One would think that a prerequisite of writing for a newspaper would be the ability to read one. Apparently not, however.
Krull
Ah, the fine lure of 1980s cheese movies! I loved Krull when it came out, and saw the thing twice. It hit all of my sweet spots at the time. But then, I was 12, and I’ve grown a bit more sophisticated since then. My sweet spots at the time? A young Prince thrust into Kingship by the sudden onset of war; sword fights; aliens with ray guns; aged wizards come to nudge the young Prince toward destiny; a funky and mythical weapon; a really pretty Princess; the Prince’s motley collection of allies, most of whom are outlaws; perils like enormous spiders and quicksand-filled swamps and a monstrous villain who lives in an impregnable fortress of rock.
Yeah, those were all of my sweet spots when I was 12. And as it turns out, these are still a lot of sweet spots now that I’m 38! Which is probably why I still have a lot of fondness for Krull even though it’s more cheerfully goofy to me now than the serious bit of heroic fantasy I thought it was back then.
The plot of Krull is…well, from my list of “sweet spots” above, you can pretty much figure it out for yourself. There’s a planet called Krull, which is invaded by a force of soldiers called “Slayers” who wield ray guns and fly around the galaxy in a giant mountain-shaped fortress made of rock that lands on one world after another for conquering. This enormous spaceship lands on a planet, whereupon its hordes of ray-gun wielding soldiers in space armor ride out on horseback to take over. Yowza!
But the planet Krull isn’t to be taken so lightly. Two Kings decide to put their kingdoms together, by marrying their son and daughter. But on the eve of Prince Colwyn’s wedding, the Slayers attack and kill the two old Kings and kidnap Princess Lyssa! Oh noes! Colwyn wakes up the next morning, amidst the wreckage of battle, to find his father dead, his bride a prisoner, and a cranky old wizard (who is not named Obi Wan or Gandalf) binding his wounds and telling him to get up off his arse because he’s a King now and he needs to go fight the Slayers and their horrible leader who is known by the horrifyingly scary name “The Beast”.
And off they go. First they’re off to pick up a nifty weapon called a “Glaive”, which is basically a really ornate throwing star that seems to work by remote control or mental command or something like that. Then they need to find a powerful Seer, because they need to know where The Beast’s fortress is going to be (it changes location every morning). Along the way they meet some brigand-outlaw types and recruit them to their cause. And so on.
It’s all very typical, although I didn’t realize it when the movie came out. It’s full of British actors, which always helps lend an air of weight and believability to the most ludicrous plots. The film is full of beautiful shots of wonderful vistas (its director of photography, Peter Suschitsky, also shot The Empire Strikes Back), but a lot of it doesn’t make a whole lot of sense. The Glaive is touted as an amazing weapon, but by the time we get to see it in action, it’s actually a bit disappointing; poor Lysette Anthony as our beautiful Princess literally has nothing to do as she is a prisoner for ninety percent of the movie; some of the film’s events feel contrived, as if the screenwriter felt the need to pad out the running time and tick off some well-worn fantasy conventions along the way.
The most notable aspect of Krull now, nearly thirty years after it came out (holy crap!), is its score by James Horner. It’s typical young Horner: big and muscular, with lots of nods to various classical masters and to Jerry Goldsmith. Horner’s tendency toward self-referencing isn’t in much evidence at this point in his career, although there are places where the score sounds a lot like his most noted score to that point, Star Trek II: The Wrath of Khan. The score also has two of the best melodies of Horner’s entire career (the heroic “Main Theme” and the love theme).
Krull really needs to be seen through the prism of time, for what it is: an artifact of the 1980s. If this movie were to be released anew today, it would be laughed off the screen, with its occasionally murky visual effects and its earnest and irony-free script. Oh well. I still have a soft spot for it. The scene where Colwyn and friends ride the Firemares across a thousand leagues is still a thrilling bit, even with some wretched 1980s-style rear-projection, and Ken Marshall is, all things considered, a pretty good Prince Colwyn. I imagine that as Hollywood gets more and more focused on remaking old properties, a new version of Krull is probably inevitable at some point. I’m not sure how I’d feel about that.
For a taste of Krull, here’s a video of one of the best tracks from the score, “Riding the Firemares”. The main theme kicks in at about the :37 mark. Try to not have that tune in your head for days. I had that theme in my head for years, which is amazing considering that for many years, the score album to Krull was nearly impossible to find. I didn’t locate a copy myself until I was in, of all places, a Barnes&Noble in Cedar Rapids, IA in 1995, and that was a single-disc album with lousy sound that left off most of the score. The entire score has been re-released on a couple of film music labels since then (including La La Land Records, just in the last month or two).
For the main action, skip to the 4:30 mark. Excuse the cruddy video quality; this is the only clip I’ve found that has the entire scene. (The cyclops dude remains behind because his people are cursed to know the day they will die, and he knows this is his day, or something like that.)
Even with the bad rear-projection — oh, what George Lucas’s ILM could have done with this scene — it’s a terribly fun part of the movie.
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What do you get him for Boss’s Day?
Via Cal, I saw this collection of memos sent from a boss to his employees at an oil company in Houston in 1977 and 1978. The memos paint a pretty, shall we say, surreal picture of what it must have been like to work for Edward Mike Davis.
Here are a couple of quotes, but it’s worth reading them all, especially at the site linked above, because he has scans of the typewritten originals:
This is a business office. All correspondence and other things pertaining to this office will be typewritten.
Handwriting takes much longer than a typewriter — you’re wasting your time, but more importantly, you’re wasting my time. If you don’t know how to type, you’d better learn.
Remember, this was the era of typewriters, not e-mail and texting. You had to load a piece of paper into your typewriter, type your thing, make sure you had no errors, and then take the paper out and do whatever it was you did in that particular office to get the piece of paper you’ve just typed to the person who needs to see it. This requirement would seem to put a damper on intra-office communication.
Idle conversation and gossip in this office among employees will result in immediate termination.
Don’t talk about other people and other things in this office.
I can see wanting to discourage gossip, but I wonder what Davis meant by “idle conversation” — is he actually going to fire Jones in Accounting if he overhears Jones telling Smith that his kid made the honor roll?
I swear, but since I am the owner of this company, that is my privilege, and this privilege is not to be interpreted as the same for any employee. That differentiates me from you, and I want to keep it that way. There will be absolutely no swearing, by any employee, male or female, in this office, ever.
Had I received this memo, I almost certainly would have loudly exclaimed upon reading it, “Well, f*** me!”
We do not pay starvation wages, and there are some people left in this world who want to work. I am not fond of hippies, long-hairs, dope fiends or alcoholics. I suggest each and every person in a supervisory category (from driller up to me) eliminate these people.
…
Anyone who lets their hair grow below their ears to where I can’t see their ears means they don’t wash. If they don’t wash, they stink, and if they stink, I don’t want the son-of-a-bitch around me.
Well, I guess I wouldn’t have received the “No swearing” memo, because this guy would have fired me on sight. Oh well.
These are my favorites:
This memorandum is intended as an addendum to a memo I wrote on January 12, 1978 about people speaking to me. Any supervisor who has anything to say to me, day or night, the fastest way he can say it to me is too slow. The terms about not talking to me meant I do not have time to stop and talk to everyone — saying hello, goodbye, goodnight, etc. — that is what I was talking about. If you have business with me, the fastest way is too slow — day or night.
And:
I do not appreciate people coming into my office and helping themselves to my candy, cigars, medicine, and other personal items.
Unless you have my permission, you are not allowed to remove anything from my office, and particularly, do not remove anything from my desk drawers without my approval. I don’t mind giving, but I would like the privilege of knowing and giving it myself.
Now, these are interesting. To judge by this fellow’s personal history (what little of it is known — there are links at the site), he basically inherited a bunch of money from a very rich woman for whom he had worked as her personal driver. He then used that money to launch his very own oil business in the late 1970s, which to my understanding was not the best time to be launching one’s very own oil business in Texas. His company went belly-up just a few years after these memos were typed.
Davis seems to have been (or maybe still is, I have no idea if he’s alive) a man of some conflicting impulses. He clearly wants to have been a rich and prosperous businessman with his own company and bunch of employees, but he also seems to have a deep discomfort, bordering on distrust, of other people. This is almost never a recipe for business success, unless one is fortunate enough to have invented a product that everybody needs. Davis, however, was just another Houston oil man when all the wells were drying up.
Reading the memos, one forms an impression of a company dominated by Nazi-like terror of the man in the corner office, but I wonder if that’s the case. As I read through the memos, one after the next, I got an increasing sense that this guy was deeply insecure and worried about his image while being possibly without a way of really creating that image, short of mandating that nobody so much as talk to him and firing off one memo after another about some really idiotic stuff (“At lunch, don’t be in the kitchen! I hired a woman who will literally hand you your food!”).
Put it this way: Mr. Davis claims in one memo to be a “known son-of-a-bitch”. But really — if you actually worked for a genuine “known son-of-a-bitch”, do you really think that your SOB boss would have to resort to a memo to tell you not to help yourself to the candy in his office?
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Jaran
A while back I bought a copy of Kate Elliott’s novel Jaran on the assumption that it was, at least kinda-sorta, a space opera. It turns out to not really be a space opera at all; it’s more of a future planetary romance type of book. No matter; those are only matters of taxonomy and nomenclature. It’s not a space opera simply because very little of it takes place in space.
So what is Jaran about, then? It turns out to be a science fictional romance story, as well as a tale of an epic journey, a clash-of-cultures novel, and a quite wonderful character study. I actually started the book a year or two ago, read a few chapters, and then put it aside — not, if I recall correctly, out of any negative feeling for the book but because something else came along that I really wanted to read instead right at that moment. The last Harry Potter book or maybe a Guy Gavriel Kay book. Something like that. So I finally got back to Jaran, and in a lot of ways I didn’t want it to end (which is nice because it’s the first book in a four-book series).
Terese Soerensen (known as “Tess” to friends) is the sister of Charles Soerensen, a human who has been given a Dukedom over a number of worlds by humanity’s apparently gracious conquerors, that Chapalii. As sister to a very important man, Tess has a number of responsibilities and obligations that she is less than thrilled about pursuing, especially after her fiance breaks her heart, so she decides to eschew her duties in favor of traveling to a world called Rhui, where she wants to bury herself in linguistic studies. But on her way there, she finds evidence of some kind of odd plot involving humanity’s Chapalii conquerors, so she follows the evidence and ends up stranded in the middle of the grassy steppes of a vast continent. She soon meets the locals, who are human — but who are not technological, and instead live a nomadic existence with the horse as their primary mode of transportation.
These people are known as Jaran, and the first one she meets is one of the most important of all Jaran, a man who wants nothing more than to unite all of the fractious, often-warlike tribes under one banner. His name is Ilya Bakhtiian, and he is unlike any person Tess has ever known.
Over the course of the rest of the novel — and all of this set-up takes about twenty pages — Tess will have to learn a new culture, travel across a continent by horse, investigate the doings of the Chapalii on a planet they’re not even supposed to be on, come to terms with her own emotional pain, and work through her increasingly complex feelings for Ilya Bakhtiian. All of this makes for one of the finer “character-driven” stories I’ve read recently.
I suppose it’s not much of a spoiler to note that Tess and Ilya do fall in love with one another, but the book is praiseworthy for the way it develops their relationship. Both characters are complex and flawed, and their relationship is full of strife and hardship. There were plenty of times when I wanted to slap either Tess or Ilya or both upside the head, and that’s actually a good thing, as that means I had come to care about these people.
Elliott also displays a good gift for language, especially as she creates the recognizable, and yet alien, culture of the Jaran. They all tend to speak with unexpected cadences and rhythms, and the depiction of a matriarchal culture doesn’t feel at all contrived as some SFnal matriarchies do. Many such societies end up seeming like regular old patriarchies with the genders switched, but Elliott avoids that trap in a number of interesting ways.
Here is a passage that I particularly admired. Here, Ilya Bakhtiian is talking to Niko, a wise elder, about his conflicted feelings for Tess and what those feelings may mean for his dream of uniting all the Jaran:
“Loving a woman and wanting a woman are not the same thing.”
Ilya simply stared at him [Niko], perplexed. “Of course, to desire a woman only because she is pretty–“
“I am not speaking of anything so simple. Listen to me, my boy. When you came back from Jeds, you had found the path you were destined to ride, knowing that it would bring you fame that no other jaran had found before you. But the gods play this game with us, challenging us to strive for fame, and yet how many of us can ever hope to beat their players: the wind that never ceases, the deep earth, the rain that dissolves the ashes of the dead, the unbounded sky, and the silent stars. They play their game well. They have only to wait us out to win.”
The rising sun laced hsi pale hair with silver. “Yet now and again, a man or a woman is born who has weapons against these opponents, one who can command quiet, who can see beyond death, one who can hold fire to the old ways and let them burn. You are such a man. You can change the jaran. You are changing them. You can leave this world with a name that will live forever. You can win that game.” He fell silent. Two women spoke in low voices from the etsana’s tent, too far away for words to be distinguishable. From the farther edge of camp, a man hallooed, and a child yelped and laughed.
“But you will die in any case, Ilyakoria. What good is everlasting fame to a man if he dies unloved?”
A wind had come up. It touched Ilya’s hair, stirring it like a whisper.
“Love, Ilya. That is what we who are mortal have been gifted, a gift never given adn never known by the undying. The wind cannot love the plain, but I can love the plain, and I can love much more than that and be loved in return. Fame is something you want. A woman is someone you love.”
(I’m finding, more and more, that I’m less and less interested in stories that don’t have some component of a love story within them. This doesn’t mean that I want every book to be a romance, but it does mean that books where love is not a theme are turning out less interesting to me. I’m not sure why this is the case, but it’s something I’ve noticed in my reading lately in terms of the trends I’ve seen in my reactions to the books I’ve been reading.)
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Ask Me Anything! August 2010 edition
[bumping this post up]

Yup, it’s that time again! Or rather, it’s that time already.
See, I’ve always done Ask Me Anything! — well, not always, but the last few years, anyway — in February, as part of my Blogiversary Month festivities. That just seems like too long, though; Ask Me Anything! tends to produce a lot of good posting-fodder, and it’s a lot of fun, so I’ve decided to indulge a thought I had when I wrapped up the last round, this past February, and start doing Ask Me Anything! twice yearly. We’ll do in in February and August, so each one is six months apart. Cool, eh?
So, here we go. Standard rules apply: Put questions into the comments on this post. I’ll periodically kick this post to the top of the blog (or post a reminder), up until Sunday, August 15. Got questions?
Ask Me Anything!
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Something for Thursday
I love John Denver, and to paraphrase Ron Burgundy, if anyone has a problem with that, I will fight you.
I was trying to decide which John Denver song to use this week, and I figured, there’s no rule that I can only present a single one. So, first, here’s “Looking for Space”:
Here’s “Calypso”:
And finally: this song may have become almost a cliche over the years, but this song is one of my earliest musical memories. I remember listening to this when I was very little, and being happy when it would come ’round in the parents’ record rotation when Dad would put four or five LPs on the stereo. (Remember those record players that would hold a few LPs at the top of a three-inch spindle, and use a mechanism to lift the needle at the end of a record, swing it back out of the way, drop the next LP onto the turntable, drop the needle, and start playing the new record? I was always fascinated by the coordination of the record changing.) Anyway, here’s “Country Roads”.
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I have an “ilk”???
Wow! I don’t recall the last time this happened, or if it’s ever happened, but I got a hate-mail today! Yay!
Anyway, “Edward” says:
If I were you, I would hide under the first stone in the remotest forest…
you and your ilk should never open your stupid beak, you don’t belong in this country, not even on this Earth. What a base kind of “human”, and I am being generous, for God’s sake!
Unfortunately, Eddie didn’t bother to leave any indication as to what particular post of mine it was that brought this on, so I have no idea what it was that got under his skin. That is obviously something over which I will lose precious milliseconds of sleep tonight, but I’ll make up for it with a nap tomorrow. I do assume that it was one of my political views that got him, with the “you don’t belong in this country!” thing. That sort of attack always amuses me, because by simply writing those words, Little Eddie has already admitted, whether he knows it or not (likely not), that by definition, I am a better American than he.
Ah, the amusement!
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Mazel tov!
Matt Jones, whom by virtue of having known him since fifth grade is the person outside my immediate family I’ve known the longest (unless you count the girl from 2nd grade who is now one of my Facebook friends) in my life, went and did something rather rash. Ach! He has to squeeze the toothpaste from the bottom now! Aieee!
In fifth grade, by the way, Matt and I had hair of similar length. Clearly, judging by his photos, we have gone in somewhat opposite directions.
Anyhow, congratulations to Mr. and Mrs. Jones. May the Force be with them!
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A Random Wednesday Conversation Starter
There ain’t no justice!
An artist does this and everybody’s all “Awwwwww, that is so adorable!” But George Lucas does it in Return of the Jedi, and the raping-of-childhoods begins. Harumph!

