From Cronaca:

Plans to build the world’s largest offshore wind farm on the site of the Battle of Trafalgar sailed into controversy Monday after claims they could destroy archaeological evidence and desecrate a war grave.

Hmmm. If they built such a wind farm, how many kilowatts of power could you generate from Admiral Nelson spinning in his grave?

The article also notes that all of the complaints have come from Great Britain, i.e., from the victors.

Pixar is way cool–five movies under their collective belts, and every
one so far has been a winner. Not only are they making money, I
understand that their distribution deal with Disney is one of the few
things keeping Disney afloat these days.

But I digress.

Last Thursday, I took the afternoon off from work, my mother-in-law came
to watch the baby, and Jane and I took our two sons to see Finding
Nemo. David has been to the movies with me a number of times, but it
was James’ first time–and I can tell you, he was enrapt the whole time.

It’s the story of Nemo, a young clownfish with a gimpy fin, who gets
collected by a scuba diver; and of his loving but over-cautious and
over-protective father Marlin who has to leave the safety of the reef to
find him. (I’ll note that Marlin has every reason to be
over-protective.) Along the way, Marlin has to brave just about every
hazard of the sea, including sharks, jellyfish, currents, horrors of the
deep, pelicans, and seagulls–I loved the seagulls. Meanwhile, Nemo is
learning many of the same lessons on a smaller scale.

The story is simple: dad discovers hidden reserves of courage and skill,
and learns to let his son stand on his own; son learns new respect for
Ahis dad, and learns to stand on his own. And, as always, Pixar’s
story-telling is flawless and delightful.

So how does Finding Nemo stack up against its predecessors? I’d
say it ranks fourth, above A Bug’s Life, but below Monsters,
Inc. and the Toy Story movies.

Oh, and Jane would want me to say that she really liked the turtles.

The Wodehouse Society has created the Alpha-cum-Omega Wodehouse Portal. Sounds like a good thing to me. (Courtesy The Anger of Compassion).

Fun with PhotoShop, with a delightful air of fantasy. I especially like the girl getting a riding lesson–on a praying mantis. Courtesy Lynn Sislo.

The bookstores around here have been pushing Colfer’s “Artemis Fowl”
juveniles pretty heavily recently; I keep seeing those little cardboard
displays with a compartment for each book in the series. From the blurb
they looked like they might be amusing, and so I picked up the first one
so that I could read it, and see if it might be something Dave would like
to have me read to him.

Having finished, I can say “Absolutely not.” Or rather, he might like me
to, but I’m not gonna.

It’s about a twelve-year-old super-genius and master criminal named
Artemis Fowl. He’s the heir of a long line of super-genius
master-criminals. And he’s hit on a scheme. In addition to the
legendary pot of gold, every leprechaun (he’s Irish) has a Book that they
carry always that contains all of the rules and regulations that govern
life as a fairy. He manages to get access to a copy and translate it; he
then plans a caper to piles of fairy gold.

It had its moments, but I didn’t like it much.

To begin with, it’s only so-so as a book. The whole time I was reading
it (and I was predisposed to enjoy it), a little voice in the back of my
head kept saying, “Well, there’s another stupid thing I’d better not
think about too much.” For example, there’s a scene in Fowl’s computer
room that was ludicrous. Authors should either get technical details
correct, or leave them out altogether. Vagueness isn’t the key to
timelessness, but it helps. Obsolete products in a supposedly up-to-date
computer lab (as of the publication date) are just silly.

Second, many of the characters in the book are Fairies, and yet the
nature of Faerie seems to be completely opaque to the author. This is a
fantasy, but it’s written in a science fictional manner.

Third, most of the characters (fairy or otherwise) are rude,
obnoxious, cynical, double-dealing, corner-cutting, and they’d probably
be foul-mouthed and oversexed if Colfer could get it past his editor.

Let’s face it, my kids are too young for hardboiled detective novels.

I’ve just discovered a blog called Cronaca, which seems to be slanted towards history and archaelogy. It’s fascinating. Just in the last few days, he’s posted on the as-yet unexcavated burial mound of the first emperor of China, the possibility that Pat Garrett didn’t actually kill Billy the Kid, but in fact shot somebody else instead and covered it up, and reports that certain brands of salami sold in English stores contain horsemeat.

I’ve just posted today’s installment (chapters six and seven) of my novel
Through Darkest Zymurgia!, which so far has gotten rave reviews from the two or three people who have read it. Take a look!

The Independent has just published a list of books loathed by various celebrities….ugh, that is, folks who are celebrities in England. Most of them I hadn’t heard of. But I had heard of many of the books they mention, and I found it fascinating.

J.R.R. Tolkien comes in for the worst punishment, with three of the fifty celebrities ragging on the Lord of the Rings:

Anything about Gandalf, and those little things with hair between their toes. I hate that sort of portentous, phoney, medieval-magical way of writing. — Sir John Mortimer, creator of Rumpole

In what way is Tolkien’s writing “phoney”, or “magical-medieval”? I’d have thought that it was normal transparent prose, rather than any attempt to sound like something from another era.

There have been many contender [sic], but for inspiring life-long loathing and contempt, nothing beats The Lord of the Rings. The childish storytelling, the valetudinarian mythologising, Tolkien’s lack of any feel for language, description, landscape, emotion or confrontation, the desire to garotte Pippin and Merry in a dark alley ­ how can so many readers have put up with such codswallop for so long? — somebody named John Walsh

In what way is the storytelling childish? I suppose there isn’t enough sex in it. And I can’t see how Tolkien lacks feel for landscape or description. And as for emotion, well…I suppose there isn’t enough sex in it.

I’ve never understood the point. It’s strange, weird and frightening, and makes me feel like I’m on the sidelines of a joke I don’t understand. — Alain De Botton: Author and philosopher

I think this last quote really points out the problem–they just don’t get it. Poor souls.

Then, J.K. Rowling comes under the gun:

I think they are absolute shit, just terrible, worse than Enid Blyton. I have discouraged my children from reading them. They are not particularly badly written ­ I don’t mind bad writing ­ it’s the smugness and the complicity with the reader that I dislike. It’s like they’re written by a focus group. JK Rowling is the sub-literary analogue of Tony Blair. — Somebody named Jonathon Meade

Now, I’m the last person to insist that the Harry Potter books are the best thing since sliced bread. Isn’t this a bit strident? And what is “complicity with the reader”? I admit, the tone is perhaps a bit familiar–but it’s written for kids. I’ve seen much, much worse in my time as a father. Perhaps he’s jealous?

And finally, for Deb English, a few words about her latest book, Posession, by A.S. Byatt:

It’s a kind of schmaltzy Mills & Boon romance dressed up with cod Victorian poetry to make it seem more profound, but there’s no emotional depth in it at all. It’s incredibly shallow and trivial. — Somebody named Joan Smith

The phrase “Mills & Boon romance” comes up a couple of times in the list; apparently, it’s a horrible thing to be. Would anyone care to enlighten me?

(via Boing Boing)

Modesitt writes two kinds of novels: those that follow his normal
formula, and experiments. I usually like the former, though I confess
the formula’s beginning to get old; I usually like the latter as well,
but, alas, not in this case.

Archform: Beauty is set a couple of centuries in the future.
Most consumer goods, and even most food, is assembled by nanomachine.
The big thing is “resonance”: the use of sound engineered to produces
specific responses. “Rez” is used in pop music and in advertising;
non-rez music is a dying art.

The book is something of a mystery novel, mostly involving a power grab by an
organized crime family. The family is mostly organized as a bunch of
corporations, and almost everything the family does is above board. The
rest is the kicker.

I’ve got a number of complaints about this book. To begin with, it’s got
too many viewpoint characters: a music teacher, a reporter, a senator, a
crime boss, and a detective, and maybe a couple of others I’m not
thinking of at the moment. Each character has his or her own distinct
voice and concerns, none of which really overlap in any obvious way as
the book begins. Consequently, you have to get quite a ways into the
book before you find out what it’s all about.

And that’s my next complaint. The book doesn’t know what it’s about.
It ought to be about “rez”, and the tension between the “rez” and real
music; it’s clearly supposed to be about the importance of beauty. And
these things are discussed to some extent, but the plot doesn’t hinge on
them. You could pull “rez” and the music teacher out the book with
little effect on the story.

On the whole, I was disappointed. Usually, a Modesitt novel grabs me and
won’t let go until I’m done. This one I had to push to get through.