This is Pratchett’s latest Discworld novel; and it is to my lasting
regret that due to soccer practice and an inability to find a babysitter
we missed seeing him when he was at our local bookstore a couple of weeks
ago. (So happens I missed Neil Gaiman last week, which is also
regrettable but not nearly as lasting.)

Thud! is yet another tale of the City, Ankh-Morpork, as seen
through the eyes of its most determined defender: His Grace Samuel Vimes,
the reluctant Duke of Ankh-Morpork and most eager Commander of her City
Watch. The topic this time around, as it so often is in the Sam Vimes
books, is race relations. Koom Valley Day is approaching, and
the dwarfs and the trolls are working themselves up to break a few
heads. The dwarfs and trolls first fought the Battle of Koom Valley
a thousand years earlier; they’ve given repeat performances every few
decades ever since, sometimes even within the confines of Koom Valley.

Koom Valley Day is always rather fraught in Ankh-Morpork, thanks to the
massive influx of dwarfs and trolls over the last twenty years; but this
year it’s shaping up to be a doozy. Indeed it appears that unless our
Sam can do something to ease the tensions, the city will be the site of
the next Battle of Koom Valley, and that eftsoons and right speedily.

Much of the tension may be laid at the feet of one Grag Hamcrusher, a
leader of a new group of “deep down” dwarfs who have recently come to
the city. Grag is not a name, but a title; it is the grags who are
responsible for transmitting the essence of dwarfishness to the next
generation. The closest human approximation is probably “rabbi”; and
if “grag” equals “rabbi” then Hamcrusher and the “deep down” dwarfs
make your average Hasidic Jew look like a secularist. Hamcrusher’s not
to impressed with the dwarfishness of your average city dwarf, and he’s
absolutely appalled by the vast numbers of trolls in the city, about
whom he has not been silent.

As the book begins, Hamcrusher is not only Vimes’ chief problem; he’s
also dead. The “deep down” dwarfs claim that the killer is a troll.
And Koom Valley Day is only a few days away….

Like all of the Sam Vimes books, Thud! is a mystery with
Vimes as the sleuth; and like all of the Sam Vimes books, the mystery
is odd, surprising, and funny. I’ll only say that the book Vimes
reads to his son Young Sam every night at six o’clock
precisely–every night, without fail, at precisely six o’clock, utterly
without fail, because if you’ll skip it for a good
reason you’ll eventually skip it for a bad reason–that is, the estimable
Where’s My Cow?, plays a dramatic (also odd, surprising, and
funny) role at the climax of the tale. Jane and I are going to be
giggling about it to each other for the indefinite future.

This is an odd little book, written as a companion to Pratchett’s new
Discworld novel, Thud!. Sam Vimes, commander of the
Ankh-Morpork City Watch, has a standing engagement every evening at six
o’clock–no matter what else is going on, he hurries home to read a
bedtime story to his very small boy, Young Sam. And not just any
book, but Young Sam’s favorite book in the world,
Where’s My Cow?:

Where’s my cow?
Is that my cow?
It goes “Baaa”.
It is a sheep.
That’s not my cow!

Speaking as a father, I’ve read dozens of books just like this. But
Where’s My Cow? isn’t just another kid’s book; it’s a book
about Sam Vimes reading a book called Where’s My Cow to
Young Sam, complete with pictures of Sam Vimes making all of the assorted
noises. (My favorite is the Hippopotamus: it goes “HRUUUUUGH!”) And
partway through the book, Sam begins to ask himself…why is he reading a
book about the noises made by barnyard animals to Young Sam when Young Sam
is going to grow up in the city and will never encounter barnyard animals
except on a plate? What if Where’s My Cow were about the
noises Sam hears every day as he travels about Ankh-Morpork?

And so Sam Vimes begins to embellish the book a bit, and extemporize, and
spread himself considerably….until Lady Sybil comes in and gives him
the eye.

Speaking as a father, I’ve done this myself, hundreds of times, with one
book or another (for example…but then, perhaps we should pass lightly
over
Princess Jewelianna and the Sparkling Rainbow Ball, in which
all of the tasteless princesses dress most excruciatingly gaudy. One day
my little girl is going to learn to read, and I’m going to be in
big trouble.)

Anyway, Where’s My Cow is good fun, if a bit lightweight, and
the pictures are excellent. If you’re both a parent and a Discworld fan, you owe it
to yourself to get a copy. I gave Jane a copy as an anniversary present;
she was thrilled. No, really, she was, and she sat in my lap while I
read it to her. And then we went back to Thud!, which I
expect we’ll finish tonight.

If you’re not a Discworld fan or a parent, though, give it a miss, because
most of the book will go right over your head.

…I’ve not been posting regularly. This is partially due to lack of interest; my project at work is taking almost all of my energy at the moment, and this is likely to continue for some time. Plus, I’m teaching myself to play the piano–the fruits of which are certainly worth a blog entry or two–plus I’ve been doing lots of reading, but haven’t had the energy to write much about it.

So much for excuses.

But frankly, one of the reasons I’ve not been posting much is that I’m about fed up with Movable Type and blog spammers in about equal proportions.

In Movable Type 3.x, the MT folks added the TypeKey commenter authentication system. I was drowning in comment spam, so I implemented it. It did for the comment spam perfectly well, but it dramatically reduced the number of comments I got. Then, a few weeks ago, my server was getting hammered so hard by spammers trying (and failing) to post comments that my web hosting service disabled the comments script. I didn’t say anything at the time, as it seemed like a short term thing; but it has gone on and on, and finally yesterday I simply disabled comments altogether. Existing comments have been preserved, but there will be no new ones.

In the meantime, Trackback spam is greatly on the increase. I’m getting hundreds of Trackback spams every day. I gather that MT 3.2 has some tools to help with that, and I really ought to install it. At the same time, I gather that MT 3.2 doesn’t have what I really want–a way to disable trackbacks altogether. There’s an “allow trackbacks” flag on every single post, and the only way to change them is one-at-a-time, by hand. Would it kill them to provide a better mechanism? Would it kill them to provide a safety valve: automatically close trackbacks on all posts older than X days? Or on demand, close trackbacks on posts from this date to that?

And how come I’m so darned popular with these blasted spammers? Other folks don’t seem to have to disable their comments mechanism just because of the mass of foiled spam attempts.

Sigh.

The October Issue of Ex Libris Reviews is now on-line.

I dunno; and I’m sure that this quiz isn’t going to cast any light on the subject. But here are my answers anyone. (Via Brandywine Books.)

1. Tell, within a dozen, how many books P. G. Wodehouse wrote. Shoot, make it within thirty…



Nearly a hundred, if I recall correctly.

2. Name the song playing on the radio when Duke’s Samoan attorney threw the grapefruit into the bathtub.



I don’t remember this particular incident, but it’s clearly a reference to Uncle’s stint as the U.S. Ambassador to American Samoa, back in the early days of Doonesbury.

3. Fill in the blank, “I love the smell of _____________ in the morning.”



“napalm.” Apocalypse Now, a move I watched but didn’t particularly enjoy.

4. Tell what machine Toad fell in love with after being thrown from his caravan.



A motor car; though I know this from Walt Disney rather than Kenneth Grahame.

5. Name the Who’s original drummer.



Keith Moon, of course.

6. Describe the procedure for trapping a heffalump.



Dig a pit and put a pot of honey at the bottom.

7. Name the Black Panther Party member who went from exile in Cuba to preaching at Wheaton Bible Church before designing and selling codpiece-equipped pants.



Nope, I’m not quite that old.

8. Name the artist who played harmonica on Keith Green’s 1980 “So You Wanna Go Back to Egypt” LP.



I’m going to guess that it was Bob Dylan. It’s the right era, and who else plays harmonica?

9. Tell who said, “The policeman isn’t there to create disorder. The policeman is there to preserve disorder.”



I dunno.

10. Name the movie: “Gentlemen, you can’t fight in here! This is the War Room.”



Dr. Strangelove. I’m not old enough to know this answer either.

11. Name the Beatle with the bare feet.



The walrus is Paul.

12. Name the now-dead newspaper columnist who often quoted his friend Slats Grobnik.



Slats Grobnik?

13. Tell what color and model car O.J. Simpson was being driven down the Santa Monica freeway in.



A white Bronco.

14. Name the Chicago Bears defensive tackle who scored a touchdown in Super Bowl XX.



The Super Bowl…is that something to do with football?

15. Finish the sentence from “Cool Hand Luke”: “What we have here is a failure to _____________ .”



“Communicate”. Not that I’ve ever seen the movie.

16. Name the movie this line comes from: “It’s just a flesh wound! Come back and I’ll bite your kneecaps off!”



Monty Python and the Holy Grail. Have you seen the Lego version of the “Camelot” song?

17. Name the song that ends with the drummer shouting, “I’ve got blisters on my fingers!”



It’s a Beatles song, but I don’t remember which one. And are you sure it was the drummer? It doesn’t sound like him.

18. Name the lead guitarist on the Beatles’ “While My Guitar Gently Weeps.”



George Harrison. Paul played bass, and John Lennon usually played rhythm guitar in any case.

19. Name the Tom Wolfe book originally serialized in Rolling Stone magazine.



Bonfire of the Vanities. I think.

20. Name the television series modeled on the work of a New Yorker cartoonist.



The Addams Family, of course. I loved the show, and I’ve got a book of the cartoons.

I make that 14/20, if my guesses were correct.

Suppose England had had a glorious history of magic and magicians;
suppose indeed that the North of England was ruled for 300
years by the mysterious Raven King, the first and greatest magician of
England’s golden age of magic. Suppose that paths to the land of Faerie
had once been commonplace throughout the English countryside.

Suppose that magic is now sadly faded, and though studied by a few,
is in actuality practiced by no one; that Napoleon is ravaging the
Continent and that only England stands against him; that the glories of
English Magic are suddenly, miraculously, about to be reborn…

…and that Jane Austen wrote a book about it all.

That, in a nutshell, is Jonathan Strange & Mr Norrell.

The book was published to great acclaim; indeed, it won the 2005 Hugo
award, which is no small potatoes. It was an interesting read, and was,
indeed, novel in its subject matter and presentation; Clarke has done
the remarkable job of creating an alternate history for England that
feels plausible. I enjoyed the book, more or less.

But I fear I didn’t love it. The narration maintains an air of
detachment; and one loves none of the characters, and rather
cordially dislikes several of them. Momentous events occur (at one point
an entire city–Brussels, if I recall correctly–is transplanted to the
Great Plains of North America for a short while), but they are described
matter-of-factly, and with no fanfare.

I’m not sorry I read it; and I’m curious to see what Clarke might come up
with next. But I’m not entirely sure why it got the Hugo.

A reader asks,

I’m writing out of desperation and hope that your extensive reading will
benefit my research for an upcoming speech. I am looking for the letter,
forward or script that read like an admonition of the 60s youth. It went on
to say things like: “the next generation will never rise to the challenges
we just faced in Europe. They’re consumed wholly by their own endeavors,
music and dancing. They are lazy, slovenly and uninterested in world
politics…” Then, only at the end do you realize it is written by a WW I
veteran lamenting the weak moral fiber of the (soon to be) greatest
generation. Do you where I could find the above (albeit loosely para-phrased) text?
Thanks for any and all help you can provide.

I recall reading such a piece, more than once, but I’ve no idea where; probably
on-line somewhere. It quite possibly wandered through my e-mail box in some
bygone era. Does anybody out there remember more about this than I do?

I’m going to be off on a business trip all this week; I’m writing this as I wait for the shuttle to come pick me up and take me to the airport. Posting, therefore, might be non-existent. If, on the other hand, I have ‘net access in my hotel room (which seems likely) and if I find myself sitting in my hotel room in the evenings both bored and rested enough to write coherently (which seems less likely given the schedule of events: day-long meetings which have a tendency to continue well into the dinner hour) and if I can find something non-work-related to write about, then maybe there will be posts.

I first posted this on September 11th, 2002, the first day of this blog’s existence:

It’s not unreasonable to ask why they hate us. But it is unreasonable to assume that it must be our fault.

This is a trio of fantasy novels; the first two were written in the
mid-’90’s, and the third was published a month or so ago. All concern an
unlikely hero named Bahzell Bahnakson–unlikely because…but hold that
thought.

A thousand years ago, the continent of Kontovar was the home of a vast
and sophisticated civilization. Humans, elves, dwarves, and hradani
lived together, and mostly in peace. Then came a war in which the black
wizards tried to take over Kontovar. Wizards aren’t much good as foot
soldiers, even assuming they feel moved to try, and so the black wizards
magically enslaved the wise, peaceful (but immensely strong) hradani and
turned them into fierce berserkers.

The black wizards lost in the end, but the war ruined Kontovar. The
survivors fled to another continent–including a small contingent of
hradani, no longer enslaved but still subject to fits of berserk Rage.
Hated and hunted for their role in the war (though it was no choice of
theirs) and with hair-trigger tempers (and you really don’t want
to see them when they are angry), the hradani have since scraped out
a barbarian living in lands no one else wants.

A thousand years later, the hradani are still hated and feared by the
other four races of men. Bahzell Bahnakson is a hradani.

He’s also the son of the most progressive of the Hradani lords, and in
addition to being large even for a hradani (who are the tallest of the
races of men) he’s somehow acquired a strong sense of justice. As a
political hostage to another clan, he surprises the eldest son of the
clan lord on the verge of ravishing a serving girl. Rape is practically
unheard of among the hradani–their women are not subject to the Rage, and
hence are highly valued–and rapists are dealt with harshly. Bahnak
cannot turn aside, and so he thrashes the evildoer, ties him up, and then
to save his own life (and that of the girl) takes it on the lam.

After securing the girl’s safety, Bahnak must go forth into exile; having
been a hostage, he cannot go home without forcing his father to renounce
the treaty under which he was held and starting yet another war. And as
he travels he starts having dreams. It develops that the War God wants
Bahnak to be one of his Champions, to sally forth righting wrongs and so
forth. Bahnak wants no part of it–the gods have never done anything for
the hradani, and so the hradani want nothing to do with the gods. But
the War God is persistent, and the result is a foregone conclusion.

Oath of Swords contains the part of the story I’ve described
so far, up until Bahnak’s eventual capitulation; it’s a delightful
picaresque and goofy fantasy, and it made my laugh frequently.
The War God’s Own continues the story as Bahnak learns what
it means to be one of the War God’s Champions; there are Dark Deeds
Afoot, and the War God has Champions to thwart them. The goofiness
continues, and indeed it’s rather surprising how much fun you can have
following an extremely competent, dedicated paladin around and about.
In fiction these days, paladins are supposed to be stuffy pantywaists who
can’t get the job done because they insist on following the rules.
Bahnak follows the rules and gets the job done too.

Windrider’s Oath, on the other hand, was something of a
disappointment. The book suffers from
the same bloat as the latest Honor Harrington novels. The plot is adequate, but
the pacing is lousy; too little happens, and it’s related in so much
detail for so many points of view that the
suspense cannot be maintained. (I’m beginning to think of this as
Weber’s Disease.) The book would have been much better at half the
length. Worse, the goofiness that made the first two so endearing is
largely gone.

If Weber writes another book in this series, I’ll read it; I like the
characters, and I’m curious about what happens next. But I begin to fear
that Weber has jumped the shark.