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I apologize for not making my usual post last week. To make it up to you, this week I have prepared a very special double book review. Both are non-fiction books, and both have a similar topic. The full titles were too long to put in full in the blog heading. They are A Generation of Sociopaths: How the Baby Boomers Betrayed America and Boomers: The Men and Women Who Promised Freedom and Delivered Disaster. I like when a book is up front with its title. Short of emulating Albert Jay Nock and titling the book “Our Enemy, The Boomers”, neither author could have been more direct.

The two books take different angles of attack on their shared target: Gibney’s Generation of Sociopaths is a sweeping odyssey across many different levels of alleged Boomer selfishness, complete with numerical summaries quantifying their malfeasance. Andrews meanwhile takes a more literary approach, modeling her book after Lytton Strachey’s Eminent Victorians, and attacking Boomer vices using six prominent members of their generation as the foci of her assault.

Curiously, the two books present slightly different definitions of what qualifies someone as a Boomer. Andrews uses the standard birth years of 1945 to 1964, whereas Gibney includes those born from 1940 on. Either way, the generation (which presumably could also be called Gen W, although I’ve never seen it referred to as such) has many members, and, according to these two, not many of them are good.

Gibney is more vindictive in his attacks. He diagnoses the Boomers as clinically sociopathic, behaving with a total lack of concern for others and a single-minded focus on their own welfare. Much of his book is devoted to detailed examinations of American tax law, dedicated to the thesis that Boomers voted for policies to benefit themselves at the expense of both older and younger cohorts.

Here, the alert reader might raise an objection: isn’t America theoretically a representative government? And might not a representative government be reasonably expected to respond to what a large percentage of its population wants? And since the Boomers are by definition a large percentage of the population, shouldn’t we expect them to vote in their own interest? Isn’t that, like, democracy in action? But this is not good enough for Gibney. The Boomers display, in his view, a lack of the prudence and foresight that was characteristic of previous generations.

Andrews does without the graphs and figures. Her book is much more personal, targeting specific foibles of specific people: Aaron Sorkin is an out-of-touch writer of TV dramas who mistakes his characters for real life. Camille Paglia is a decadent artist who is shocked when the values of her salons translate into reality. Al Sharpton was the last corrupt boss of Tammany Hall-style machine politics. Even Steve Jobs, to whom Andrews is clearly more sympathetic than the others, was at best a flawed hero, insofar as his phones and music players ultimately fueled Boomer-ish conspicuous consumption.

Gibney’s book concludes with an appeal to Carl Schmitt’s Friend/Enemy distinction, exhorting his readers to view the Boomers as a kind of scapegoat on to whom the sins of our nation must be cast, and of whom a ritual sacrifice must be made before there can be absolution. Andrews ends her book with a more meditative note on how millennials can avoid following in the footsteps of their parents. (Interestingly, both books also make approving references to Lord Kenneth Clark’s 1969 television series Civilisation. It is almost as if there is some anti-Boomer Q source from which they are both working.)

What is perhaps most interesting about the books is the different perspectives of the authors. Andrews is a reactionary conservative, Gibney seems to lean progressive with maybe some libertarian influence thrown in. As a result, their analysis of what exactly the Boomers did wrong differs, with Andrews believing they destroyed the fabric of society with their libertine disregard of cultural norms, while Gibney views the social issues that alarm Andrews—feminism, gay marriage, etc.—as mere footnotes. In his view, the overall culture is far more right-wing now than it was when the Boomers were coming up. As he frequently reminds us, Nixon was more left-wing than Obama when it came to expanding the scope of government.

In the end, their diagnosis seems to converge on the idea that the Boomers, growing up in a time of peace and plenty, were spoiled by their material wealth, and selfishly squandered it all, leaving their progeny in a far worse situation economically, politically, and—in Andrews’s case anyway—spiritually.

And here we come to the central point, the specter that haunts both books: the Boomers’ progeny, most of whom are the generation we know as Gen Y, the Millennials, or, if you’re of a mind to use a slur for us as Gibney does for the Boomers, “the Participation Trophy Generation.”

I am one of these Millennials, born in 1990 to Boomer parents. As a member of that generation of supposedly disinherited knights that the Washington Post once dubbed “the unluckiest generation in U.S. history”, I am, if Andrews and Gibney are to be believed, a victim who is entitled to redress of his grievances.

And this is the great irony of both books: in each case the authors accuse the Boomers of being rebels without causes, of not respecting the traditions of their ancestors, but instead deriding them, overthrowing them, and stealing their wealth, all while acting as if they are aggrieved and entitled to compensation… and then they each proceed to do exactly the same with the Boomers themselves!

Gibney’s hypocrisy is particularly irritating. He proposes levying large taxes on the Boomers, the proceeds of which should be redirected to California venture capitalists such as himself. His whole book indicts the Boomers for stealing the wealth of others to benefit themselves, and then he ends by proposing to do the very same thing. He justifies this by saying that “a Schmittian menace does motivate society, sometimes to good ends, if the Us is genuinely commendable and the Other, not so much.”

In other words, “we are the good guys, and anything we do is therefore also good.” Does it ever occur to Gibney that this is also what the original students of Carl Schmitt were thinking?

Anyway, before Gibney starts building wicker men for Boomers in the hopes that next year’s crop will be better, I would point out that failure to show respect for the ancestors is one of the major sins across virtually all cultures in history. That the Boomers may have been guilty of it is no excuse for their successors to do the same.

Back to that Washington Post article, and specifically this chart, which demonstrates that Millennials enjoyed the least growth in GDP per capita of any generation. Very unlucky! Not nearly as “lucky” as the G.I. Generation (b.1900-1924) or the Silent Generation (b. 1925-1945). Look at the economic growth they enjoyed during their first years in the workforce. What luck! I’m sure, as they were about to storm the beaches at Normandy, they were all thinking how incredibly lucky they were to have been born at this time!

To my fellow Millennials (and Gen Zers–those who can read), I say this: yes, we inherited a mess from previous generations. With the benefit of hindsight, it is easy to see what they might have done differently. But every generation in history could say the same. No one was ever gifted a perfect world, and if they were, mythology suggests they would lose it almost immediately. If we are going to at least set our lands in order, we cannot do it by heaping scorn upon those who went before us. We can only study what they did right, what they did wrong, and use that knowledge to make ourselves better. We can still be, as that wonderful work of Millennial fiction Samantha, 25, on October 31 says, “the generation that changes it all.” But

“Everyone thinks of changing the world, but no one thinks of changing himself.”

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Remember that book, CCRU Writings: 1997 – 2003 that I reviewed last Fall? The one full of weird occult philosophical ramblings about AI, techno-demons, and inhuman pseudo-mythology?

If you read that review, or the book itself, and thought, “that was good, but it’s just not bizarre enough”, well, my friend, have I got good news for you!

Cyclonopedia is written in an academic style. Or rather, it’s what would happen if H.P. Lovecraft wrote in an academic style while on acid.

The book is framed as a found manuscript discovered by an American tourist on a trip to the Middle East. What she finds is a disordered collection of notes loosely centered on the works of a Dr. Hamid Parsani, who has developed an esoteric theory of the world, particularly the Muslim world, and the Global War on Terror.

Dr. Parsani’s thesis, insofar as it can be discerned from the many cryptic documents and references, is that the Middle East is actually a conscious organism, powered by a dark god that lives beneath its surface. This viscous Lovecraftian xeno-intelligence is the substance we know as “oil”, and it subtly shapes humanity to suit its purposes. It runs our machines, drives our economies, and provides the impetus for massive wars, all in an effort to increase its control over the Earth as it seeks to burn as bright as its nemesis, the Sun.

Scattered throughout the writing by and about Parsani are references to other characters, including an American soldier called “Colonel West”, a Kurtz-like figure who has begun to understand the bizarre and occult nature of the battlefield and gone rogue, leading a renegade Delta Force unit on brutal sorties informed by his and Dr. Parsani’s research into the esoteric nature of the desert and the demonic forces that rule it.

This West character is especially interesting to me because in certain respects he parallels the real-life Lt. Col. Allen West, who was tried for the use of unnecessary force during the Iraq War, even down to such minor details as the fictional West’s fascination with oil and the real-life West’s line that “if it’s about the lives of my soldiers at stake, I’d go through hell with a gasoline can,” which he said by way of defending his actions. Is this literary license, satire, hyperstition, or mere coincidence?

I’m probably making this sound more compelling than it is. Parts of it read like a really dry and incredibly confusing dissertation, punctuated by moments of bizarre horror that aren’t as shocking as they might be simply because they feel so out-of-left-field. Still, like CCRU, the book does manage to gradually instill a sense of gnawing unease in the reader.

And also like CCRU, most of this unease comes from the fact that its central insane thesis seems to align with observable facts. If the Middle East really is a sentient force that compels humanity to wage eternal war over the black gold beneath it, we would expect to see exactly what we do see in the real world.

More curious still are some of the things that the philosophy of Cyclonopedia implies rather than stating outright. For instance, the curious fact that the monotheistic religions Judaism, Christianity, and Islam all originated in the Middle East, and slowly but surely defeated and subjugated the sun-worshipping religions—a fact which dovetails with the supposed envy the dark god oil harbors against the sun. (“Since the beginning of time, Man has yearned to destroy the sun!“)

It’s worth noting that the basic concept here isn’t all that different from Dune: a mysterious desert populated by a adherents of an esoteric religion, and a vital resource that is key to control of the universe. Frank Herbert based his story on the Muslim world to begin with; Cyclonopedia is like what would happen if you removed the sci-fi setting, and restored Dune‘s weird, psychedelic vibe to Mesopotamia proper. Truth is stranger than fiction, and Cyclonopedia is stranger than both.

Now, this is where I need to step back and acknowledge that most people are not like me. Most people like a story with a coherent beginning, middle, and end, and do not like to feel like their understanding of reality is slowly unraveling when they read a book. So I probably have a higher tolerance for this sort of mind-bending madness than most. And even I was getting impatient after a while. In a lot of ways, the book felt like it was building up to a payoff that it never delivered.

So, should you read it? If you love bizarre esoteric theory-fiction that requires a huge amount of close reading to even begin to understand. Since I think that only describes about nine people in the entire world, it’s likely not for you. But if you’re one of the nine, you’ll probably love it.

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There’s an old line which I’ve seen attributed to Pericles: “just because you don’t take an interest in politics doesn’t mean politics won’t take an interest in you.” I am very skeptical as to whether Pericles said this, but the sentiment is fundamentally sound. Politics exists in all nations at all times, and can be defined simply as the endless competition for the power of governing. In democracies, people compete for votes. In oligarchies, for the support of the strongest factions. In monarchies, for the favor of the crown.

Thus, there will always be politics. In the latest Brad and Karen thriller, the pair are both caught up in developments stemming directly from government policy changes. Brad in that much of his research funding has been terminated and Karen in that she is having to work with a much more aggressive Immigration and Customs Enforcement.

Both are affected when one of Brad’s colleagues is taken into ICE custody and then mysteriously murdered. As usual, the duo works to solve the murder, though this time getting information through Karen’s usual channels is more difficult, as the federal authorities are very secretive about their operations.

If you’re a fan of Brad and Karen thrillers, I probably don’t have to tell you to read this. Unless, perhaps, you are also so horrified by current events that you don’t want anything that reminds you of them. There were a few, I think, who declined to read Mark Paxson’s wonderful novella The Jump for that very reason. And that’s a pity, because it really was a phenomenal book that explains current events far better than most mainstream news outlets.

So, my advice to prospective readers of this book is to be undeterred by the political themes. Even if you don’t agree with them! As you might guess, the distribution of ratings for this book is bimodal, with some long-time readers of the series being alienated due to the beliefs held by the main characters.

This may be a controversial opinion in itself, but this review just makes me sad. When did people lose the ability to read a story even if they disagree with some of its ideas? Are some people unable to read Kidnapped just because they are not Jacobites? Political disputes, up to and including wars, get forgotten with time. (“Good or bad, handsome or ugly, rich or poor…”) What doesn’t get forgotten are good stories.

Well, anyway, back to the book itself: in the end it practically turns into a spy-thriller tale, complete with secret agents leading double lives and a dramatic cycle of betrayal and revenge. And I love a good spy story.

Pick up The ICE Murders. Yes, it might force you to think about things outside of your normal perspective. But isn’t that what books are for?

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I don’t generally care for zombie apocalypse movies. I also don’t much care for the “found family” trope in fiction. This is a zombie apocalypse movie that ends with a found family, so… but I’m getting ahead of myself.

A few weeks before Christmas, a comet is expected to pass near the earth, one that has not come by in 65 million years, since the extinction of the dinosaurs. People naturally see this as an occasion to party.

Except for Regina and Samantha Belmont, two sisters living in LA. Regina, the elder, spends the night with her boyfriend in a steel-lined movie projection booth, and Samantha hides out in a yard shed after a fight with the girls’ abusive step-mother, Doris.

As a result, both are spared the effects of the comet, which turns most of the population into dust, except for a few who are turned into zombies, one of which eats Regina’s boyfriend when he ventures out. Desperate to find any survivors, the two sisters head for a radio station that is still broadcasting. The DJ is nothing but a tape, but they meet Hector Gomez, another survivor who had spent the night in his truck.

When Samantha decides to start broadcasting her own announcements over the radio, the signal is picked up by a group of scientists who had prepared for the comet’s effects, and are looking to find survivors to bring back to their labs.

What follows are series of frightening experiences, from zombie police officers to sadistic zombie stock-boys when the two girls venture into what they think is an abandoned mall. Eventually, they reach the scientists’ lab—but even there, they are not safe from the hungry undead.

Eventually, Regina, Samantha, and Hector emerge from the apocalypse, along with two other young survivors. As Regina remarks, having taken on the role of matriarch in the newfound family: “The burden of civilization has fallen to us.”

That’s a basic, spoiler-free plot summary. But it omits the best character in the film, a rogue scientist named Audrey White, who is played exceptionally well in her brief screen time by Mary Woronov. She has only a few scenes, but they’re some of the most memorable ones in the film, and I would be remiss not to mention her performance.

So we’ve got zombie horror, a found-family ending… you would think I would hate this movie. But I don’t. I was actually really impressed by how well the film used its spare resource to focus on the core of the story. There is very little fat in this thing; it shows you just what you need to know to understand the characters and keeps moving along.

Then there’s the aesthetic, which is pure ’80s. The clothes, the hair, the cars, the music etc. As someone who never actually experienced the ’80s, I can’t say for certain, but I’m hard pressed to think of anything more aggressively ’80s than this. It’s a world for young people, and like another 1984 film declared: “tonight is what it means to be young.”

But part of being young is growing up, and that’s what Regina does over the course of the film. It’s never belabored or heavy-handed, but in a crisis, she goes from being an immature goof-off teenager to a capable and resourceful woman.

I never in a million years would have imagined I’d like a movie like this half as much as I do. It’s scary, it’s funny, it’s well-written, and above all else, it has real heart; not cheap sentimentality nor faux-sophisticated cynicism. Why can’t they make movies like this anymore?

Well, I think the answer lies in the words “low budget.” This typically signifies bad special effects or other negative qualities, but having a low budget forces talented artists to squeeze the very best out of what they’ve got. A big budget is wasted in the hands of a hack, and even truly skilled creative minds may be tempted to get lazy, to let the big special effects and gorgeous production values substitute for solid storytelling. Filmmakers with limited means have no such luxury.

Seriously, even if you hate zombie movies, I encourage you to watch this. Maybe it’s not for everyone, but by all logic it shouldn’t have been for me, and I love it, so you just never know.

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“The past is a foreign country,” according to L.P. Hartley. In his latest volume, Zachary Shatzer sets out to explore this foreign country, armed with nothing but his own whimsical sense of humor.

The first, and perhaps most educational section of the book focus on Emily Post’s Etiquette in Society, in Business, in Politics and at Home, published in 1922. Specifically, the section the proper usage and modes of address on visiting cards. Personally, I’ve wondered what visiting cards were since I listened to “The Grandson of Abdul Abulbul Amir,”  which includes the line: “and his visiting card / bore the name of this bard: / Count Ivan Skavinsky Skivar.”

Well, they were like business cards (which I’ve also never used) except in the early 1900s, everyone used them for social calls and occasions, and an incredibly complex system of etiquette evolved regarding their use. Ms. Post—excuse me, Mrs. Price Post, which is apparently the correct form of address for a divorcée—describes the rules for what a card should and should not say in different situations.

A few years ago, I reviewed a book that made reference to the debutante season, and I said it felt like reading about an alien civilization. I get that same vibe here. Frankly, the scariest part is that it feels like an alien civilization that is superior to our current one. Like we’re just apes throwing bones at monoliths.

But I digress. Shatzer then turns his humorous touch to more of the jests of Joe Miller, whose work he had previously collected in another volume. If you read that one, this feels like more of the same, although personally, I thought some the jests were too dark. As Shatzer notes, hating one’s spouse seems to be a source of much of Miller’s comedic material this time around.

From there we get an excerpt from a book (which sounded promising, I might actually read it), a selection of fables from the notoriously jaundiced eye of Ambrose Bierce, and a complete short story about baseball. Now, here I must confess that I find baseball to be extremely boring, and unless a work of fiction about it is written by, say, Mark Paxson or Kevin Brennan, it’s not a must-read for me. Shatzer’s humorous asides make it tolerable.

We then get another set of acerbic observations on relations between the sexes from a writer named Helen Rowland. I’d never heard of her before. Sadly, she seems to have had bad experiences in relationships. One of the running themes in this section is that men are constantly being unfaithful with chorus girls, which, oddly enough, was apparently the reason Emily Post divorced her husband.

Speaking of Emily Post, the book ends with another set of tips from her, this time on the art of camping, or roughing it without anything rough. This idea of simulating hardship while not actually having anything difficult or upsetting happen is, if anything, the most recognizably modern sentiment in the book. Perhaps that’s the reason Shatzer chose to end on that note, to remind us that we are not so different from our ancestors after all.

As a whole, the book is a charming look into the past, and an invitation to reflect on what future eras may think of our own. The public domain is a treasure trove of interesting works, and I hope Shatzer continues this practice of adding his commentary to older works. They can enliven even rather dull stories.

And I would also note that The Great Gatsby recently entered the public domain, so if Mr. Shatzer ever feels “borne back ceaselessly into the past…”

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The first thing to clarify here is that the title is intentionally provocative, to the point of being misleading. I think a lot of people read it and assume the idea is that the whole thing was faked, and that Baudrillard was some kind of conspiracy theorist. But really he was something much crazier and more dangerous: a French philosopher.

And in this series of essays, he does not deny that something happened in the Persian Gulf in 1991. But he disputes that what it was was really a war. Or at least, contrary to Fallout, that “war has changed.” Would King Leonidas or even Ernst Jünger recognize modern warfare? Airstrikes and cyberattacks have taken the place of direct combat between infantry in many conflicts, and Baudrillard argues the first Gulf War was an example of war being fought for the purpose of spectacle. Whoever convinces the TV audience they are winning is winning, regardless of what the actual situation in reality may be.

This ties in to Baudrillard’s signature idea of “hyperreality”, a condition of the modern world in which what we call reality is actually largely fake, with symbols having taken the place of the things themselves. For the vast majority of people, their experience of the war was solely in the images presented to them via mass media.

If this sounds like Daniel J. Boorstin to you, then congratulations! You have been a careful and attentive reader. Boorstin was a forerunner of Baudrillard, and nothing about this replacement of the territory with the map would surprise him. Honestly, if you read The Image, you’ll find yourself chuckling sardonically as DJB’s prophecy of 30 years earlier is fulfilled.

These are interesting ideas, and they seem to have become only more relevant since Baudrillard wrote them. Unfortunately, the essays themselves are rather hard to read since they are (a) dense abstract philosophy and (b) translated from French. I think it’s a very good translation, but still, there is just some inevitable weirdness that creeps in as a result. That’s on top of all the other weirdness in play here.

The fundamental problem isn’t really this new type of war at all; rather, it’s a symptom of our global communications networks. Back in the old days, if the Greeks fought the Persians, most people not in Persia or Greece had no reason to know or care about it. But in the modern world, when there’s an armed conflict anywhere, especially between nuclear powers, everyone hears about it. And has an opinion on it.

As is often the way with books like this, the author does a magnificent job describing the problem, and a very poor job describing how to solve it. Baudrillard leaves us only with a note of warning for what these virtual wars imply for the future of the world:

“The more the hegemony of the global consensus is reinforced. the greater the risk, or the chances, of its collapse.”

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Only Adam Bertocci could take one of the oldest and tritest riddles in the book (it dates to 1847, I discovered in writing this post) and transform it into a compelling work of literary fiction.  I mean, really, in this very short story he manages to weave together feelings of romance, fate, heartbreak, and dark comedy. I’ve read novels that didn’t have as much going on in them as this book does.

It’s the story of a chicken named Bertram, and the reasons that he decides to flee the farm life and go to… the other side. But, like many another literary crossing, this is more than just a literal crossing. It is a spiritual transformation.

This is somehow both very moving and deeply funny. I’m reminded of Paul Graham’s essay “Taste for Makers”:

The confident will often, like swallows, seem to be making fun of the whole process slightly, as Hitchcock does in his films or Bruegel in his paintings– or Shakespeare, for that matter.

That’s Bertocci to a “T”. He crafts something that is simultaneously a parody of the literary short form and a magnificent example of it. And he does it while staying true to the source material. The same cannot be said of many another modern adaptation.

And while I’ve never been as good at writing to prompts as, say, my friend Mark Paxson is… this made me wonder: what other hackneyed jokes or riddles could be repurposed as fodder for literary works? Knock, knock… who is there?

Well, I’ll leave that up to the rest of you. In the meantime, if you’re in the mood for a quick and clever literary experiment, pick this up.

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New Dawn is a military sci-fi thriller. The premise is that a dystopian Earth sent the titular colony ship to Mars, crewed by dissident and free-thinking scientists and explorers, who rebelled against the authoritarian Earth governments. The ship disappeared, and it was assumed that all the crew had been lost.

Many years later, New Dawn reappears in the sky above Earth, with a mysterious crew and sending ominous messages demanding Earth submit to their demands or face an invasion.

The Earth nations quickly scramble to fight back against this foe, including rounding up a team of their best engineers and scientists to go aboard. They are some of Earth’s most brilliant minds—and, as it happens, some of them have crossed paths before, and not in pleasant ways. This leads to tension between people like the brilliant engineer and his bitter ex-lover, as well as the young graduate student who would very much like to become his current lover.

There’s plenty of emotional turmoil among Earth’s military personnel as well. We have the daring Italian pilot who flies for NATO and the young Russian who fights alongside him. These two were probably my favorite characters in the book.

And then there’s the sinister NATO intelligence officer who oversees the whole operation. A classic manipulative bureaucrat, using blackmail and coercion to get others to play into his hands.

It’s an interesting concept, and the characters have potential. Unfortunately, a number of things didn’t work for me. The dialogue is quite stilted, and much of the prose seemed choppy and repetitive. Also, a number of key plot points were telegraphed early on.

Also, early on in the book, a traumatic event happens to one of the characters. It’s mentioned briefly, and then people carry on as if nothing happened. Then it comes up again much later in the story, as part of a plot twist (although this is one of those things that I could see coming), but then it’s dropped again, and it really shouldn’t be. Because it calls into question the whole modus operandi of what is being presented as a largely sympathetic faction, but it’s just hand-waved away in a couple pages. I wish could be more specific, but I don’t want to spoil it.

The book feels very much like the later Tom Clancy books: many of the plot beats are predictable because it’s quite clear who is supposed to win. Also, like Clancy, the book does get politically heavy-handed towards the end. I’m not against political messaging in books, and I try not to let whether or not I agree with an author’s views color my opinion of a book.

But what does color my opinion of a book is whether the political commentary is handled deftly or not. I mean, what is the point of putting your story in a futuristic sci-fi setting if you are just going to have exactly the same political dynamics as present-day Earth? To me, the advantage of a different setting is to be able to create allegories and analogues to political issues, to allow discussion of topics that otherwise would be too charged to raise.

In summary, I think New Dawn is an interesting concept, but the execution was so-so. But I will say this much: I kept reading it, because I wanted to know what would happen next. And to me, that’s the ultimate test of a story.

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Movie poster for 'Master and Commander: The Far Side of the World' featuring Russell Crowe as Captain Jack Aubrey, with a sailing ship in the background.

It’s become a meme to say derisively that a film has been made for “modern audiences”. This is usually a synonym for the dreaded “W” word, which in today’s usage is curiously not far off in meaning from another “W” word. Essentially, when somebody says that a film is being pitched at “modern audiences”, it is understood to mean that it has changed the demographics of characters, or altered details to reflect modern political concerns, and, perhaps above all else, prioritized the audience’s perceived sensitivities over honest storytelling.

Master and Commander has gained a following over the years as a film that takes us away from all that; a film that hearkens back to the good old naval yarns of yore, about a daring captain and his steadfast crew on a bold seafaring journey. Everyone loves sailing for adventure on the big blue wet thing!

The story begins with the famous intro: “April, 1805. Napoleon is master of Europe. Only the British fleet stands before him. Oceans are now battlefields.” Captain Jack Aubrey of the HMS Surprise has been ordered to pursue the French frigate Acheron along the coast of South America. Aubrey enthusiastically follows his orders, even after his first encounter with the Archeron goes against him, and through setback after setback after that. 

But of course, that’s not the real meat of the film. The charm of Master and Commander is in its portrayal of life aboard a 19th-century man-o’-war, The confinement to close quarters, the dense ocean fogs, the dependence on the wind (or lack of it), the camaraderie and conflict among the crew, the superstitions of the common Jack Tars, the ambitions of the young boys who hope one day to rise to command a ship themselves… all these elements are portrayed in great detail, making HMS Surprise as vibrant and alive as any city. 

And most memorable of all is the friendship between Capt. Aubrey and the ship’s doctor and amateur biologist, Stephen Maturin. The two men talk, argue, affectionately mock one another, and, when the time comes, stare down death together. At it’s core, it’s a buddy movie, and who doesn’t enjoy a good pair of friends facing adversity together?

Small wonder the film has become a cult classic. I’m reminded of what somebody said about The Man Who Would be King (another great historical epic buddy movie): “even when it was made, they said they don’t make films like that any more.” 

However… there is just one small issue. Go back and read the first paragraph of this post. Now, Master and Commander doesn’t do any of the typical things associated with films for “modern audiences.” Not only are there no female characters who could be accused of being too-perfect “Mary Sues”, there are no female characters, period. It fails the Bechdel-Wallace test almost as hard as Lawrence of Arabia. The crew of the Surprise, while racially diverse, has a distinct and well-defined hierarchy to it. Modern political sensibilities are largely absent, save perhaps for one brief discussion on the ethics of flogging.

But here’s the thing: in the book on which the film is based, the action is set in 1812, not 1805. And the vessel that Captain Aubrey is pursuing is not French, but from a different hemisphere altogether. It is… the USS Norfolk. 

Now, if you know a little something about history, this makes a hell of a lot more sense than the movie’s actual plot. Why would a French ship be sent south to plunder whaling ships, when we have just been told Napoleon is planning an invasion of England, and could use the ships somewhere closer to home?  But it actually seems quite logical for a ship from a piratical upstart nation to be seizing whalers. Indeed, this is exactly the sort of thing that John Bull would expect Brother Jonathan to be doing, and in fact, did. 

But the North American box office is a considerable market, and a film which portrayed the Americans as antagonists would presumably just not fly. So they made the enemy French instead, and no one questioned it, because Britain and France fighting each other just seems natural. “And I’ll wager in their joy they kissed each other’s cheek / (Which is a-what them furriners do!)”  

Does this ruin the movie? Well, it pretty much did for Peter Hitchens, but he’s a hard guy to please. It does take it down a peg in my estimation, from being “great historical epic” to merely “good flick.” But good flicks are hard to come by these days. So, if you enjoy the minute details of 19th-century naval life, and don’t care about the larger geopolitics of the era, it’s a decent way to spend 138 minutes.

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Do you like cozy mysteries? You’ll be hard-pressed to find a cozier mystery than this one. Indeed, I believe it is an example of what the young people call cozy-maxxing.

Of course, this is no surprise for fans of Litka’s work. All his stories take place in a warm, gentle world where even the crimes have a certain pleasant kind of charm. It’s like the world of Wodehouse, albeit with sci-fi technology. But this story is even closer to a Wodehousian never-never land than Litka usually gets. It has a quaint country fair, complete with games and sports. Shades of “The Purity of the Turf.” As if that weren’t enough, there’s a scene where a lady is painting in a field when she is surprised by a sudden rainstorm. Reading this, I instantly was reminded of this intro to a Beatrix Potter video I watched as a child, which is possibly the coziest thing ever.

You’ll notice I haven’t said much about the plot yet. Well, once more, the lawyer-turned-detective Redinal Hu, AKA “Red Wine”, is hired to investigate an intrigue among the Great Houses. A mysterious character called “Agent Nine” has been leaving ominous notes in the dead of night at a wealthy businessman’s estate. No one knows how this Agent Nine gets in or out. Some believe that he or she is no living creature at all, but a ghost haunting the old manse.

A good plot, but if we’re being honest, the plot is not really why we’re here. It’s just an excuse; much as Red’s frequent walks with his dog Ellington are an excuse to see the attractive lady painter holidaying in the nearby village. So if you want an escape into a far more pleasant world than our own, I encourage you to pick up this short story. My only complaint is that it goes by so fast—but then, Litka has given us no shortage of other delightful tales of near equal-coziness to enjoy as well.