Farewell, Vonda N. McIntyre (From the Books)

Science fiction and fantasy author Vonda N. McIntyre has died.

I feel that I’ve done McIntyre a disservice all these years. I’ve read a lot of her work, but none beyond her well-known tie-in books in the Star Trek and Star Wars universes. But on the other hand, she wrote all those books voluntarily and she wrote some of them so well that they stand up even outside their tie-in status. And what’s so bad about tie-in work, anyway? There’s a reason the Trek and Wars franchises are so well-established. I do own a couple of McIntyre’s non-Trek books, and I should probably make reading them a higher priority.

One novel of hers that I especially liked was her original Trek novel Enterprise: The First Adventure, in which she told the story of how the very first voyage of the starship Enterprise under the command of Captain James T. Kirk went. This novel posed a number of challenges for McIntyre: she couldn’t rely on the tried-and-true relationship tropes of Trek. Kirk and McCoy were already good friends at this point, but neither knew the Enterprise‘s Vulcan science officer; there couldn’t be any hint here of “I have been, and always shall be, your friend.” McIntyre also wrote a Lt. Sulu who didn’t even want to be on the Enterprise, and Commander Montgomery Scott who was so skeptical of his new Captain and so possessive of “his” ship that he nearly let his attitude force Captain Kirk to order his transfer off the finest ship in Starfleet.

Another thing McIntyre did in this book is to show that Kirk’s ascent to commanding the Enterprise wasn’t just a straight-line thing that involved no sacrifice at all. Star Trek II: The Wrath of Khan, which McIntyre novelized, established that there was one woman in Kirk’s past life who was much more than a momentary conquest. Dr. Carol Marcus might have been the love of his life, and she was the only one (that we ever knew of) to bear James T. Kirk’s child. So in Enterprise, Vonda McIntyre wrote a wonderful scene in which Kirk is torn between his dream of command and a woman he loves. It’s the kind of amazing character writing at which McIntyre excelled. She made you care about these characters. Her writing is full of scenes like this, and now I have to wonder even more what magic she was able to conjure with characters of her very own.

Here’s the scene.

Carol turned, uncharacteristically flustered. “Jim–!”

“Hello, Carol.” He stopped. He wanted to say everything to her, or he wanted to say nothing. He wanted to make love with her, or he wanted never to see her again.

“Talk to you later,” Dr. Eng said, and made a diplomatic exit.

“How are you feeling, Jim?”

He ignored the question. His heart beat hard. “It’s wonderful to see you. I have to leave soon. Can we…I’d like to talk to you. Would you have a drink with me?”

“I don’t feel like having a drink,” she said. “But I will go for a walk with you.”

Jim paused beside Gary, still hoping he might awaken. [That’s Gary Mitchell, Kirk’s best friend who was his First Office in the episode “Where No Man Has Gone Before,” before his character died.] “Get well, my friend,” Jim said, and left Ms. Chapel the note to give him when he regained consciousness.

They did not have to discuss where to go. Jim and Carol walked toward their park.

Without meaning to, exactly, Jim kept brushing against Carol. His shoulder touched her shoulder; his fingers touched the back of her hand. At first she moved aside.

“Oh–” Carol said impatiently the third time Jim touched her. She took his hand and held it. “We are still friends, I hope.”

“I hope so too,” Jim said. He tried to pretend the electric tingle of physical attraction no longer existed between them, but he found it impossible to deceive himself that much. Being near Carol made Jim feel as if a powerful current case a web over both of them, exchanging and intensifying every passion.

“Are you sleeping any better?” Carol said.

Jim hesitated between the truth and a lie. “I’m sleeping fine,” he said.

Carol gave him a quizzical glance, and he knew he had hesitated too long. She had held him too many times, when the nightmare slapped him awake in the darkest hours of the morning.

“If you want to talk about it….” she said.

“No. I don’t want to talk about it,” he said in a clipped tone. [This all happens in the aftermath of a bad incident that left Kirk emotionally scarred.]…”No,” he said again, more gently. “I don’t want to talk about it.”

Still holding hands, they reached the small park and set out along the path that circled the lake. Ducks swam alongside them, quacking for a handout.

“We always forget to bring them anything,” Carol said. “How many times have we walked here–we always meant to bring them some bread, but we never did.”

“We had…other things on our minds.”

“Yes.”

“Carol, there’s got to be some way–!”

He cut off his words when he felt her tense.

“Such as what?” she said.

“We could–we could get married.”

She looked at him; for a moment he thought she was going to burst out laughing.

“What?” she said.

“Let’s get married. We could transport to Spacedock. Admiral Noguchi could perform the ceremony.”

“But why marriage, for heaven’s sake?”

“That’s the way we do it in my family,” Jim said stiffly.

“Not in mine,” Carol said. “And anyway, it still wouldn’t work.”

“It’s worked for quite a number of generations,” Jim said, though in the case of his own parents the statement stretched the truth. “Carol, I love you. You love me. You’re the person I’d most want to be with if I were stranded on a desert planet. We have fun together–remember when we went to the dock and snuck on board the Enterprise for our own private tour–” At her expression, he stopped. “It’s true.”

“Yes,” she said. “It’s true. And I’ve missed you. The house is awfully quiet without you.”

“Then you’ll do it?”

“No. We talked about this too many times. No matter what we do, it wouldn’t make any difference. I can’t be with you and you can’t stay with me.”

“But I could. I could transfer to headquarters–“

“Jim…” She turned to face him. She held both his hands and looked into his eyes. “I remember how you felt when you found out you’re getting command of the Enterprise. Do you think anyone who loved you would want to take that away from you? Do you think you could love anyone who tried?”

“I love you,” he said. “I don’t want to lose you.”

“I don’t want to lose you, either. But I lost you before I ever met you. I can get used to the quiet. I can’t get used to having you back for a few weeks at a time and losing you over and over and over again.”

He kept seeking a different solution, but the pattern led him in circles and he could find no way out.

“I know you’re right,” he said, miserable. “I just…”

Tears silvered Carol’s dark blue eyes.

They kissed each other, one last time. She held him. He laid his head on her shoulder with his face turned away, because he, too, was near tears.

“I love you too, Jim,” she said. “But we don’t live on a desert planet.”

That‘s how you write a heartbreaking farewell scene…and it comes very early in the book, before we even see Captain Kirk on the bridge of his new ship. McIntyre knew how to set the emotional stage for her stories.

I really do owe her a reading with newer eyes….

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Tone Poem Tuesday

I am really stretching the idea of a “tone poem” with today’s selection, because what we have today is not an orchestral piece at all but rather a choral one, with much of it being a capella (there’s a piano at one point). I heard part of this work whilst driving home the other day and I just had to share it here, where it sort-of ties in to April being National Poetry Month. American composer Morten Lauridsen set five poems by German poet Rainer Maria Rilke, each of which deals with the subject of a rose. Lauridsen–who was a forest ranger and firefighter before he turned to music–has this to say about this piece:

In addition to his vast output of German poetry, Rainer Maria Rilke (1875-1926) composed nearly 400 poems in French. His poems on roses struck me as especially charming, filled with gorgeous lyricism, deftly crafted and elegant in their imagery. These exquisite poems are primarily light, joyous and playful, and the musical settings are designed to enhance these characteristics and capture the delicate beauty and sensuousness of the poetry. Distinct melodic and harmonic materials recur throughout the cycle, especially between Rilke’s poignant “Contre qui, rose” (set as a wistful nocturne) and his moving “La rose complète.” The final piece, “Dirait-on,” is composed as a tuneful chanson populaire, or folksong, that weaves together two melodic ideas first heard in fragmentary form in preceding movements.

Lauridsen’s composition is deeply intimate and full of harmonic resolution; modern dissonance has no place here. The music is almost luminous at times.

Here is the text of one of Rilke’s rose poems (he apparently wrote more than five, so how Lauridsen chose which ones to set, I don’t know), as sourced from poetry blogger Clarissa Ackroyd.

THE ROSES (Rainer Maria Rilke, translated from French by Clarissa Aykroyd)

VI

One rose alone is every rose,
one, but manifold meaning:
perfect and irreplaceable,
framed by words of being.

How could we ever speak
without the rose,
of sweet interludes in constant farewell,
or of our hopes?

(Original French)

VI

Une rose seule, c’est toutes les roses
et celle-ci: l’irremplaçable,
le parfait, le souple vocable
encadré par le texte des choses.

Comment jamais dire sans elle
ce que furent nos espérances,
et les tendres intermittences
dans la partance continuelle.

Here is Les chansons des roses by Morten Lauridsen.

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April Fool’s Day! (and the beginning of National Poetry Month)

It’s April Fools Day! I’m not a huge fan of this day as a celebration of pranking people, seeing if you can embarrass them or get them to believe some false news story or the like. But I’d be all for a day in which we celebrate laughter and All Things Funny, whether it’s sophisticated wordplay or gonzo silliness or a good old pie in the face. Here are a few things that always hit my funny bone:


(Here, on an episode of Cheers, Sam finds that his bar has been bricked in as a prank by Gary of Gary’s Old Town Tavern…but all is well because he’s got an Irish band coming….)



And here, because National Poetry Month is starting today, is a poem about laughter by Ella Wheeler Wilcox.

Momus, God Of Laughter

Though with the gods the world is cumbered,
Gods unnamed, and gods unnumbered,
Never god was known to be
Who had not his devotee.
So I dedicate to mine,
Here in verse, my temple-shrine.

‘Tis not Ares – mighty Mars,
Who can give success in wars;
‘Tis not Morpheus, who doth keep
Guard above us while we sleep;
‘Tis not Venus, she whose duty
‘Tis to give us love and beauty.
Hail to these, and others, after
Momus, gleesome god of laughter.

Quirinus would guard my health,
Plutus would insure me wealth;
Mercury looks after trade,
Hera smiles on youth and maid.
All are kind, I own their worth,
After Momus, god of mirth.

Though Apollo, out of spite,
Hides away his face of light,
Though Minerva looks askance,
Deigning me no smiling glance,
Kings and queens may envy me
While I claim the god of glee.

Wisdom wearies, Love has wings —
Wealth makes burdens, Pleasure stings,
Glory proves a thorny crown —
So all gifts the gods throw down
Bring their pains and troubles after;
All save Momus, god of laughter.
He alone gives constant joy,
Hail to Momus, happy boy!

I’ll be posting about poetry off and on throughout the month. I don’t promise a post every day, but most days.

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