James L. Cambias's Blog, page 10

Which War?

At the end of this month the people of Deerfield, Massachusetts will observe the 318th anniversary of the 1704 Raid on Deerfield. This was not the first attack on the town in its early decades, nor the last, but it was definitely the most devastating.

But nowadays people are a little vague about why it happened.

Often it's attributed to the "French and Indian War." Right enemies, but wrong war. That one was in 1754-1763, part of the global Seven Years' War. The Deerfield Raid was half a century earlier, part of a different conflict waged across Europe and the colonies.

That war was known as Queen Anne's War, and lasted from 1702 to 1713. It was basically a sideshow of the War of the Spanish Succession, which started a year earlier and ended a year later.

The cause of the war was, basically, Habsburg inbreeding. The Habsburg dynasty ruled a huge chunk of the world: Austria, Hungary, northern Italy, various bits of Germany, Belgium, Spain, parts of Italy, Mexico, Peru, other parts of South America, some pieces of Africa, the Philippines ��� and far too many minor duchies, islands, and colonies to list. They divided it all up among different branches of the family, but the clan remained closely allied against their two primary enemies: the Bourbon dynasty of France, and the loose coalition of Protestant kingdoms in northern Europe led by the British.

To keep their vast dominions together, the Habsburgs married within the family, making heavy use of their political clout to get special dispensations from the Pope to allow unions which otherwise would be illegal.

The end result of all that was King Charles II of Spain. His parents were uncle and niece, and their parents were all first cousins. Any geneticist will tell you this is a terrible idea, and a look at the official portrait of the King bears that out. The poor man couldn't chew his food properly because his Habsburg chin was so exaggerated. He had a whole raft of other chronic health problems, and it's not really surprising that he was unable to produce an heir. Nor did he have any brothers or sisters to inherit the Spanish empire.

Actually, the problem wasn't enough heirs, it was too many. Without an immediate blood relative to inherit, the line of succession got hopelessly tangled up in a mass of claimants ��� Habsburgs, Bourbons (because when they weren't fighting wars they were swapping princesses to keep the peace), and various minor royalty across Europe. 

When Charles died, he left the entire Kingdom of Spain and all its dominions to Philip of Anjou, who was the grandson of Louis XIV of France. A Bourbon, and in the line of succession to the throne of France. This was of course intolerable to the other Habsburgs and the British. Spain plus France would dominate Europe. Alliances quickly reshuffled and a global brawl broke out.

The French side included France and Spain, plus their extensive colonial empires (including Canada and Louisiana). Their allies at the start of the war included Bavaria, Savoy (in northwest Italy), the Spanish-ruled Kingdom of Naples, the Spanish Netherlands (modern Belgium) ��� and a number of Native American groups including the Abenaki Confederacy, some Mohawk bands, the Choctaws, the Natchez, and some smaller groupings.

On the other side were England, the Austrian Empire, the Dutch Republic, the Kingdom of Prussia, Portugal, and all of their colonies and allied tribes. Including, of course, the Massachusetts Bay Colony, with Deerfield sitting all by itself at the northwestern frontier.

The war lasted 13 years, involving battles across Europe, in North America, in India and elsewhere in Asia, and lots of "privateering" at sea. And, of course, the Raid on Deerfield. Several countries switched sides during the conflict, or dropped out when the expense got too great.

When all the dust cleared in 1714, Philip of Anjou remained as Philip V of Spain. France had turned one of its most dangerous enemies into a family-run ally, though the price was that France and Spain could never have the same monarch. Spain kept her colonial empire but had to hand off all her dependencies in Europe to Habsburg Austria. France lost her colonies in Acadia and Newfoundland, and many of the French settlers there migrated to Louisiana. Britain also gained control of Gibraltar, and access to trade with Spain's colonial empire. Oh, and John Churchill got to be Duke of Marlborough for winning a lot of battles.

In short, fifty people in Deerfield got killed and a hundred taken off to Canada as prisoners because too many Habsburgs married their cousins.

Postmarked From the Stars Interview

Postmarked From the Stars is an online bookstore emphasizing fantasy and science fiction. They've also got a YouTube channel with reviews and interviews. And this week you can see an hour-long interview with me. It's quite wide-ranging, discussing my earlier works like A Darkling Sea and Corsair, as well as recent titles like The Godel Operation. Check it out!

Happy Tricolor Day!

Today is Italian Tricolor Day. To celebrate, I prepared homemade pasta with red and green pesto:

Italy and Mexico are fortunate countries, in that their national colors match their cuisine. Making an Italian dish patriotic-looking is pig-easy. Just use some tomato sauce, some greenery, and some mozzarella. In other words, make some generic Italian food. Same for Mexico. Japan's flag also lends itself to patriotic dishes: a red plum on a bed of rice, and you've got a flag lunch. Spanish cooks in a patriotic mood can lean heavily on saffron and tomato.

Sadly, all the countries with blue flags are severely handicapped. Making patriotic American or French food means you have to rely heavily on uncooked blueberries, or cheat and use food coloring. And in Libya or Saudi Arabia I guess you just shut up and eat your spinach.

Anyway, both kinds of pesto were delicious.

 

Better Late Than Never

The legendary Gordon Van Gelder sent me the link to this review of Corsair by Patrick Mahon. It's a nice writeup, and I'm pleased to see it. One can only imagine the size of his "to be read" pile. Amazon still has it available in all formats.

Kitchen Report: Pudding!

This Christmas, we had a traditional English Christmas Pudding for dessert after our dinner. What's a Christmas Pudding? It's . . . well, it's a lot more akin to a fruitcake than anything most Americans would describe as "pudding." I'll try to generate some suspense in this 'blog post by not revealing how it tasted just yet.

I got the idea because my daughter made plans to visit us for the Christmas holiday season. She's not a huge fan of turkey, so my wife and I decided to cook a goose as the centerpiece of our meal. If you're making a Christmas Goose, the temptation to go Full Dickens and have a Christmas Pudding to follow is very strong, and I gave in. Plus I'm interested in food history and wanted to try it.

My recipe was from the extremely useful historical cookbook Lobscouse & Spotted Dog, by Grossman and Thomas. It's a solidly researched and fearlessly kitchen-tested companion to Patrick O'Brian's novels about Captain Aubrey and Dr. Maturin in the Royal Navy of Nelson's era. If you want to know how to cook a rat, this is the book to consult. Since Captain Aubrey is a huge fan of English pudding in all its forms, the book has thirty-odd different pudding recipes, ranging from "Figgy-Dowdy" to "Drowned Baby" to "Floating Islands."

A useful technique when trying an unfamiliar recipe, especially a historical one, is to find as many versions as possible and compare them. This gives one a sense of which ingredients are central to the dish, which are optional, and what the core techniques are for cooking. So I did some online research and consulted some of my other old cookbooks.

The core of a Christmas Pudding (aka a Plum Pudding because it contains raisins and the English don't know how to speak their own language) is a mix of beef suet, flour, sugar, breadcrumbs and eggs; packed with dried fruit, chopped nuts, and spices. And booze. The exact fruits and spices vary somewhat from one recipe to another.

Which was good, because getting hold of all of them was quite a chore, and some proved impossible to find. I had all the spices (cinnamon, mace, nutmeg, and clove), so that part was easy enough. Suet came from Sutter Meats in Northampton. Raisins, currants, and almonds were no problem. Candied orange peel had to be ordered via Amazon, and candied citron was simply unavailable to me. The fact that we were in the middle of a global supply chain crisis may have had something to do with that.

I began accumulating the Christmas Pudding ingredients in October, and actually prepared it in early November. This may seem like a long lead time, but Grossman and Thomas recommend getting your pudding ready a whole year in advance. Other recipes tended to center around six to eight weeks prior to serving, so I went with that.

The actual cooking is simple but time-consuming. You mix everything up together, put it in a pudding-basin (I used a metal bowl), and then steam it in boiling water for five hours. Extract it from the pot ��� my cookbook authors went into a certain amount of technical advice about getting the pudding out of the boiling water but I simply let it cool down before removing ��� and then store for two to twelve months. Give it a shot of booze every few weeks.

On the big day, heat it up with a couple of hours of steaming, then turn out onto a serving dish. Heat up a few ounces of brandy just to boiling, set it on fire, and pour the flaming liquid over the pudding. Because what dessert isn't improved by flaming brandy, really? Here's what it looked like.

So, I hear you ask, how is it? It's good. I liked it a lot ��� but then I'm also someone who loves mince pies and old-fashioned sangria. Raisins and cloves and citrus are a flavor combination I love in just about any form.

As one can see from this close-up view, the pudding is mostly fruit. The suet-flour-egg mixture is just a matrix to hold it all together. It goes very well with red wine, less so with champagne. We accompanied ours with vanilla ice cream, a combo I recommend.

It made a nice finish to a meal built around a roast goose. I suspect it would also go well with beef or game. Probably not a good Thanksgiving dessert ��� too much like the stuffing and cranberries anyway, plus everybody's expecting pie.  It's kosher, so you could have it for Hanukkah. Since I've got a quarter-pound of suet left over, I may make it again. Try it yourself ��� you've just about got enough time for next Christmas if you get cracking.

Christmas Menu

Menu for this year's Christmas dinner:

Oyster Patties    Cremant de Bourgogne

Cold Poached Salmon

Onion Soup    Sourdough Rolls

Roast Goose    Chestnut Rice    Chateau Les Grands Sillons 2010

Salad

Christmas Pudding    Apple Pie    Ice Cream

Overall it was quite delicious. The pudding will rate its own post soon. The only real flaw was that we planned this dinner for six people, but only three were available to eat it thanks to the Dread Virus. That means we're going to be eating leftovers for the rest of the year. 

Right now the goose skin is rendering for goose fat, the rest of the carcass is simmering for stock, and my son is passed out in a food coma upstairs.

Merry Christmas!

 

Last Thoughts on Dune

I finished re-reading Frank Herbert's epic novel Dune a few days ago, and had some final thoughts about the book. I asked myself "How would I have done it?"

The book is about the desert planet first and foremost, and so I'd keep that. I'd keep the interstellar intrigue plot, as well. Reluctantly, I guess I would have to leave in the psychic powers. I don't like psychic stuff, but I guess that's the best way to make the spice into the Most Valuable Stuff in the Universe.

The big change that Jim Cambias's Dune would make to Frank Herbert's original is the resolution. I wouldn't have young Paul use his precognitive powers and loyal Fremen warriors to take the throne of the Galaxy. Instead, I would throw a curve ball. 

The problem that the Fremen of Arrakis face is that their planet just happens to produce The Most Valuable Stuff in the Universe. This means that powerful off-world factions like the Houses of Harkonnen and Atreides, the Emperor himself, and the Spacers Guild will always have an interest in controlling the spice production on Arrakis. Basically, the Fremen and Paul must make a bid for power, or else they'll just get a new set of colonial overlords. The Empire and its great noble houses simply can't leave Arrakis alone.

Or . . . can they?

Only the Fremen know the "secret of the spice" ��� how it is produced as part of the life cycle of the giant sandworms which inhabit the deserts of Arrakis. Curiously, the Empire and other mighty powers who depend on the spice have never bothered to investigate how it's made.

So here's my curve ball: instead of arranging things so that the Emperor comes to Arrakis and then launching a coup against him, Paul works with the spice smugglers to move a series of secret parcels off Arrakis, bound for other desert worlds all over the Galaxy. We assume that the Empire contains other worlds with little or no water ��� many of them are probably uninhabited, but that's actually a benefit. The smugglers seed these desert worlds with sandworm eggs.

It may take a few years, but in time sandworms ��� and spice ��� will be all over the Galaxy! Spice will no longer be scarce, and will be impossible for any one faction to control. Everyone can get access to spice. The price drops by orders of magnitude. It's no longer the Most Valuable Stuff in the Universe, just a useful substance with applications in space travel and medicine.

Paul gets revenge on his enemies. Baron Harkonnen is ruined economically. The Emperor may be, as well. The Spacers Guild are likely to lose their monopoly and thus their own wealth and power. 

And Arrakis? It's now just one of dozens or hundreds of desert worlds where spice can be found. The great powers capable of ruling it are ruined, its chief resource is commonplace. Arrakis gets to be left alone. Paul remains there as a leader of the Fremen, with the woman he loves as his wife.

Naturally, there's likely to be plenty of plots, counter-plots, and the inevitable knife fights. But in the end, I'd write a novel about how economics trumps political power. 

 

 

Ecological SF

I've been re-reading Frank Herbert's Dune after seeing the stunning new film version by Denis Villeneuve, and I noticed something which I found hilarious, in my usual contrarian way.

Consider the two factions struggling for control of the desert planet Arrakis:

On one side you have the villainous Harkonnens, fortified in the spaceport city of Arrakeen, only venturing out of their bubble to gather spice in the desert ��� but the dreaded sandworms mean no permanent presence is possible. Their spice harvesters are flown out, operate for a few hours until the worms approach, then are lifted off back to base. Aside from a few raids on the nomadic Fremen, the Harkonnens stay put in Arrakeen and rely on supplies imported from off-world.

On the other side you have the noble Fremen, who live in the rocky desert regions, cultivating plants which can survive the climate, hunting native and imported animals, and obsessively stockpiling water with the goal of someday transforming Arrakis into a world where humans can live without protective suits, with rain and rivers and lakes.

Who are the more environmentally responsible?

At first it seems obvious. The Harkonnens are on Arrakis only to extract resources. They have lots of big noisy machines and go around being greedy and oppressing people. They make no effort to understand the planet, they just want spice. In contrast, the Fremen say noble desert-warrior stuff and are often accompanied by wooden-flute music or female vocalists singing in an unrecognizable language. Sure signs of environmental consciousness, right?

Except . . . 

The Harkonnens "live lightly" on Arrakis. They oppress every human in reach, but humans are alien to the planet. They extract spice, but it's a renewable resource created by the sandworms. The Harkonnen "footprint" is confined to one city and its environs.

The Fremen, meanwhile, are planning to terraform half the planet into a more Earthlike environment ��� which is explicitly stated to be deadly to native Arrakis life. They have adapted to live on Arrakis, but they plan to adapt Arrakis even more. How many species ��� how many thousands of species ��� will go extinct when half of Arrakis is covered by an alien ecosystem?

This points up an interesting historical shift in how we view the natural world. Frank Herbert was born in 1920, and grew up during the Great Depression, when giant public-works programs aimed at turning deserts into pasture or cropland. Until the 1960s or so, preserving the natural environment was specifically about preserving it for use by humans. And it is this paradigm which the Fremen embody. Arrakis is their home, and they want to make it more fertile and pleasant.

But beginning around the time Herbert's novel Dune became a best seller (and in no small part because of Dune), a new strain of environmental thought began to appear. The goal was no longer preserving the natural world for human use but preserving it for its own sake. The most extreme version is the "Voluntary Human Extinction" movement, which literally seeks to remove humans from the world altogether. 

In the space exploration realm, this idea sometimes crops up in opposition to human colonization of other worlds. I find this very hard to understand. Protecting the Amazon rainforest or the Pacific coral reefs is obviously a good thing, but what good is achieved by making sure lifeless, radiation-blasted rock remains lifeless forever?

But, amusingly the Harkonnens's colonial, resource-extractive presence on Arrakis is more in tune with this viewpoint than the efforts of the Fremen are.

All of which goes to show that if your ideology is indistinguishable from that of the bad guys, maybe you need to think about it a bit more.

A Curious Omission

Dr. Kelly and I went to see Denis Villeneuve's new version of Dune a couple of weeks ago. It was good ��� the director has shown himself in the past to be a skilled and faithful adapter of science fiction stories to the screen. Good acting, beautiful visuals, a good score . . . 

But no food! It's a little astonishing that a movie made by a Frenchman, set on a planet famed for its spice production, doesn't have any memorable food scenes. We see Paul and his mother eat breakfast in one scene, but not what they're eating. This production won't give Andrew Rea anything to re-create for a Binging With Babish video.

It's particularly disappointing to me because it means the film leaves out one of my favorite scenes from the book: the banquet in Arrakeen. I know why the scene was cut ��� it's talky, it's full of minor characters who don't play much part in the bigger story, and it's part of a sub-plot the director decided to drop from the screenplay.

Still, it's a pity because we miss the only dishes actually named in the book: langues de lapin de garenne, roast desert hare in sauce cepeda, aplomage sirian, chukka under glass, and "a true pot-au-oie." Translations: lapin de garenne is simply rabbit (odd to have both rabbit and desert hare in the same meal); sauce cepeda sounds like a mushroom sauce but I can't find a reference to it outside of the novel, aplomage may be an extraterrestrial creature ��� likely from a planet orbiting Sirius ��� the word to me looks like a kind of featherless bird; chukka is another fictional food; and a pot-au-oie would be potted goose (probably some kind of confit). The rabbit tongues are a particularly decadent-sounding dish, reminiscent of the Roman fondness for parrot tongues in garum. To me, the meal comes across as unpleasantly rich ��� suitable for a winter feast in a cold climate, but far too heavy for a hot desert setting.

Either Mr. Herbert was trying to convey that the dinner was a display by the Duke, with costly imported food that will impress the rubes; or he was showing that the Atreides have just come from a very different world and their preferred foods are out of place; or he just made up some cool-sounding dishes. My money's on the last option. 

Were I to write that scene, I'd have done things a little differently. For one thing, this is a society in which the nobility are paranoid about poison, which suggests the entrees should all be big common-pot dishes: soups, stews, maybe big baked pasta or rice dishes. Cactus dishes seem appropriate, as would dates. Make a big rabbit pie as the first course, followed by cactus soup, game birds with dates served over couscous, and fresh off-world fruit to inspire awe among the desert planet inhabitants.

Now I have to go start making dinner.

 

Building A New World

My first foray into teaching worldbuilding went so well I'm doing it again ��� only more so. This Saturday (November 6) the Pioneer Valley Writers Workshop is offering the first of a two-part online course I'm teaching. It's called "Building the Iceberg," and is all about science fiction worldbuilding.

In session 1 we'll be looking at the role of alien beings and societies in SF, and creating a worked example. Session 2, on November 13, will delve into the physical details of planets and star systems. 

This is an especially appropriate moment to offer this course again, as right now everybody's talking about Frank Herbert's Dune and Denis Villeneuve's magnificent film adaptation. Herbert's novel is acknowledged as a masterpiece of worldbuilding, and Villeneuve's film shows how to do it in cinema.

So come look under the hood with me and let's build a world!