]here’s no such thing as absolute toxicity” — venom is tailored to specific prey that may have evolved resistance to it.
- Most North American rattlesnake venom lacks neurotoxins, but a recent study finds that their common ancestor did have the genetic ability to produce neurotoxic venom 22 million years ago. That ability has since been lost to specialization (see above): Western and Eastern
Diamondbacks lost the ability to produce neurotoxins about six million years ago; Mojave Rattlesnakes, whose venom is neurotoxic, lost a myotoxin gene about four million years ago. [Science News]
- A 36-year study of a population of Timber Rattlesnakes in the Adirondacks found that female rattlesnakes waited, on average, until they were 10 years old before having their first litter, and that most had only one litter in their whole lives. This has serious conservation implications. [via]