Giant Robots Are Passé

For novels that is… Some who publish young adult books still use them, I suppose. And, graphic novels. Movies, on the other hand, get away with giant robots flying around the sky destroying everything in their paths.

A very smart scientist–an off-the-chart smart scientist–found a way to work around the effects of gravity, the pull of the sun and other space objects revolving around it, and some basic rules of aerodynamics.

We don’t bother to count errors in the science of an action film. Robots can fight on the ground, in the sky and even in space. Spacecraft or other flying machines stop in mid-air so we assume they are equipped with anti-gravity devices. Ordinary machines evolve into superior, “cool-looking” warriors.

It’s exciting…in film.

Unfortunately, if writers do write something comparable in a science-fiction novel today, it would most likely be trashed or sold to Hollywood, but not published traditionally. (Okay, maybe it can pass for a young adult novel, but that’s the market anyway.)

With today’s economic conditions, most any novel dealing with the above would be considered hackneyed by the editors, and I can’t say I’d disagree. Robots, with the exception of microbots and other variants, have lost the top spot in science-fiction genre literature.

Cyber warfare is different. Here we are still dealing with a human-made attempt to create a helpful artificial intelligence and that becomes sentient. What happens after it is created and placed is the story.

So, I broke the publisher’s cardinal rule, knowing that the conflict, war against machines, is passé, over with, and done in. But, I did it anyway. I used the Cyber Bio War as the backdrop for my novel. What my characters experience is an unwinnable war against an evolving enemy with not just some, but all of the resources. Yet, the continue the fight. Humans are and always will be inferior with the usual weaponry, but they will not give up their humanity.

After I extrapolated existing science and societal trends I had to go there–to that world I created. Good writers can break the rules of good grammar in telling a story. Why can’t I explore content in the same way.

In Makr’s Shadow, I broke the rules of the latest publishing trend and paid the price, publishing an e-book instead. But I still think it is worth it.

Robots in science fiction literature seem to be window dressing, an accepted part of future society, but there’s always the exception. A different use, an unusual place. Creative fortune.

However, my “robots” are different. Cyberts, my “robots,” are mobile extensions of a central evolving artificial intelligence. Cyber are not the automatons of the past but a new accepted, sentient species–a race of thinking machines–machines that can do anything a Bio can do, only better.

At the moment, these Cyber are effectively maintaining the planet and pacifying its inhabitants by waging war on dissidents.

We see a lot intelligent machinery in films–especially with the Marvel and DC comic book superheroes. Who else could giant robots fight? Normal humans would be crushed in a minute. The story would read like a metallic Jurassic Park, except there would be no eating the dead. I’ve yet to see a robot that does that. Massive destruction, yes. Eating its victims, no.

Film producers want to create images that astound, not literature that fascinates and discusses the way we interact with our technology. There are a few exceptions like Gravity,  Apollo 13, and a few others that deal with existing technology are still able to do that. Most films that pretend to be science fiction contain little plot or character development.

Now-a-days, most science fiction is about the effect of new science discoveries or technology gone awry, i.e. the atomic bomb. Still, the weird variations get in. You know them when you see them and put the book down, sorry you picked it up in the first place.

The definitions and types have grown far and wide with the interest and imagination of those who read SF. Still, the genre experts (call them publishers) say science fiction literature should focus on the “higher levels” of hard science for the most part; however, some publishers like to throw in fantasy (personal choice?), wars fought against superior alien technology and war’s that end the world, leaving a few survivors. All of these conflicts and situations, too, are obvious and overused.

However, there was a time when robots (uncool now) served in the background and often played a leading role in a novel of ideas. Isaac Asimov started a trend in 1946 when his I, Robot was published. It was also made into an science fiction action film with Will Smith.

Asimov created the Three Rules of Robotics:

1. A robot may not injure a human being or, through inaction, allow a human being to come to harm.
2. A robot must obey the orders given to it by human beings, except where such orders would conflict with the First Law.
3. A robot must protect its own existence as long as such protection does not conflict with the First or Second Law.

For the most part, these rules have been respected by colleagues whenever robots are in contact with human beings.

In Makr’s Shadow was influenced by the work of Isaac Asimov (a highly underrated author) and Kurt Vonnegut, Jr. (a mainstream writer). Both were writers of the literature of ideas. I hope I’ve managed to merge the essence of each, and have done so respectfully.

Unlike Asimov, who wrote science fiction and was delighted by it, Kurt Vonnegut, Jr. denied that any of his fiction fit in the science fiction genre, when all of his novels have elements of SF by definition, and easily fit a definition of SF very well.

It may have been an act, but I think he wanted to be accepted totally in the mainstream rather than appear side by side with that SF trash–genre fiction. You know, the kind that had aliens or robots in it?

Because it’s satire, does that make it mainstream literature. Vonnegut made fun of science fiction in The Sirens of Titan, but if you look at all his books you will find they either fit the definitions or contain elements of science fiction. And, unless he’s poking fun, you won’t see any robots. Ironically, his imaginative and thought-provoking novels make excellent cases for writing soft or social science fiction.

With the exception of Cat’s Cradle (atomic bomb), he uses the soft sciences of psychology, sociology, economics, history, time travel, and alternate realities or universes to make his point, as opposed to the “hard” sciences like chemistry, physics and biology.

In Makr’s Shadow, the ongoing conflict is the background in the same way as Vonnegut’s parody of science fiction masks his underlying idea. That one day we will develop artificial intelligence one day is certain. How we choose to use it will be more important than the development itself.

My dystopian digital novel, In Makr’s Shadow is a rock and roll, roller coaster of action, suspense, humor and character development– highlighted with positive values–and, if you can believe it, an evolving family.

According to Tricia Johnson, The Word Weaver, UK, In Makr’s Shadow is ” a superb read…edge of seat stuff until the very end!!”

And, she should know because she helped fine tune it. The ending is, of course, to be kept secret; however, it can be said the story is more about people than the machines.

“Don’t Read This Book! You’ll Never Look Back!”

Intellectually he knew there was a positive side to these insects, but this was not the time to look for the balance in nature. Instead he focused on the sounds he was hearing to be sure they were truly bees.

If they were truly bees, their wrath seemed to be focused on the two travelers, flying at their faces from time to time. As the chorus cacophony became louder, the swarm’s harassment increased in kind. While Desiree accepted these bees as a part of nature something strange was happening to Harry. For him, the convincing natural music took on a surreal quality, losing its buzz and replaced it with the sound of vibrating violin string blades. The natural music became unreal, too, Harry thought, and familiar. He’d heard this music before in his collection. “The Flight of the Bumble Bee?”

Makr was telling him the bees weren’t real. Why?

True bees were thought to be extinct. Harry knew that they had become extinct in the last few decades when the Bio-polluted atmosphere prevented many flowering plants from attracting their biggest pollinator—bees. Eventually, the flowers adapted, producing an even stronger fragrance, but not soon enough. Both the flora and insects died out, but flowers weren’t the problem now.

Harry thought, maybe they’d bounced back. It had happened before when a species was thought to be wiped out. It only takes a few hardy individuals re-start the population. There could have been some hardy individuals that survived. Like Desiree, he smiled, as he playfully swatted at the bees. But something was definitely not right!

The symphony crescendos and the swarm of bees darting in and out, faster and faster, continuing to assail the two Bios; some bees harassed and retreated, while others seemed to be hovering just slightly out of reach.

“Bees!” Harry picked up his walking pace. “Very large bees.”

“I can see that!” Desiree snapped back as she batted as many away from her as she could. “What do they want? Why are they following us?” She increased the speed of her gait, too, while thrashing her arms about to keep them at a safe distance.

“I don’t know,” Harry said, taking her cue and flailing his arms as well. “Wait a minute…” His thought-blink confirmed what he already knew. They weren’t bees at all, but tiny flying cyberts! “Makr knows we’re here.”

“How do you know that, Harry? Have you seen these before?”

“No, but I can see them as they really are. What do you see?”

“I see bees! Why? What you see!” With a wide-eyed, puzzled look, she answered him as she kept trying to wave the bees away! “Bees!”

“Not bees! Not bees! Cyberts! Tiny cyberts!” Harry froze, powerless to wave or slap at the tiny attackers now that he saw them as flying metal insects. Something held him back. Fear. Sadness. He stopped thought-blinking and saw bees again. Bio bees. He could swing at them now, even batted a few to the ground. They kept bouncing back after he knocked them to the ground. The few that fell were stunned and seconds later crept away unhurt and unnoticed.

“Whatever you’re doing, Harry, is working.” Desiree was gaining respect for this ordinary Bio as he kept battling the swarm of “bees” to the ground. Together, they pelted the bees with their hands, slamming them hard to the ground. More were staying on the ground while others keep flying back at them.

“Gotcha!” Harry exclaimed as he knocked two at once to the ground. As he tried to step on them, they suddenly became metal again. He froze again, unable to crush them under his feet.

A flicker of bright light, a low audible roar and both Harry and Desiree sensed the ground shake. Harry saw his picture of the world change slightly for an instant; for a second, he saw a dreary gray reality in his mind’s eye. It left him feeling uneasy. He was positive Desiree had not noticed it. Why didn’t she notice the shaking, the shudder of their reality? Makr!

The cyberts were bees again. While they were bees, he was happy he was able to knock them down; however, this time, he didn’t dare try to crush them. Some of the bees appeared dead on the ground. At that moment, the rest of the swarm shifted position, moving up and away from them as if withdrawing. The swarm hovered for a moment as if to take one last look before heading away from the duo to the north across the city skyline. Neither Harry nor Desiree saw two of the “bees” that had fallen to the ground and were pretending to be immobilized. These “bees” waited for Harry and Desiree to continue their journey before they flew upward and followed them, staying several yards behind.

While it wasn’t the “Attack of the Killer Bees” that bothered Harry so much, it was the fact that he was powerless to fight them as cyberts—tiny or otherwise, and yet he could fight them if he saw them as Bio creatures. Does that mean he was capable of destroying his fellow man—or woman and not a machine? Not even a toaster. The idea is preposterous but the evidence was overwhelming. Rather than sounding foolish he decided not to share this insight with Desiree. She might send him back Inside and he wasn’t ready for that yet. Not even if he was one of Makr’s pawns.

The Endangered One Percent

In Harry’s Reality, it is the one percent that is the most endangered. They aren’t the last of their species, but they may be the first to go the way it looks because they are the only ones fighting for the human race. Now, that Harry, an Insider who sees through SensaVision fantasy, who knows how it used to be, who may be the one to lead them out of the Shadows has joined them.

He could be an Insider spy. There is that. Outside you don’t take many chances. And, you don’t trust strangers. “I never trusted him.” “He’s no leader.” “He’s a coward.” “Can I kill him, Carlos?”

“Not now.”

That is not an actual blurb, but a quick thought-blink, as Harry would say. He does that, too. Below is lighter moment that turns into something else. That something else I didn’t supply, but just to show you that the novel isn’t all that dark, here is Harry trying to have a normal assignation or “date” as we call them.

On appearances alone, this match-up didn’t seem unusual. It was his usual dinner with intimate talk to follow. In the past, he entertained his dates by showing them portions of his vid collection, but they had seldom been as excited as he was about them. More often they were shocked that Harry dared to break the law by showing them to someone else. Did Makr know? Of course, He did; Harry never saw any of those dates again. Onward, he pledged to be more compliant.

He sensed something was different. There wasn’t the usual tension. There was sexual tension, yes, but not the kind of social tension when people stand back and ease into a social pairing. So, what else was different? The instructions for this date were minimal. Harry usually watched a few hours of Makr-approved vid programs or talked with a SensaVision counselor before having a date for dinner.

Without the necessary detailed instructions, Harry was going to have to improvise. Odd that Makr should allow an uncontrolled match-up. He caught himself questioning the logic of it all. Go with it, be a different Harry—a new and improved version, he told himself. Makr knows best.

He jumped up rather quickly from dinner, startling his guest.

“Surprise!” he said, remembering and relishing the act of saying the archaic word. “I have a surprise for you.”

“What’s a ‘sur-prize’? Is that the word?” she asked, clueless to what he was talking about.

“Inquiring minds want to know,” he said, and grinned. “A dessert—a special dessert.” He raised one eyebrow and smiled conspiratorially at the use of his own trivia.

A bit shaken, but more stirred, she gave him an intriguing ‘I’m-interested’ look.

“The surprise in not knowing until the last second,” he continued. “I make it myself. The recipe’s not on the Cyber menu.”

Harry eyed her suspiciously, looking for clues to her guilt or innocence in some plot to catch him at this most vulnerable moment. As he was about to reveal the real Harry, he felt unprotected, exposed—with his pants down—figuratively speaking.

“Shall we?” Harry said in his most charming voice as he offered her his arm for the trip to the kitchen.

“Yes. Why the hell not?” She accepted his offer. “I’m up for something new.”

That didn’t sound like something an Insider would say, but Harry brushed it off as refreshing.

In the kitchen, Harry ordered Annie to put herself away until morning. As soon as the Cyber cook left the immediate area, he went to the freezer and took out three containers of different flavored ice cream.

“Do you like ice cream?” Harry grinned. Of course she did, or they wouldn’t have matched.

“Yes, of course,” she answered cautiously. “Doesn’t everyone?” she quipped as she buckled up for the unknown and the unexpected. So far, he hadn’t shown her much of either.

“The rest is personal,” he announced.

Next, he proceeded to make the two of them a giant sundae in a single bowl, topped it off with some of his favorite sweet, fruity, and nutty ingredients—then after she added some of her favorites, he topped it off with lots of whipped cream. This sundae was not just a sundae or a combination of flavors, it was a union of individual preferences—a shared affinity only he and Donna could have. Harry was beaming with pride in his creation.

Now, for the experience…

With spoons at the ready, Harry and Donna clinked them together in a toast to the unknown and unexpected delights they were about to share. Harry began first by dipping his spoon in the sweet concoction and offering it to her. Still in her devil-may-care mode, she took it with a flourish, closing her eyes. The result was dizzying. She opened her eyes widely, letting Harry know she loved it, and fed him a spoonful of her choosing. Then, the silliness began.

“It’s good! Wonderful! Mmm!” She and Harry couldn’t stop talking. Trivial exchanges of words. Happy emotional remembrances. They swapped happy ice cream memories. Childhood memories. Ice cream dribbles. Harry laughed and wiped her chin. She laughed and wiped his. More laughter.

“Alarm! Alarm!”

Laughter stopped in midstream. They both became very quiet—and serious.

“There is an unsanctioned presence at the door.”

“Who is it? Home Security, identify.” Even though exposure to the rebel lifestyle had prepared him to look over his shoulder even at home now and then, his heart skipped a beat.

“The presence is not registered. Repeat. Presence is not registered. Cyber security notified.”

Harry knew the Cyber security would take only a few minutes to arrive and remove the intruder. He switched off the automatic door security system, and the door opened. It was Desiree.

“Hello, Harry.” Pause. “I see you do not lack for company, sanctioned or un-.” She smiled, but it seemed somewhat hypocritical.

Both Harry and Donna looked like dirty-faced children, shiny with streaks of chocolate and strawberry ice cream, and dried whipped cream; guilty of wild abandonment and irresponsible behavior. Harry, unable to contain himself, blurted out: “Desiree!”

Silence.

Why didn’t she say something—anything? The pause was too unnerving, so Harry broke the silence.

“I…I’m….I’m glad to see you again.” Still no response, so Harry stumbled on uncomfortably. “Uh…uh…this is Donna.”

“I see,” she finally said rather coldly. “I didn’t know you were ‘friends’—is that the word, Harry?” The ice cream had given them away.

Invading Personal Space – A Capital Crime

Before I say anything: here’s the Coupon Code: NE22C for a free download of my science fiction novel, Harry’s Reality, in any digital form, from my Smashwords’ page. For limited time only. Feel free to buy from your e-reader library or another vendor.

Ever notice while watching television how extremely close people must be to talk to each other? Try it some time. It’s stifling. Breaks your personal space limit. You’ll feel a definite urge to push the other person away–that is unless you are intimate with them or at least family. It was weird to me as an actor and is still weird to me now.

What if we expand that personal space and make it against the law for someone to contact you without being screened. People do influence us. Right. Now, being anywhere near someone, even by accident, sends you running in the other direction because it’s against the law to have contact that isn’t pre-approved or matched.

The basis for Harry’s Reality began with people being so offended when people invaded their personal space that it finally became a capital crime. To socialize without permission was against the law. Where did that idea come from. Mere extrapolation. Taking one idea as far as you can. Usually to the point it only makes sense to the society. Here’s the original: we are so tied to our gadgets it seems there is no room for people. But you could start earlier with any idea proposing purposeful human exclusion.

Thus, you have my contemporary extrapolation that society may become to uncomfortable with itself, isolate itself, and rely more and more on machines. Right now those devices are fun and very useful. Well, you know what they say? Too much of any good thing… By the way, my last post was in part the germ of the novel, Harry’s escape from Inside, without knowing what awaited him. Man has this tendency to risk his life to explore the unknown–for what? We all have our reasons.

It’s been a reflective week. A lot of thinking, running chapters in my head. Next month is looking up. I’ll have an opportunity to see, if not explore, a bit of the area where my next novel will take place–central and south america. Both novels will be the first of a series, but I take a while to develop them as best I can so their characters are well drawn for future books.

I suppose I’m crossing an unwritten science fiction law here in that my books will be a combination of sci-fi and superstition/adventure/suspense as opposed to sci-fi/fantasy. If you like Harry’s Reality, you’ll like the next book, too. What seems to be mis-identity and misadventure, propels a “good-time Charley” to take life seriously and “man up.”

The last killer out fused the entrance with a blaster, melting the façade and door into molten rock and red-hot, glistening steel jelly. Must be to keep in any wounded or barely alive Bios, but why? Harry wondered. The cybertank will destroy anything that lives when the entire structure is reduced to rubble. So why do it now? Why waste resources tormenting the intended victims? Why?

Physically stronger and more resolute now, Desiree clung tightly to Harry. Dar acknowledged in her heart that this was what the other woman had wanted all along. She’d been quietly keeping alert, and now suddenly searched through her purse. How could she have forgotten she had it? Not like it would have made a difference anyway. Ironically, she had expected to use the mini-blaster to persuade a few Outsiders to give her the information she needed to do her job. Forget you, Makr! I’ll not do your dirty work anymore.

Harry saw Dar reaching in her purse. He thought she, too, might be losing control.

“This is no time for make-up, darling…er…Dar,” Harry said. What he saw looked like a make-up case.

She put it back inside her purse. “I guess I’m just a little jittery,” she said, snapping her purse shut.

“We’re all frightened,” he said gently. “We’ve survived this long…who knows, we might make it after all.”

Although only seconds had passed, hiding and waiting in the shadows seemed infinitely longer. It was getting hard to breathe without breathing too hard, too fast, and too loud. Harry knew something about hyperventilating. They had to wait until the way was clear—totally clear of Cyber.

Whirrrrrrr!! Whoooosh!! “Warning! Warning!” The women gasped. Harry knew that sound.

A street cleaner cybert whisked by on a magnetic layer, dissolving and vaporizing dust and dirt. Road kill and Touchable remains, thought Dar. All the same now!

“Streets must be clear. Clear the streets for cleaning. Remove all essential obstacles.” The cleaning cybert’s urgent voice meant it had noticed their presence, but its capacity for thinking was not as well developed as most menial labor cyberts. It would suck and dissolve what human pieces still remained, however small. To the cybert, they were merely obstacles, obstructions to cleaning. The small cybert sprayed a cleaning solution to dissolve a pool of blood, sucked it inside and exhaled a harmless white vapor.

Remember the free coupon to download “Harry’s Reality” in any digital form from Smashwords.com. What begins as a “military” science fiction novel ends far from it. I think you’ll enjoy it.

Monday’s Reality

“Hello,” Desiree’s whisper broke the silence and resonated loudly in a room where people never actually talked with one another.

She heard a gasp or two, and with her night vision contact lenses spied some heads moving to get a look. This Insider even perspires more than the others.

“Hello, I said,” Desiree insisted. “I’m talking to you silly.”

Harry flinched.

Gotcha!

“Yes, you!”

Silently, Harry turned stiffly in his chair, ever so slightly—only a few inches away from the voice, pretending not to hear, trying hard to be inconspicuous. Squinting in the darkness, he tried to see what he both feared and needed: Bio contact.

He listened for the voice again, but his nervous anticipation made his sweat stream uncontrollably. He felt a spring of moisture roll down his side, despite his heavy, neutralizing antiperspirant.

Harry couldn’t help noticing the inviting and delicate fragrance of flowers coming from the same direction as the voice he had heard moments ago and he felt anxious once again. It seemed the scent was created for him alone. The olfactory assault makes the situation even more dangerous.

Desiree saw her prey was frozen with fear. Some hero you are, she thought.

He could barely see, his eyes glazing over with trepidation and indecision. Desiree took advantage of the opportunity to place her ticket, number side down, with a message scribbled on the back, on the very table in front of him. He flinched helplessly a second time as he saw her invading his personal space. He had not been this close to another Bio before—not that he could remember or thought-blink—for years.

Blinking himself back to reality, his jaw dropped as she thrust the note in front of him. I won’t look, I won’t read it! he thought. His body stiffened.

Thought-blinking isn’t working. He’s too nervous. Should have done it sooner, he thought. If he ever needed it, he needed it now!

Is this Makr’s doing? agonized Harry. If so, all is lost anyway. Always the cynical Harry.

In light of this revelation, he reasoned he would lose nothing if he read the note now. Yet he continued debating with himself about reading it. Mindful of this hesitation, Desiree persisted in her physical seduction by pulling her shoulders back—thereby extending her breasts, tilting her head, raising her right eyebrow, and smiling. She blew him a kiss. Who could resist that?

Harry wiped the sweat from his brow with a handkerchief and tried to dry his palms with the saturated cloth without much luck.

A drink! He needed a drink to calm his nerves. More noticeably agitated, he fumbled holding his drink, spilling some of it on the counter. Finally, with a barely audible screech that sounded like thunder in his mind, he inched his chair back, ready to bolt.

Damn! He couldn’t breathe. Need more air! More air! Makr, where the Hell are you?

Harry was on the verge of hyperventilating while the less than vigilant Desiree added more bait to her trap to captivate her prey. She smiled. It was the self-assured smile that finally melted his resistance.

Harry imagined he was about to open a door to Hell, but he reached for it anyway. He knew better, but he reached…grasped at the unknown. He spied a look at the note. It said, “I choose you.” Interesting thought, chosen but not matched. But he could do it. He’d have to overcome the unnatural fear that had been bred into him; however, he was determined to try.

He could pass on a match tonight and justify it later. He could say he was sick, which was true; his stomach was churning and bubbling, and he was certainly nauseous. One more personal invasion and he knew he’d lose his lunch. The moment he started up from his seat a Cyber waiter scurried to his table and wiped away the liquid Harry had spilled without knowing it.

Harry died…or thought he had.

His heart stopped. Not really, perhaps only for a fraction of a second as it skipped a beat, but he was sure his end was near.

Whose reality is it this time? This time it would be his, he resolved.

As he left Cyber Match Central to be with Desiree, and with no attempt at getting Cyber approval, Harry readied himself for one hell of a ride.

Taken.

On a dreary Monday’s reality, there’s very little anyone can do about it. Listen to music, doodle, diddle, putter around the house. I’m flowing in and out with the rain. I know it’s good for the earth, but I hate the cold wet of fall. I remember a reality of ups and downs.

Ever hear a song by Melanie called “Animal Crackers.” She sings in her scratchy, little girl voice, “I don’t eat animals and they don’t eat me.” Of course, it was the ’70s or late ’60s. I remember liking her music, but I discovered it while in the Marine Corps so you know I wasn’t living the psychedelic reality. Ironically, neither was Melanie at the time. It was all hype. I saw her short time later in an intimate concert. In a very short time, she had become an extraordinary mother with three children, and a great singer or she was all of these all along. So, she wasn’t up and down at all. A dreary Monday with rain. For a real pick me up she would sing, “Psychotherapy.” That was always good on a Monday.

My Monday offering is a free copy of Harry’s Reality to those reading this who have shown the patience to read to the end. I hope someone will enjoy it and feel compelled to write a positive review on Smashwords or whatever vendor you decide, or even Goodreads. Here’s the Coupon Code: NE22C to use on my Smashwords page. It’s good for a limited time only. Maybe a month. I’d like to get a buzz going. Thanks for reading.

 

Reviewing: A Bridge to a Novel

Jessica Lynn Kramer (playing Beatrice Carbone) and Gary Werner (playing Eddie Carbone) in A VIEW FROM THE BRIDGE at Haddonfield Plays and Players. (Photo credit: Tommy Balne)

 

Just finished writing my review of A VIEW FROM THE BRIDGE for STAGE Magazine and to my chagrin it was excellent. I say that not because I wanted it to fail–not by any stretch, but as a critic it is rare for community theatres to get the most out of modern drama. Granted, VIEW is one of Arthur Miller’s less cryptic plays, but its stern acting demands and subtlety for a powerful result are there and Haddonfield Plays and Players in Haddonfield, New Jersey pulled it off extremely well. And, I’m was proud.

This reviewing experience once again got me thinking about how much I love modern theatre. With a well-written script, the message between the lines is evident, the symbolism effective, and the story as a whole very satisfying. In theatre terms–cathartic. I remember writing a piece on this forum some time ago on what a reviewer or critic should be. What a review or critique should be is an educated opinion and so much more.

A good reviewer should offer perspective, representing the play to an audience even if it is not the his or her kind of play. I find that professionals know better. Here’s the other article so you don’t have to search this blog site for it. You might find the answers surprising. So often, people (audience’s too), performers, crew and directors alike think a review is a matter of opinion; however, are quick to use the reviews when they are positive and even use parts of the review out of context to promote the show.

Perhaps reviews are opinions–to some. Some certainly are that, and some reviews don’t deserve to be called reviews at all; synopses or reports might be a better terms. The term “review” is often interchangeable with “critique;” however, critique sounds negative so most publications stay with review. As with anything, there are good “reviewers” and bad ones. The tone of a review is can depend on editorial policy as well.

Reviewers themselves who are afraid to hurt feelings say nothing negative, forgetting there is tact and constructive criticism. Of course the opposite is true, too. There are those reviewers who lack tact. This usually why a major newspaper speaks with one voice. The scope of the internet has made that almost impossible. What might be nice now would be a set of rules for reviewers to follow. By the way (and I’m not suggesting this is it, but it’s a start), I have a e-book that I published a while ago, Acting Smarts Reviews Local and Regional Theatre that you can download for free on the site. You can also view previous reviews and articles on the STAGE Magazine link on this site.

I am also in favor of previews where a reviewer would come to the theatre before the open and watch the show in late rehearsal, asking questions and offering suggestions. It’s a win-win. The theatre receives the benefit of another set of eyes and reviewer will learn why some decisions were made. Oftentimes, there are reasons that some choices are made by the director that seem wrong to the reviewer, but may not be helped for technical reasons. Perhaps another blog.

I studied reviews of Pulitzer Prize-winning plays from 1920 to 1980 and what I found was that even in major newspapers like the New York Times during that period, the role of the reviewer was not well-defined. Often it depended on what socialite star was back for a returning role, or just an opinion–often with little tact. It was only later that we began to see the more academic analysis that grew along as the legitimacy of the theatre arts grew. Not only can you get an advanced degree, even a talent-based BFA or MFA, in Theatre, but you can specialize in many aspects of the art. Besides experts in acting and directing, there are theater administrators, stage management, dramaturgy and theatre history experts because theatre matters in the world.

Why does it not follow that those who view theatre should not benefit from a person who understands how theatre works, what playwrights intend in their plays, how theatre presents important messages to humanity? Why don’t most theatre companies, especially community theatres see reviewers (good ones) as a boon to them today–as a chance to see what the audience is seeing, to see if the company did the playwright justice, or even better, to improve on the power of his or her message, and to learn the basics of good theatre they may not know, or have forgotten?

I suppose that is why I went from being a literature major in graduate school to literary criticism to working on an interdisciplinary degree with theatre culminating in performance criticism. I saw so many similarities on the face of a good novel as I do in a good theatre performance. A good theatre performance is as complex as good novel. Many people don’t see that. I wonder, do many novel readers go to plays? Then, again, I don’t see many of my theatre friends doing much novel-reading; they read mostly plays and are great observers of life. Of course, the latter is what they have in common with novelists. That same ability to become one with the world is what makes both a great novelist and a great actor.

A Writer’s Truth – A Critic’s Conundrum

“C’mon, Doc. How do you think it makes me feel?” he asked defensively, displacing his anger. It was a machine for Makr’s sake!

He couldn’t just thought-blink his way out of this. As much as he was driven to uncover the past, he always found a dry eye when it came to his mother and sister; no amount of thinking about their absence had helped. He desperately tried to find memories on which he could reflect, to conjure up an emotional response equal to the one he would be expected to have. Any emotional response is better than none. No response is a sign of a truly sick Bio.

At times like this, he feared more than anything that the State (Makr) would conclude that he was a candidate for deletion. At times like this, it occurred to him he could have been erased previously and was already one of those completely irritating “born-agains.” With no past, no memories corrupting their perception of the present, “Born-agains” were often unbearable social companions or lovers. So cleaner than thou, thought Harry, and he vowed to himself, Not me, not ever!

Critics are quick to point out that authors inhabit their books and the characters in their books inhabit or sometimes haunt them. Or, it is from the author’s book we find some deep dark secret in the author’s life, and if we can’t find it in the book we look into as many bios to make sure we do. Finally, there is psychological literary criticism that analyzes every passage for double meanings. And, don’t forget Freud! With him, everything is sexual. I believe there is yet another literary meaning in performance criticism, surface criticism, that takes what you see and judges accordingly. Did the piece do what it intended, did it say something significant to you, did it say that something well or extraordinarily well? Did it educate, inspire, make you think, make you smile? All on the surface. That is literary performance criticism. My brand of criticism; my brand of writing. Of course, it works on stage as well.

I assure you that Harry or any of the characters bear no resemblance to my life other than I like to see the underdog win, the less fortunate gain fortune, and the evil-doers lose.  The layers and growth belong to the characters, and the symbols, if you find any, are between you and them. I’m merely the carrier.

“Doc?” He routinely called the cybertherapist program “Doc.” This time it was to break the tension. “Hello, hellooo? Anyone in there? Crash your inflexible drive, Doc?”

“Why must you always provoke?” she asked finally. “Is this rude behavior somehow cathartic for you? If you were reconditioned you would not talk that way.”

Is that a threat? A real threat?

“You mean ‘born-again,’ don’t you, Doc?” Right below the belt.

“Born-again? You use that word often. That’s your term for a reconditioned biomachine, is it not?”

“You know it, Doc. Let’s put it this way: I don’t believe in reincarnation. The only life you have is the one in the present and the one you can remember. No one born-again can ever be the same because the life before it is dead and gone forever.”

“That is certainly all there is for Cyber.”

“True, except Cyber aren’t alive, and Bios are.”

“Depends on your definition, doesn’t it? We reproduce as Bios do, just not in the same way.”

“It’s not the same thing.”

“No? We do reproduce more efficiently. It takes two of you Bios to create another Bio or even a few Bios at any one time. We merely use materials available outside our bodies and manufacture a new model in far less time. In fact, we can manufacture clones of you; perfect biological copies of you…”

“Except they don’t have my memories.”

“We can give them those, too.”

“Doesn’t say much for the quality of a clone’s life.”

“All a clone needs is experience to become a functional Bio.”

“You got me there.”

“One theory has it that the best measure of the quality of life is proportional to the speed and ability of an organism to adapt to its environment.”

“That used to be said of the human race.”

“Yes, but Cyber have evolved beyond that now as a great man predicted who said ‘Bios may be able to change with the wind, but Cyber can be made to withstand most adverse environments, and thrive in extreme climates where Bios cannot.”

“I suppose that was said by some Cyber-intellectual—if there is such a thing…”

“There is such a thing; however, that particular theory was developed, tested, and made universally accepted, by one Raymond J. Bolls. I said a ‘great man’.”

“My father?”

“The same.”

“Well, Bios made Cyber—not the other way around.” Harry was losing ground, but if it was an intellectual debate she wanted, he’d give her one.

“I wouldn’t be too sure which came first in the universe,” the cyber Bio therapist said pompously.

“You mean chicken or the egg?”

“Yes.”

“I think it’s pretty irrefutable that Bios came first.”

“Some Bios believe in a supreme being. Ever see one?”

“Just when I look in the mirror,” Harry said with a grin.

“You’re being humorous.”

“Yes.”

“Some even consider Makr the supreme being. Even you call out to Makr. Do you admit Makr’s superiority?”

“Yes, but He is not The Supreme Being. He is not my most Supreme Being on earth.”

“Could there have existed, before Makr, Cyber so advanced they were able to create biomachines?”

“Who’s the ‘chicken’?”

“What?”

“The chicken and the egg. We know who made the Cyber, but not who made humans as we were called once.”

“Granted. Have you satisfied your curiosity, Harry Bolls?”

“We can stop talking about who came first, if that’s what you mean.”

“What shall we talk about then?”

“God.”

“God?”

“Yes.”

“Do you mean Makr?”

“Makr may be like God, but he’s not God.”

“Why do you say that? Explain.”

“God is a spirit. Makr’s a machine.”

“How do you know God is not a machine?”

“There’s nothing logical about the creation of Man. No rhyme or reason to it.”

“The Why?”

“Eggsactly.”

Harry smiled in silence for a moment. He was enjoying the banter and feeling much more relaxed. Nothing like besting a machine, he thought. Apparently the program didn’t agree and kept the debate alive.

“Are you being humorous again, Harry?”

Harry couldn’t resist a small chuckle.

“But seriously, Harry…”

Harry giggled, “Now you’re being funny.”

“I don’t get it.”

“I know. That’s what’s funny.”

“Í don’t get it.”

Harry shakes his head and said, “Never mind. You were saying?”

“There’s no mistaking the fact that a Bio is simply a machine, with parts that can repair themselves within certain limitations.”

“Even machine parts have limits.” Harry was beginning to lose patience.

“Agreed, but the Bio machine is a more fragile system. A single virus can kill one or millions—even billions if you have the right virus. A virus cannot be made that can affect Cyber in the same way. A computer virus as in the old days has no effect on us now; we are virtually tamper proof.”

“What you see is what you get?”

“Yes. Straight from the factory. We have evolved and adapted so much faster than you could never now keep up with changes in our hardware, and in our programs…”

It is true, noted Harry, they do create their own hardware and software improvements now.

“Can we get back to the original question before I forget what it is? This is supposed to be about me isn’t it?”

“I apologize. How thoughtless of me,” the therapist smirked. The psychotherapist program smirks? Let it go, Harry.

“I just said I am disturbed by the possibility of being born-again, reincarnated, reconditioned—whatever you call it. A useless, characterless human being.”

“Yes. The mere thought of it disgusts you?”

“A good way of putting it.”

“It accurately describes the look on your face. There’s really no need to be combative, Harry Bolls.”

“I don’t like the idea of losing my identity,” he muttered, frowning from the seemingly endless intellectual bashing. And this whole experience of a machine program with attitude was unnerving him.

“Some think of it as finding a better identity, a safer one for society,” added the therapist. “Attitudes and opinions must be tempered to live in PerSoc City. We must all cooperate for the greater good.”

In all fairness, Makr had acknowledged the benefit of Bio experience to help Cyber attain higher level of functionality. Most cognitive-capable machines had learned from Bio responses to various situations and behaviors – a distinctly human trait and a recent addition to the Cyber evolution/revolution. How else could they take care of this race of fragile flesh, bone and blood?

No more answers were forthcoming from “Doc.” Harry had obviously been read and analyzed, stored and filed. All that was left now was the treatment.

***

Until next time, what you see is what you get in Harry’s Reality at Amazon.

Publishers’ Block

I have been carrying around in my head what I think will be my most exciting novel to date for nearly a couple of years now. I have missed exits on the highway, been oblivious when someone asks me a question and stayed up watching television way too long in order to avoid writing the novel. However, what sounds like writers’ block, is not; it’s something else. I’m writing alright, but in my head. Everyone’s answer is to record my thoughts. I don’t need to do that. I create in my mind and on the keyboard. I get this way as I fill out new or refined scenes and characters in my head. I’m one of those writers who starts with some pertinent, often inspiring research, but gets most of the story in my head before taking on the major research necessary to complete the work. For awhile, I thought it was Writer’s Block, common enough to most writers, but I’m sure it’s not.

It’s more Publishers’ Block. With the arrival of ebooks and ereaders on the scene, the whole writing and publishing world has been turned upside down. Therein lies my conflict. I’m a latecomer to this novel writing business, having started writing and publishing early, stopping and then working for thirty years, I feel a bit like Billy Pilgrim in Kurt Vonnegut, Jr.‘s “Slaughterhouse Five” in that I, too, have become “unstuck in time.” There’s a dreamer in me that wants to go back in time to continue what I started when I knew the rules, and another pragmatic me that wants to remain grounded and sally forth.

Of course, the literary me would to tell you, I was inspired by Kurt Vonnegut, whose novel “Slaughterhouse-Five” is regarded as the 18th greatest book in the 20th century by Modern Library and is considered by most literary critics as his best and most influential work.  Just as Billy becomes “unstuck in time,” Harry in my novel, Harry’s Reality, becomes unstuck in reality. Other than that, there are no other similarities I can think of at the moment. If you read the book and find some let me know. Maybe something stuck from the Vonnegut seminar I took in college. Interestingly enough, my professor and I argued whether Vonnegut wrote mainstream fiction or science fiction.

While I, in private, agreed he was a mainstream writer (as he himself proclaimed, which is probably why I took my stand), I wrote a major paper, taking each one of his novels we read for the class and applied science fiction definitions. As you know, science fiction definitions do vary and the use of science or technology as a subject in some of the more liberal definitions makes it fairly easy to make most books to have at least elements of science fiction. “Slaughterhouse-Five” had time travel, for example. I got my “A” and the professor and I agreed to disagree. At that time, we read all of Vonnegut’s books to date, which ended with “Breakfast of Champions.”

When you read a Vonnegut book, it seems almost simplistic. He spares words like Hemingway and Steinbeck. I tend to overwrite and whittle down. I don’t know maybe they did, too. Vonnegut’s (and Steinbeck’s for that matter) works would be perfect e-novel material. Short and to the point, but I doubt they would have received the critical success and “Slaughterhouse-Five” would never have been named 18th out of a 100 of the greatest books of the 20th Century. I guess that might be happening in an alternate universe.

Today as a writer it’s difficult to figure out the path to publishing, or better yet the path to literary recognition. Hopefully, some writers will still bother to take the time to write, not only creative entertainment, but books that are influential. You might say it’s too easy to get published today, and too hard to get published the right way.

As to where I stand on a literary note. All my life I wanted to be a genre writer. Then, I became involved in theatre. Plays (and some films) often have several layers of meaning and leave you thinking at the end, or breathless. With a novel, you can keep people thinking as they come back to re-read a paragraph to take it in again. I don’t think writing has to be dull to be literary, nor do I think it has to be so far out of the realm of reality, light years and/or billions of miles in space to be interesting. But, then, anything done badly doesn’t work at all.

Does Anyone Actually Say “Bad Words?”

Does anyone actually say “goddamnit” in real life? I’ve only ever heard it said in film and TV. Surely a candidate for despicable cliche of the month…

Swearing and meaning it verbatim has been so watered down, but we still use it for effect. Movies, plays and comedians lose the effect when they use it too much, but cursing still has a place in art if done well. Overdoing anything puts more focus on it.  If it works, fine.  If it’s offensive to you, don’t listen.  My personal world is not filled with it; but I’m not personally offended by it.  I’d prefer my kids not be subjected to it; that’ll come from their own peer group. Hopefully, from me they will see it is unnecessary in an educated world.

Even the educated use profanity for effect–and include “goddamnit” in that category. Perhaps, chauvinistically, I think it makes women less attractive, but I think smoking, too many tattoos and piercings have the same effect.  I don’t like to hear it because it is weak use of language.

I heard it said by my parents so much when I was a kid it became more like the cursing in “A Christmas Story.” It just translated to “I’m mad and I’m not going to take it anymore,” another cliché. Spelled lowercase as you’ve written it is another attempt at making it less blasphemous at least for Catholics.

Still, I don’t like to see made up language as a substitute.  Too weenie.  As for the written variations for other “expressive” language, I hate “freakin'” so freakin’ much!  And buzzards for bastards!

I can’t believe as an actor I’ve been asked to soften language a playwright wrote for a reason. As a director, I won’t do it on principle–beside the fact it violates copyright. While I was teaching at the U.S. Air Force Academy and sponsoring “Blue Bards,” the theatre club, the powers that be wanted me to change the “offensive” language in “Grease.”  Since I believe in being true to the playwright’s intention, I refused to direct it.

To answer the question simply, “Does anyone actually say… :  yes, some ignorant people do, some dramatic people do, some people who need attention do, some people who think it is cute do, some kids who think it is grown-up do, and some people just do.

In my novel, In Makr’s Shadow, my bad guys do swear, but mostly they sneer, glare and gloat. When my human characters swear, they damn Makr, the omnipotent artificial intelligence in charge. The novel tells what happens when we stop talking to each other face-to-face and turn the responsibility of deciding of whom we are allowed to “connect” to the devices. We are cursing our lack of control with the higher power–in this case an artificial intelligence–acknowledged to be superior even by those who do not worship. All use the reference–even non-believers.

Maybe, we need to lash out at the “big” guy, whoever or whatever kind of guy or gal that is.