Who is Alex David Groce?

"'. . . The time of the sidhe is long past, and the time of geese is passing. And in time men, too, will pass, as every man who lives long learns in his own body. But Jesus Christ saves all.' So saying, he dipped his hand into a bowl that stood upon the table by him and touched her head with water, making her think, for a moment, of the calm sweetness of Lough Conn, and then of the wild sea. Then he said, 'I thee baptize, in the name of the Father, and the Son, and the Holy Ghost,' and when he had said these words there stood before him Deirdre and her two brothers; but time had had his way with them, and they were bent now and old, and though their cheeks were red as apples, their hair was white as frost, for they had far outlived their time."
- Gene Wolfe,
Peace
That's a difficult question to answer. In many ways, I am a mystery even to myself! Admit it--you feel the same way. I do things, and I often wonder why I did them. My memory is a foreign country I've lived in all my life.

With Josie!


Married to Josie
(more from Pasadena: the picture is much better at full size) (and from Arizona) (wedding pics)


Me, inside the model-checking machine, about to launch missiles to destroy the universe. *


Attacking Tip with an ant on the balcony in Pasadena. Photo credits: Josie


Young Man With Coke, Xemacs
(watercolor, Deanna Rubin, 2002)

Vital statistics are, perhaps, in order--they don't solve the riddle, but they're useful clues:

Full name:                Alex David Groce (not Alexander)
Height:                   5'6" (economy size-human)
Weight:                   130ish
Eyes:                     Hazel
Hair:                     Brown (driver's license disagrees)
Born:                     One cold November day in 1975
                          (a Monday--I've been told it was raining)
Died:                     Not yet
Mother:                   Carole Groce (high-school math teacher)
Father:                   Leonard Groce (high-school drafting teacher)
Religion:                 Christian
                          Attends Shady Grove Baptist Church at home
                          Sometimes goes to West Raleigh Presbyterian
                          at school (Dr. Banks, a very good chemistry
                          professor, sings in the choir, by the way)
                          Pretty Orthodox--believes in Original Sin,
                          Free Will, Divinity of Christ, Miracles,
                          Hell, Heaven, Death & Resurrection
                          Sins far too much
                          (Mother is Methodist
                          Father is Southern Baptist
                          Favorite writers tend to be Roman Catholic)
    UPDATE: 4/20/99:      In February I began the long process
                          of converting to Roman Catholicism.  In the fall
                          I will begin RCIA (the formal process) in
                          Pittsburgh.
    UPDATE:               Started and well under-way towards the Easter goal...
    UPDATE:               At the Easter Vigil, in the Jubilee Year 2000, I
                          was baptized and entered into full communion with the
                          Church at St. Paul's Cathedral in Pittsburgh.
Permanent residence:      Jonesville, North Carolina
Current residence:        On Forbes Avenue, in Pittsburgh (Squirrel Hill,
                          just below Murray Avenue)
                          For those who care, Pittsburgh is actually a nice
                          place to live.
    UPDATE:               Now I'm in sunny Pasadena, CA.
Occupation:               Ph.D. Student, Carnegie-Mellon University
                          Computer Science Department
                          Would-be writer (on hold?  sort of, waiting for more
                          rejection slips, I guess, and new story ideas)
    UPDATE:               Finished my doctorate, now working at NASA/JPL's
                          Laboratory for Reliable Software; still thinking
                          about ideas and tools to find/eliminate/verify the
                          absence of/ bugs in software.  Also still writing.
Education:                B.S. in Computer Science,
                          North Carolina State University (May 1999)
                          B.S. in Multidisciplinary Studies (with a
                          Concentration in Technology in Fiction)
                          North Carolina State University (May 1999)
                          Phi Beta Kappa, Phi Kappa Phi, Golden Key,
                          Upsilon Pi Epsilon, Pi Mu Epsilon, blah blah blah
                          Ph.D. in Computer Science,
                          Carnegie Mellon University (March 2005)
Favorite composer:        J. S. Bach
Favorite band:            R.E.M. (or maybe Dire Straits)
    UPDATE:  4/20/99:     U2 or Dire Straits
Favorite color:           Blue, I think
Favorite ice cream:       After Eights, as served at George's
                          Ice Cream in Oxford, England
Favorite season:          Winter
Email address:            agroce@gmail.com
Wants to be when he       Computer scientist, doing research
grows up:                 Writer (science-fiction & fantasy, but also
                          non-fiction and mainstream fiction)
Ate for lunch today:      (April 3rd, 1997) A hot dog and a Coke
Is that healthy?          No
    UPDATE:               (April 20th, 1999) A chicken parm sub at Jersey
                          Mike's with Tracey, Chris, Rob, and LJ.  Also
                          not particularly healthy.
    UPDATE:               (9/2/99) Sandwich, Coke, pretzels & macaroni salad
                          at a "lab lunch" thing during CMU Immigration
                          Course.  Not TOO bad, not great.  How good
                          for you is Chinese?  Guess it depends.  
Books reading at this     THE BROTHERS KARAMAZOV, Fyodor Dostoyevsky,
time  (4/3/97 again):     R. Kirk FROM BURKE TO ELIOT (and back?) 
                          THE DARK DESCENT, ed. David G. Hartwell
                          (last story read in this was Joyce Carol
                          Oates' wonderfully terrifying "Night-Side")
    UPDATE:  4/20/99:     THE ROOTS OF AMERICAN ORDER, Russell Kirk
                          VISIT TO A SMALL PLANET, Gore Vidal
                          THE PRISONER, Marcel Proust
                          Recently finished:
                          THE UNMAKING OF A MAYOR, WFB
                          AT-SWIM-TWO-BIRDS, Flann O'Brien
                          MARY ROSE, J. M. Barrie
    UPDATE:   9/2/99:     LIFE WITH JEEVES Penguin omnibus, Wodehouse
                          --lots and lots of papers by various people--
             9/10/99:     Finishing the Wodehouse
                          THE KING OF ELFLAND'S DAUGHTER, Lord Dunsany
    UPDATE:  9/26/99:     Wolfe's ON BLUE'S WATERS tantalizingly
                          hints that THE BOOK OF THE SHORT SUN may well be
                          Wolfe's finest work yet.
    UPDATE:   2/4/00:     Chesterton's WHAT'S WRONG WITH THE WORLD, 
                          Eddison's THE WORM OUROBOROS, and ROBERT AICKMAN: THE
                          COLLECTED STRANGE STORIES (the stories I haven't
                          read previously--"The Insufficient Answer," and 
                          "Choice of Weapons" so far)
                          Recently finished:  THE SPIRIT OF MEDIEVAL PHILOSOPHY
                          by Etienne Gilson, and Neal Stephenson's marvelous
                          CRYPTONOMICON
    UPDATE:   3/1/00:     Walker Percy's THE MESSAGE IN THE BOTTLE,
                          and Dickens' OUR MUTUAL FRIEND
                          Recently finished:  Bill Amend's WILDLY FOXTROT
    UPDATE:  5/25/00:     Muriel Spark's LOITERING WITH INTENT,
                          Maritain's MAN AND THE STATE, considering a
                          long overdue reread of LITTLE, BIG.  Recently
                          finished Lafferty's wonderful SINDBAD:  THE
                          THIRTEENTH VOYAGE, Brust's entertaining ATHYRA,
                          and Le Guin's promising but somewhat lacking THE
                          BEGINNING PLACE (Wolfe overrates this one).
    UPDATE:   6/6/00:     Just finished Johnson's LIFE OF SAVAGE,
                          and a reread of LITTLE, BIG.  Enjoying Lafferty's
                          THROUGH ELEGANT EYES, a quirky collection even
                          for Laff.
    UPDATE:   6/9/00:     (Too quick an update? who's to say?)
                          Finished the Lafferty, which was one of his best
                          (the stories in it I'd read before much improved
                          by conjunction--on its own, "Brain Fever Season"
                          isn't half as much fun).  Now reading more Spark,
                          A FAR CRY FROM KENSINGTON, and Newman's THE IDEA
                          OF A UNIVERSITY.
    UPDATE:   7/5/00:     Almost done with Newman, halfway through
                          Nabokov's selected letters, and just starting
                          Trollope's DOCTOR THORNE.
    UPDATE:  7/26/00:     Just finished Johnson's RASSELAS (wiser
                          than CANDIDE, if not funnier), now starting Mark
                          Helprin's WINTER'S TALE.
    UPDATE:  9/17/00:     Midway through PETER PAN, reliving my
                          childhood as fall settles in.  Also, Newman's
                          ESSAY IN AID OF A GRAMMAR OF ASSENT, Lafferty's
                          collection IRON TEARS, and various J. F. Powers
                          short stories.
    UPDATE:   1/8/01:     Just finished Thorne Smith's THE NIGHT
                          LIFE OF THE GODS, which is much better than the
                          more celebrated TOPPER.  Not sure what I'll read
                          next--probably start a reread of SHORT SUN in
                          preparation for release of RETURN TO THE WHORL.
                          I've also got V and INFINITE JEST on loan (thanks
                          Jennifer) as part of an effort to convince me 
                          that postmodernism does exist.
    UPDATE:  1/28/01:     Just completed Wolfe's RETURN TO THE
                          WHORL.  Wow.  Insanely good, maybe the best
                          thing Wolfe's ever written.
    UPDATE:  11/5/01:     Tonight finished WORLD OF WONDERS, and
                          thus Robertson Davies' Deptford trilogy--wise,
                          rich, fun books.  I'll have to read more Davies.
                          Over the summer and this fall I've also finally
                          read a good deal of Iain Banks--good stuff, though
                          USE OF WEAPONS as a starter makes the other Culture
                          books a little less impressive.  USE OF WEAPONS and
                          Bradley Denton's BLACKBURN were, I think, the most
                          impressive reads of the summer*.  By the way, 
                          INFINITE JEST was great--but V I still haven't
                          tackled.  Enjoyed THE CRYING OF LOT 49 this summer,
                          in territories not too far from where it is set,
                          but not overly impressed with it.  Pynchon still
                          hasn't won me over.
                          * well, the summer in California.  I finished
                          Waugh's SWORD OF HONOUR trilogy before heading
                          West and it was the best thing I read after
                          the end of the school year.
    UPDATE:  1/15/02:     Just finished Christopher Priest's
                          interesting THE GLAMOUR, after reading Russell
                          Hoban's THE MEDUSA FREQUENCY.
    UPDATE:  1/20/02:     Busy week, but read Lafferty's 
                          AURELIA.  One of his best, in my opinion.
                          Rather a savage book, in the sense that
                          Lafferty is like a goofy prophet in clown
                          clothes, calling to repentance with a grin
                          since the other approaches have failed and
                          aren't as fun anyway.
    UPDATE:  2/13/02:     Finished Chesterton's A SHORT HISTORY
                          OF ENGLAND recently, now reading THE GULAG
                          ARCHIPELAGO.
    UPDATE:  8/13/02:     Near the end of Michael Bishop's BRITTLE
                          INNINGS, a fine novel.  In the middle of various
                          other nonfictional works and short story collections.
    UPDATE:  9/12/02:     Reading Muriel Spark's THE MANDELBAUM GATE
                          and Hugh Kenner's essay collection, MAZES.  Finally
                          within sight of the end of Augustine's THE CITY OF
                          GOD, but still some distance to travel.
    UPDATE:   1/9/03:     Just finished Waugh's EDMUND CAMPION,
                          almost done with Patrick O'Brian's THE NUTMEG OF
                          CONSOLATION.
    UPDATE:   2/6/03:     Just finished Jonathan Carroll's BONES OF THE
                          MOON.  Good, but perhaps a weaker finish than the 
                          rest of the book would have had me expect.
    UPDATE:  2/12/03:     Michael Bishop's COUNT GEIGER'S BLUES is
                          the good stuff; not quite as good as BRITTLE INNINGS,
                          but well worth a read.  Bishop writes _Southern_
                          science fiction about as well as I know of anyone
                          doing it.
    UPDATE:  3/21/03:     I suggest you go read Jeff VanderMeer's CITY OF
                          SAINTS AND MADMEN if you haven't.  I picked up
                          a copy of the paperback Cosmos version in Boston
                          after a friend (thanks, Eli) endorsed it, and was
                          impressed into getting the Prime hardback.  You
                          should skip the paperback.  A tricky, squidsy,
                          mushroom-haunted book; a bit like Nabokov, a bit
                          like Aickman, a bit like Wolfe.  These are all
                          good things.  VanderMeer isn't Nabokov, or Wolfe,
                          or Aickman, but he's pretty good.
    UPDATE:  4/21/03:     AMSTERDAM, by Ian McEwan.  A better book than
                          ATONEMENT, for my money.  A short, sharp, shock
                          of a book*.  A little bit, perhaps, like Muriel
                          Spark in her darkest mode (think THE DRIVER'S
                          SEAT), if neither as funny nor, really, as
                          bleak.  A good read with some stunning prose.
                          
                          * not really a shock; you see what's coming a
                          long way off, but the skill is in the fact that
                          it still packs a punch despite the telegraphing.
    UPDATE:  7/13/03:     Just finished Lafferty's HALF A SKY, and before
                          it his THE FLAME IS GREEN.

                          Now this is the real stuff, the good strong stuff!
                          There are two more volumes to these Coscuin 
                          Chronicles--never published.  And none to say who
                          knows if I'll ever read them.  But this part
                          is the top-notch, over-the-top, stuff, and yes--
                          even coherent.  1845-1854, Paris and Krakow and
                          Quito and Montevideo and Basse-Terre, and is this
                          the real history?  If not, it's probably about as 
                          true: 1848 and the two revolutions (one Red, one 
                          Green) and the Devil's Disciples (Schopenhauer,
                          Feuerbach, Comte, John Stuart Mill, Friedrich David
                          Strauss, Marx, Kierkegaard, Haeckel, Fechner,
                          Fichte, Renan, Sainte-Beuve).

                          Why don't we have a parade every year to celebrate
                          our luck in having Lafferty?  Ah, well, it's the
                          good stuff, and God rest Raphael Aloysius' soul.
    UPDATE:  7/17/03:     John Derbyshire's SEEING CALVIN COOLIDGE IN A DREAM
                          is charming and poignant, the light but wise story
                          of a former Red Guard and Silent Cal.  One of the
                          more enjoyable contemporary novels I've read in a
                          while; you should read it.
    UPDATE:  8/12/03:     Hugh Kenner, THE POUND ERA.  Kenner at the top of
                          his form.  Anyone interested in Pound, Eliot,
                          Joyce, Lewis, and the other major modernists
                          should read this.  Fascinating and beautifully
                          written.
    UPDATE: 10/20/03:     Various and sundry things; just finished 
                          Chesterton's 1919 IRISH IMPRESSIONS.  Enjoyed
                          Stephenson's QUICKSILVER (best ending he's done).
                          ARCHIPELAGO is a Lafferty masterpiece--if you
                          ever see a copy, grab it.  Taking my time with
                          the Hollander and Hollander PURGATORIO and
                          Paul Johnson's THE BIRTH OF THE MODERN.
    UPDATE: 12/14/03:     I've just finished A MIXTURE OF FRAILTIES, and
                          with it, all of Robertson Davies' novels.  I
                          think FIFTH BUSINESS and WHAT'S BRED IN THE BONE
                          are the finest of them, but they're all wonderful.
                          On a memorial reading of Kenner's THE
                          COUNTERFEITERS.
    UPDATE: 12/22/03:     Gene Wolfe, THE KNIGHT.  I have to wait a year for
                          the next part?  Wolfe at his best, I'd say--the
                          story is rousing fun, fast-moving and entertaining,
                          a Wolfe-take on Eddison or Lindsay, "high fantasy"
                          with most of the stops out--only it's good, and has
                          the Wolfe touch.  "Simple" narrator with the usual
                          Wolfe hints at deep waters beneath.  Some guessing
                          games I'm sure I haven't figured out.  Read it.
    UPDATE:  1/29/04:     About the same time, finishing Joyce Cary's THE
                          HORSE'S MOUTH and Annie Dillard's THE WRITING LIFE.
                          Fine books "about" art.  The Cary novel's about a
                          painter, the Dillard's just Dillard, writing.
                          Sometimes, someone will say "Geez, why would I read
                          a book about writing?"  On the one hand, they're
                          right.  Nothing is more boring than writing.  Reading
                          is a lot of fun, but writing?  Yeeeeeech.  Folks who
                          want to write can chalk it up to professional
                          development, the same way you read a book about
                          routers or grout or business plans or whatever.  But
                          normal sensible people, why would they care?  Well,
                          the thing is, a good bit of the actual work in, say,
                          sailing a boat or climbing a mountain is dull, except
                          for the possibility of drowning or falling to your
                          death.  And I don't climb mountains or sail Cape Horn
                          very often.  But I like nonfiction from people who
                          do such things well, and know how to write about
                          them.  Dillard isn't going to drown, probably, but
                          she makes it clear that writing is a thing worth
                          doing well, and interesting to read about in its own
                          right.  I think.

                          The Cary, on the other hand, is a good novel, never
                          mind the "art" hooey.  Best read after HERSELF
                          SURPRISED and TO BE A PILGRIM.  Jimson the seedy
                          William Blake is a lot of fun as a 1st-person
                          narrator, and again there's the perfect mask for
                          a vision of a dying England--though Jimson's more
                          timeless than Sara or Wilcher.
    UPDATE:   3/4/04:     Shusako Endo's THE SAMURAI.  Reminds me of Graham
                          Greene, of course, but this novel does not quite
                          work in the same manner as THE POWER AND THE GLORY.
                          Powerful Christian novels, gazing at the heart of
                          Christ the lord of the outcast, the defeated, both,
                          but fictionally THE SAMURAI relies on the doubling:
                          Velasco and the samurai, with the third figure on
                          the road behind them, the King who died for us.
    UPDATE:  3/18/04:     Kingsley Amis' LUCKY JIM.  Fun, clever, even
                          touching--not quite up to THE ANTI-DEATH LEAGUE,
                          in my opinion, but a fine comic novel.  Probably
                          better when academic novels were less done.  I
                          can't say if it inclines me for or against Amis
                          as misogynist (he's not really "sexist"; but it's
                          not clear he doesn't simply _dislike_ women in a
                          way, more clearly so in the later books).  Anyway,
                          what I'd like to read now is a new Tim Powers, so
                          why hasn't he written one?
    UPDATE:  3/26/04:     Give you joy, and what a fine sea it's been.  
                          Just finished the last of Patrick O'Brian's Aubrey
                          and Maturin books (or Maturin and Aubrey, as I
                          would have it, based on natural sympathies).  What
                          marvelous books!  Another world, like and unlike
                          our own.  Gene Wolfe once wrote that great writers
                          make a world "that is different from the actual 
                          world, and in some respects better" (Wolfe was 
                          writing about Nancy Kress, who I like but not that 
                          much).  Now, of course, these worlds are parasitic
                          on ours, God being a better writer than even Gene
                          Wolfe or Dickens or O'Brian.  But O'Brian is part
                          of that better work the Creator breathes forth,
                          and not an insignificant part of it.  How can
                          things be so terribly awful if somewhere Jack has
                          his flag, and the ugly good man Maturin has his
                          anomalous nuthatches and perhaps the worthy
                          Christine, and Killick is toasting the cheese?
                          I read one of the Hornblower books, and while it
                          was not a bad book, it was such a shadow to the
                          world of O'Brian:  humor, order, freedom, delight
                          in seas and skies and things that creep and crawl,
                          murder and death and fear, deep sadness, but again
                          like the seas, changing humor and, above all, love.
                          That's what makes the best books, the best worlds,
                          love -- not just romance, though not contra romance,
                          but the love that's at work in friendship, and
                          loyalty and, behind it all, driving the seas and
                          the sun that Jack takes his sighting from at noon.
    UPDATE:  4/23/04:     Finished Baron von Hügel's LETTERS TO A NIECE,
                          on recommendation from Flannery O'Connor, via her
                          letters some years ago, I suppose.  Wise and very
                          charming.  I was pleased to see that in giving up
                          buying books for Lent I was following in the Baron's
                          footsteps.  Not a hardship, but more sincere and
                          mindful than, say, giving up chocolates (for me, that
                          is; clearly there would be others for whom the very
                          reverse would hold), which costs neither thought nor
                          much pleasure.

                          I'm also continuing to enjoy Stephenson's THE
                          CONFUSION:  quicker to get moving than QUICKSILVER,
                          which I liked in spite (or even because) of its
                          defects.  No CRYPTONOMICON, but it is unreasonable
                          to expect Stephenson to write books that
                          good all the time.
    UPDATE:  6/26/04:     Graves, GOOD-BYE TO ALL THAT.  If I were an English
                          professor, and called upon to conjure up a seminar
                          to teach, I think something interesting could be
                          made out of autobiographies of English writers
                          born around the first quarter of the 20th century:
                          Graves (1895), Muggeridge (1903), Aickman (1914),
                          Spark (1918), and, say, John Mortimer (1923).
                          If you can't form some notion of what's wrong with
                          life and what's all right with life from that set,
                          the problem may be your own.
    UPDATE:   7/5/04:     Just read "The The Horse of Iron and How We Can Know
                          It," by M. John Harrison.  Which, of course, I'd
                          read already, as part of LIGHT.  Is it a strong
                          story?  Hard to say, in a way.  On the one hand,
                          Harrison's prose is superb, and I've enjoyed THINGS
                          THAT NEVER HAPPEN a great deal.  On the other hand,
                          somehow, much of Harrison's short fiction feels like
                          failed Aickman.  I don't think Harrison is trying to
                          do what Aickman did, or that underneath lies the same
                          vision of the world.  Still, it feels like failed
                          Aickman.  Both pick out detail, and render it such
                          devastating attention that the things of which the
                          world is made become sinister, imbued with unsettling
                          significance.  But Harrison seems to rush it, or at
                          least his approach is too rapid to achieve the same
                          effect.  The illuminations come too fast--while the
                          psychology and the words are often as high quality as
                          you will find in short fiction anywhere, the effect
                          that (I think) he's after somehow doesn't always come
                          off right.  Aickman measures out the nightmares, and
                          so every little thing that shouldn't be, and is
                          harmless in-and-of-itself ends up weighing too much.
                          Which works.  Also, while Harrison isn't always
                          soured on reality, his occult discoveries, his
                          revelations, don't ever seem to carry any hope.
                          While Aickman can write something like "Into the
                          Wood" which shines while it terrifies.  On the other
                          hand, Aickman could never have written a beautiful
                          and bizarre space opera like LIGHT.
    UPDATE:   7/7/04:     This is just to say, Muriel Spark is a marvel and
                          a treasure.  ROBINSON, as usual, short, to the
                          point, funny, and superb.
    UPDATE:  7/18/04:     John Clute's APPLESEED and Brother Guy Consolmagno's
                          BROTHER ASTRONOMER.  The Clute is cleverly written,
                          and (at first) very funny.  Unfortunately, the
                          verbal pyrotechnics turn out to be a great deal of
                          sound and fury signifying rather little--no real
                          characters, and the underlying conceit is a cheap
                          mix up of Vinge with Ellison and Morrow.  Very, very
                          mildly recommended, for the language.

                          BROTHER ASTRONOMER isn't as well written, but it's
                          actually got something to say.  Nice little slices of
                          life from an astronomer at the Vatican.  Nothing
                          surprising here, really--Consolmagno has what I'd
                          consider a good common sense view of the matter, but
                          still interesting reading for anyone else both
                          a Christian and a scientist (I'll have to admit it's
                          easier to consider examining the wonders of the
                          firmament as worship than it is verifying programs,
                          but the underlying ideas aren't that alien).
    UPDATE:  7/27/04:     Haruki Murakami, THE WIND-UP BIRD CHRONICLE.  What
                          if Aickman were Japanese and wrote a picaresque
                          haunted house story?  It wouldn't be this, but it
                          would be interesting.  I'll have to read some other
                          Murakami--experts say this wasn't the ideal start,
                          and I thought this was a fine book.  Between this
                          and Carey, the summer has placed many books on my
                          "I bet this will be good" list.  I also recently
                          finished Kenner's A COLDER EYE: THE MODERN IRISH
                          WRITERS.  Also highly recommended, especially the
                          index.
                          
                          At some point I really should finish McPhee's
                          A ROOMFUL OF HOVINGS--I read the Hoving and Euell
                          Gibbons profiles at the airport when I was in
                          Boston visiting friends (hi, James and Christy!)
                          a few weeks ago, and ought to finish it.  For some
                          reason, though, I find McPhee most enjoyable when
                          traveling.  By the way, a shame about Avenue
                          Victor Hugo.  Finding the sign saying it had closed
                          was the low point of my Boston trip (I should have
                          checked their website before we went, I know).
    UPDATE:   8/1/04:     I'm enjoying (so far) Babbage's PASSAGES FROM THE
                          LIFE OF A PHILOSOPHER.  Babbage seems to have been
                          a truly odd man, with an engaging Victorian voice:
                          it is almost, but not quite, impossible, to figure
                          out when he is joking.  His version of the Difference
                          Engine controversy ought to be read by every computer
                          scientist, in order that we may know we stand on
                          foundations of rancor, dispute, cleverness, and
                          either government waste or penny-pinching.  But
                          Babbage is possibly more interesting when he's
                          stalking around in a volcano or plumbing the depths
                          in diving bell.  These parts have left me hungry for
                          some first rate travel writing.  I think I'll go to
                          Waugh's first, LABELS.

                          A curious thing:  until two years ago, I had never,
                          as far as I can recall, read a single work of travel
                          writing, except for the occasional magazine article
                          (Stephenson's fiber-optic-laying extravaganza for
                          WIRED, for instance).  Then I was stuck in Rome for
                          an extra day, thanks to the vagaries of Italian
                          train schedules (yes, yes, pace Mussolini).  Not
                          that I'm complaining--another week in Rome, if not
                          for the need to get back to work at NASA, would have
                          been fine (though I raged unreasonably at the
                          Northwestern counter, to my discredit).  I had a
                          place to stay (though my friend was a bit surprised
                          to see me back).  Since I had an extra day to kill,
                          I had time to take care of a problem:  I'd finished
                          the book I had brought with me, and had nothing left
                          for the flight back to San Jose.

                          Being trapped on a long flight with nothing to read
                          isn't the worst thing I can imagine, but I try to
                          avoid it.  If you could be sure of interesting folks
                          in nearby seats, it would be different, but, no,
                          you can't.

                          I went to an English bookstore somewhere near the
                          Spanish steps, and browsed for a few moments.  Hmm,
                          books by Evelyn Waugh I had never heard of?  WAUGH
                          IN ABYSSYNIA, and REMOTE PEOPLE?  That ought to do
                          the trick.

                          I actually had an interesting neighbor on the flight
                          back (still managed to read the first section of
                          REMOTE PEOPLE), and ended up working with her on a
                          crossword puzzle in the in-flight magazine that
                          turned out to be by someone I knew.  But that is 
                          another story (actually, that is most of the story--
                          it's not much of a story).

                          The Waugh books were the beginning, and Eric Newby
                          and Wilfred Thesiger and John McPhee (parts of COMING
                          INTO THE COUNTRY and LOOKING FOR A SHIP are travel
                          writing of some sort, aren't they?) followed.  Thanks
                          be to late-running trains.
    UPDATE:   8/8/04:     Just started Mieville's THE SCAR.  Rumor has it that
                          the invention is as first-rate as PERDIDO STREET
                          STATION, but that he's learned to do plot.  Didn't
                          end up reading any travel books, after all--a passing
                          mood, I guess.  Enjoyed Wilfred Sheed's OFFICE
                          POLITICS.  After the first 40 pages, I was ready to
                          put it aside and slowly force myself through the rest
                          while reading something more interesting.  Read one
                          more chapter, and the rest flowed very nicely, though
                          it's not a spectacular novel or anything.  I'm not
                          sure what rubbed me wrong about the beginning.  I
                          had thought Sheed was supposed to be funny--compared
                          to Waugh, some reference to TRANSATLANTIC BLUES as
                          mordant, but OFFICE POLITICS, for the most part,
                          lacked such effects.  For the most part, it presents
                          a low key but interesting examination of a set of
                          intertwined, somewhat stylized, characters.  That's
                          all, but it does it very competently.
    UPDATE:  8/22/04:     Sean Stewart's PERFECT CIRCLE was wonderful:  in
                          a (vague) sense reminiscent of THE TOOTH FAIRY, or
                          at least sharing some of that book's excellences.
                          THE SCAR was indeed much better than PERDIDO STREET
                          STATION.  As usual, every page of Hugh Kenner's
                          Modernism "trilogy", A {COLDER, SINKING, HOMEMADE}
                          {EYE, ISLAND, WORLD} provided more tantalizing
                          insights, claims, anecdotes, and thought experiments
                          than many books of literary criticism.  In other
                          news, Willmoore Kendall (CONTRA MUNDUM) is convincing
                          me that Russell Kirk's theoretical analysis
                          has some holes, however on target in an
                          emotional and "literary" way it may be, and I see
                          what Flannery O'Connor meant in thinking Simone Weil
                          would be a fine figure for a comic novel.
    UPDATE: 10/20/04:     Kenner, BUCKY:  if you're going to read a book on
                          Buckminster Fuller, here you go!  Reynolds' CHASM
                          CITY sure was a lot better than REVELATION SPACE,
                          by the way:  definitely worth a look.
    UPDATE: 10/25/04:     Dear Neal Stephenson,
                          
                          I have delivered myself into your hands for many,
                          many hours and nigh on 3,000 pages now.  I just
                          finished the Baroque Cycle last night.

                          You tied it all together in a most satisfactory
                          manner, and after the initial slow start of
                          QUICKSILVER, I enjoyed just about every moment of
                          the journey.  I'll reread CRYPTONOMICON again before
                          I reread this, but now that you've proven you can
                          manage large scale novel structures, and write
                          endings, I foresee even greater things from you,
                          Sir, and I salute your vision.
    UPDATE: 11/17/04:     St. Therese of Lisieux's THE STORY OF A SOUL:
                          delightful, wise, and good.  Thanks to Josie for
                          the recommendation.  During my post-Seattle cold,
                          I've started on Wolfe's THE WIZARD.  So, so, good.
                          While in Seattle, finally obtained a copy of
                          MOONWISE (thanks Eli) and a few other interesting
                          things.  Tempted to reread MOONWISE, but it'll take
                          a month I don't "have."
    UPDATE: 11/21/04:     THE WIZARD was very good.  You should read it.  Yes,
                          I mean you, reader.  First read THE KNIGHT, though.
                          Muriel Spark's THE FINISHING SCHOOL is lightweight
                          Spark, but a delightful afternoon's reading, anyway.
    UPDATE:  12/1/04:     Thomas Merton, NO MAN IS AN ISLAND:  astonishing.
                          I'll be reading more Merton (thanks, Josie).
    UPDATE:  1/21/05:     Guardini's THE END OF THE MODERN WORLD:  provoking,
                          though perhaps less so than it could be,
                          as the central notion is present in Walker Percy
                          and R. A. Lafferty's work, and is just 'in the air'
                          in some fundamental way.  I'm enjoying Peter Carey's
                          OSCAR AND LUCINDA.
    UPDATE:  1/30/05:     Finished Theodore Dalrymple's LIFE AT THE BOTTOM:
                          a British prison doctor looks at why, given that in
                          many cases the poor of the West have wealth undreamt
                          of by those of other times (and places), life at the
                          bottom is so cruel, harsh, and damaging.  His answers
                          won't please everyone--certainly those who despise
                          the notion that ideas bear (often terrible) fruit,
                          or prefer to think of men as economic objects or
                          victims or things than as souls with free will will
                          reject his diagnoses.  This book reminds me of
                          Chesterton, though the style is completely different;
                          Dalrymple refuses to see souls as atoms, and respects
                          his patients enough to think that they are capable of
                          better lives than the ones they live.

                          Also, Carey spins a wonderful tale, but again I'm
                          not sure that there isn't a whiff of something I
                          don't like in his endings.  But I'm not sure there
                          is--it's hard to say.  His skill with narrative,
                          and the beautiful writing and impressive play of
                          themes (glass, water, and God here) is, for me,
                          balanced by a feeling of a bit of coldness in his
                          heart:  that is, that he crushed his characters to
                          make some point, or because he "needs" a tragedy.
                          There is a vague feeling of the arbitrary, the
                          capricious, in the destruction.  Perhaps I am not
                          being fair, perhaps I am missing the drive that
                          creates the necessity here, but I feel the doom is
                          for the author's ("as flies to wanton boys") sake
                          rather than for the story's sake.  The best writers
                          may destroy with complete calm, but the blow comes
                          as inevitable, not capricious.  Reality may crush
                          us in a fit of whimsy:  but we are souls, with a
                          life to come.  The characters of fiction have no
                          such grace (or judgment), and should be dealt with in
                          a different manner.

                          On the other hand, I'm a sentimental guy.  On
                          still another hand, it's not as if I don't often
                          apply needed dooms to characters in my fiction, or
                          enjoy seeing Banks or Wolfe or Waugh or Greene
                          play the tragedian.  And David Lodge constantly
                          annoys me by letting _his_ characters off too
                          easily sometimes--even in comedy, there should be a
                          little real blood and sweat.
    UPDATE:  2/13/05:     A correction:  when I mentioned Guardini's THE END
                          OF THE MODERN WORLD, I'd only read the first half;
                          after completing POWER AND RESPONSIBILITY, I find
                          the whole much more impressive.  It's not just a
                          diagnosis, it's a prescription.  Is the solution
                          startlingly novel?  No, but the challenge is
                          compellingly presented, and the general analysis is
                          striking, particularly the theology of power.
    UPDATE:  2/21/05:     Among other things, I'm reading MARY COLTER: BUILDER
                          UPON THE RED EARTH, by Virginia Grattan (a very
                          welcome Valentine's gift from Josie).  An interesting
                          point from Chapter 4:  "Colter's philosophy was that
                          a building should grow out of its setting, embodying
                          the history and flavor of the location....  She
                          could not visualize the design of a building or plan
                          its decoration until she thought out its 'history.'"
                          This reminds me of an approach to fiction that's
                          particularly common in Gene Wolfe's work, but also
                          appears with Nabokov and others:  the fictional work
                          as an _artifact_.  How did this document get here?
                          To determine what words belong in it, a false
                          "history" for the document must be invented, just as
                          Colter's hotel La Posada is formed from its fictional
                          history as a wealthy Spanish don's rancho.  This is
                          taking point-of-view one step past the usual point,
                          into the realm of the object and its "provenance"
                          rather than just the knowledge available to the
                          narrator.  Wolfe does the fictional equivalent of
                          sandblasting beds to age them -- and it gives his
                          work an architectural or "decorative" quality that is
                          missing from less obsessive work.
    UPDATE:  2/23/05:     Oh, just finished the last story in Harrison's
                          THINGS THAT NEVER HAPPEN.  Hrm.  I was unfair to
                          him earlier--the later work is not failed Aickman,
                          and there are a large number of first-rate stark,
                          beautifully written glimpses here--and there's a bit
                          of hope as well as despair, making Harrison something
                          other than an artist of the desolations.  Also, skip
                          the China Mieville introduction:  pretentious, and
                          in the midst of babbling about "pleroma" in a way
                          that devalues the fine fictions, he repeats the old
                          silly mistake about the real hero of PARADISE LOST.
                          Has Stanley Fish taught us nothing?  (Don't answer
                          that one.)
    UPDATE:   3/9/05:     Well, I've been a bit busy, what with defending my
                          thesis last week, and so forth, so not a lot of
                          fiction reading lately.  I enjoyed Oliver Sacks'
                          THE MAN WHO MISTOOK HIS WIFE FOR A HAT, and am in
                          the middle of Brookhiser's very good ALEXANDER
                          HAMILTON, AMERICAN.  I did read the last Patrick
                          O'Brian fragments, "21," as a kind of rounding off
                          for the grad school experience (hmm, any resemblance
                          of CMU grad life to the British navy is purely
                          coincidental I imagine--the lash is as little used
                          here as on Aubrey's ship, I suppose).  de Caussade's
                          ABANDONMENT TO DIVINE PROVIDENCE is excellent Lenten
                          reading (another fine suggestion by Josie). 
    UPDATE:  3/17/05:     St. Patrick's day!  But nothing Irish here, I'm
                          afraid.  I'm in the middle of several things, but
                          wanted to note that SETHRA LAVODE was a fine (and
                          touching) series finish and that I'm very much
                          liking Rebecca Goldstein's INCOMPLETENESS.  I had
                          not realized how profoundly Platonic Gödel's
                          convictions were, or just how harmful the
                          Incompleteness results are (if understood as Gödel
                          thought they should be) to formalism.  I suppose most
                          philosophical realists are "Platonists," in this
                          sense, so it should come as no surprise that I'm in
                          complete (hah!) sympathy with Gödel here.  Of
                          course math is about!  To suppose that things
                          aren't about seems almost blasphemous to me--
                          a suggestion that God's creation is essentially empty
                          as opposed to the truth that it is nothing in
                          comparison to His Being.

                          And on the other hand, I'm reading ANNE OF GREEN
                          GABLES, which has very little metamathematics, but
                          I like it anyway.
    UPDATE:  4/19/05:     Well, I'm moving to Pasadena, so it hasn't been
                          the MOST productive reading time recently (not to
                          mention a wonderful trip to Arizona, and some other
                          still fun but lesser vacations without much time to
                          read).  I'm about halfway through NICHOLAS NICKLEBY;
                          I did finish von Balthasar's A THEOLOGY OF HISTORY;
                          and a good while back I tried to decide if the end of
                          Murakami's SPUTNIK SWEETHEART is grim or hopeful.
                          Both?  It didn't depress me, anyway, if that was
                          intended.
    UPDATE:   6/5/05:     ...and now I'm there.  Been here a month and then
                          some actually.  But I've given up reading, now that
                          I have a real job.  Ok, perhaps that's untrue.  No,
                          read a good bit.  Finished NICHOLAS NICKLEBY, finally
                          read a Lemony Snicket book (Josie gave me one -- fun
                          though not as well done as Harry Potter, and while
                          I like those I'm still unsure what ALL the fuss is
                          about, since it's not as if Lloyd Alexander and T.
                          H. White and Helen Cresswell and Ellen Raskin and
                          John Bellairs and a host of others didn't write
                          children's books that a "grownup" can love...), read
                          Steyn's post-9/11 column collection (grumble), another
                          Peter Kreeft book, and I'm sure some other things --
                          ah right, enjoyed THE LIST OF 7, which Bruce has been
                          pressing on me for years.  And a fistful of papers
                          to review for conferences, as usual.  What now?
                          Wojtyla's LOVE AND RESPONSIBILITY, which is as wise
                          and true as you would expect if you knew the author
                          would become Pope John Paul II (the Great), and
                          I've just started Haruki Murakami's latest novel,
                          which I'm experimenting with by reading it to a
                          Cibbo Mato/My Bloody Valentine soundtrack.
    UPDATE:  6/29/05:     I finished LOVE AND RESPONSIBILITY, which says as
                          clearly as can be just what it is we must be for,
                          rather than against:  that chastity and continence
                          are not a "via negativa" but the proper service of
                          love -- this is something to be for, rather than
                          simply a reaction to the rhetoric of "love" that
                          fools itself but masks, in the end, nothing either
                          free or loving, but the use of human beings as tools
                          for pleasure, devices of desires.

                          I've borrowed another good Kreeft from Josie, 
                          prompting a rereading of Ecclesiastes.  Now on to
                          Job...

                          And just a few minutes ago I finished Mordecai
                          Richler's ST. URBAIN'S HORSEMAN, which is a heck of
                          a novel.  Comparisons are always unfair, suggesting
                          that something good isn't sufficient in itself, but
                          for those who haven't read Richler (you should; this
                          one's a good place to start, maybe), think of a
                          Jewish Canadian Kingsley Amis -- only imagine Amis
                          didn't despise the human race.  Funny, of course, but
                          just an all-round winner of a novel, and even a heck
                          of a love story.  Crude, rude, and offensive, of
                          course -- not for the squeamish, I suppose, but if
                          you like this sort of thing, you'll probably like
                          Richler doing it very much indeed.
    UPDATE:  7/12/05:     Still reading in ALL CREATURES GREAT AND SMALL,
                          borrowed from Josie (who, by the way, I have asked to
                          marry; and she has, most happily, accepted):  I
                          thought for sure I'd read it before, but now I'm
                          thinking it must have been one of the other Herriot
                          volumes I read, not this one.

                          Also:  Benedict XVI's THE SPIRIT OF THE LITURGY and
                          the new Kelly Link collection.  "The Hortlak" may
                          be the only Aickman story about pajamas and dogs and
                          convenience stores we'll ever see, though the great
                          man did write a few dog stories.

                          I guess the only real point of this entry was that
                          bit about Josie above, in case you were wondering.
    UPDATE:  7/25/05:     Read Crowley's latest, LORD BYRON'S NOVEL: THE
                          EVENING LAND.  This is not LITTLE, BIG or ENGINE
                          SUMMER; on the other hand, it's not THE TRANSLATOR.
                          LBN is an affecting, cleverly written, touching tale
                          of possible and lost worlds, with more tenderness
                          than the usual beautiful Crowley trap (I'm not sure
                          THE TRANSLATOR was a trap at all, which may be why
                          it was a much lesser work):  but this is certainly
                          a novel about choices made and worlds closed off.
                          Interestingly, the invocation of "America" here
                          is not clearly ironic; in ENGINE SUMMER and LITTLE,
                          BIG the "matter of America" -- the Huck Finn/Gatsby
                          (literary) sense of wide-open America, and lighting
                          out for the territories -- is negated; that is not a
                          true story, in those books.  It's not even, I think,
                          an ambiguously or possibly true story, as it is in
                          GHOST WORLD (comic or movie).  Here, it's a myth that
                          is possible; it only takes place in fiction, but it
                          isn't empty, and it's a real possible story of the
                          world.  Anyway, those who like John Crowley's work
                          will like this book, perhaps even enough to not mind
                          if it somehow delayed the last Aegypt book.

                          I started reading the latest Harry Potter, but I'm
                          not that far, so don't ask me about anything.  Other
                          than that, reading some Guardini and Merton, and am
                          really intending to get to Orwell's HOMAGE TO
                          CATALONIA Real Soon Now.  Honest.  For several years.
    UPDATE:  8/24/05:     Annie Dillard's AN AMERICAN CHILDHOOD is fascinating,
                          beautiful and haunting.  You should all read it.
    UPDATE:   9/5/05:     Well, I finally read HOMAGE TO CATALONIA.  Why did I
                          wait so long?  Orwell's honesty and decency make sense
                          of a small but symbolic part of that "low, dishonest
                          decade" that haunts us to this day (or does it?  do
                          people other than politics-junkies know anything at
                          all about these things?).  A shame that Orwell's
                          only religious impulse seems to have been a strong
                          "natural piety" -- in its English middle class form,
                          rather than the less humane old Roman version.  We
                          must hope that what was best in him somehow found its
                          home (or lives nobly in Dante's Limbo with a host of
                          virtuous pagans...)

                          Murakami's UNDERGROUND is fascinating and worth a
                          read even by folks who'd be driven up the wall by
                          his novels.  And I'm reading von Balthasar's book
                          on prayer, and finishing Merton's CONJECTURES OF A
                          GUILTY BYSTANDER, a Valentine's Day gift from Josie
                          (see why I want to marry her?)
    UPDATE: 10/15/05:     Just read Guardini's THE ROSARY OF OUR LADY, on
                          loan from Josie.  Also finished KAI LUNG'S GOLDEN
                          HOURS -- maybe I should read some Jack Vance, to
                          satisfy the same appetite, but having just read that,
                          maybe not.
    UPDATE: 10/17/05:     Oh, almost forgot -- Squyres' ROVING MARS was an
                          interesting science read, and would almost certainly
                          be liked by non-JPL-employee readers.
    UPDATE: 11/14/05:     Poking my way merrily through Andreas Zeller's
                          WHY PROGRAMS FAIL, Guardini's THE LORD, and the
                          letters of Walker Percy and Shelby Foote.  A random
                          mish-mash, I suppose in one sense, though also
                          obvious books for me to be reading -- what else is
                          a Southern Catholic student of software to read,
                          except his Bible, and his Wm. Faulkner and his 
                          source code?  Probably payoffs in all directions;
                          a healthy sense of the Fall of Man is a useful thing
                          to have about the house when you're debugging code;
                          and, like the detective story, debugging may have
                          an inherent moral and even (though in a limited and
                          not final sense) theological significance, as it
                          implies a true order, existing beyond the present
                          perceptions:  a possibility that what is all wrong at
                          the moment has a rightness to which it can be put.
    UPDATE: 12/20/05:     2005 draws to a close; Christmas is upon us.  I'm
                          still reading Guardini, but finished off Walker Percy
                          and Andreas Zeller (well, not "finished off" -- as
                          far as I know, Andreas is still alive and kicking,
                          and I wouldn't dream of hurting the later Walker).
                          Excellent books.  Mark Helprin's A SOLDIER OF THE
                          GREAT WAR is fantastic, and should make the many odd
                          hours of flying coming up to see the folks and Josie
                          bearable.  I've got Josie reading Muriel Spark, after
                          years of trying to press the catty and wise 
                          Spark and her catty and dubious narrators on others.
    UPDATE:   1/9/06:     Tonight I finished Mark Helprin's A SOLDIER OF THE
                          GREAT WAR.  It is a beautiful book, a book about God,
                          about love, about men and women, and a book that is
                          profoundly on fire with the Resurrection of the Dead.
                          You might want to read it.  It has left me happy and
                          defeated and crying, and it will always be part of
                          me -- isn't that what a great novel is supposed to
                          do?  I'll talk more about what else I'm reading, such
                          as the book James tried to get me to read years ago
                          that I'm finally reading after borrowing from Josie,
                          but Helprin did something fantastic and I think he
                          ought to get a whole entry to himself.
    UPDATE:  1/11/06:     So, I'm reading CHEAPER BY THE DOZEN, on loan from
                          the lovely, intelligent and ever amusing Josie, and
                          THE PRACTICE OF PROGRAMMING.  That's all I have to
                          say about that.
    UPDATE:  1/22/06:     I am enjoying Garth Nix's LIRAEL very much, and have
                          John Mortimer's second volume of memoirs at hand,
                          though I haven't started it.  I'm sort of pondering
                          rereading some Muriel Spark, since Josie has begun
                          devouring the lot of them...  Or I might finally read
                          LITTLE WOMEN.  Or I may abandon literacy and take up
                          swordfighting.  Though, er, probably not.
    UPDATE:   2/6/06:     Finished part one of LITTLE WOMEN, and am wondering
                          why the heck I didn't read this long ago.  I blame
                          Josie for not having met me years ago, but I forgive
                          her.
    UPDATE:  3/15/06:     Cormac McCarthy, ALL THE PRETTY HORSES.  Well.  I
                          suppose I'll just have to read all the rest of Mr.
                          McCarthy's books, too, won't I?  What took me so
                          long?  Can't blame this one on Josie.
    UPDATE:  3/29/06:     I'm in Vienna for TACAS/ETAPS, so I'm reading a lot
                          of tourist maps and paper abstracts, but also for
                          Lent and the edification of my soul Kierkegaard's
                          TRAINING IN CHRISTIANITY (heaven knows I need 
                          training).  Josie's sheer joy in their wonders and
                          many delights has sent me back to Muriel Spark for a
                          second or more trip through her -- A FAR CRY FROM
                          KENSINGTON at the moment (Vienna is lovely butfor
                          rain, but I wish I weren't such a far cry from Josie
                          right now.)
    UPDATE:   6/7/06:     Busy getting ready to get married, testing file
                          systems, writing papers, etc., but have enjoyed
                          (even read out loud a decent chunk of to Josie) 
                          Joseph Mitchell's UP IN THE OLD HOTEL.  Mules and
                          rats and gypsies and black clams, oh my:  good
                          stuff.  von Balthasar, Nero Wolfe, and software
                          engineering notes also (who knew von Neumann came
                          up with assert statements, a while before there were
                          any programs running anywhere?)
    UPDATE:  6/18/06:     I just started A SCHOLAR OF MAGICS (need some light
                          elegant fantasy right now!) and am enjoying very
                          much Jaroslav Pelikan's fine commentary on Acts
                          (Acts is also good, of course, as you might imagine.)
                          Josie said I could say what she's reading, too, so
                          I will because I like talkin' about her.  She reads
                          a bunch of books at once, more than I do -- if you
                          don't count ones I'm plodding through over a period
                          of years with long long long stalls.  Right now,
                          that I can think of, she's liking St. Catherine
                          of Siena, and John McPhee's ANNALS OF THE FORMER
                          WORLD has convinced her to be a geologist, and also
                          there is the lively and great late Muriel Spark and
                          then Sigrid Undset, who I'd never have heard of if
                          not for Josie (not that I've _read_ any yet).
                          There's more.  I cannot give micro-reviews, unless
                          Josie chips in.  How about it, my lady, when you're
                          done, and I bother to update again?
    UPDATE:  7/10/06:     My wife and I are enjoying reading each other
                          TREASURE ISLAND.  Did I mention Josie was gracious
                          enough to marry me the other day?  She was.
                          I'm most of the way through Pelikan's ACTS, and
                          just started while in Utah on Edward Abbey's DESERT
                          SOLITAIRE, at the suggestion of my father-in-law
                          (well, and Wendell Berry before that, and others).
    UPDATE:  8/14/06:     Finished Mitchell's CLOUD ATLAS.  About to start the
                          new Tim Powers novel, since m' dear wife Josie's
                          off to Arizona for a bit (and I'm off to Seattle for
                          a week for a conference) and I need something to
                          occupy my time.  Ok, and I have been wanting to read
                          a Tim Powers novel for ages.  I have thus far
                          resisted buying the new Ambergris book, but that
                          won't last long.
    UPDATE:  8/27/06:     So.  The Powers?  Good.  Not nearly as good as it
                          looked to be to begin with -- left me cold in a way,
                          at the end.  Objectively, a nice Powers novel, though
                          nothing on LAST CALL, THE ANUBIS GATES, THE STRESS OF
                          HER REGARD, or DECLARE.  Ah, well.  Can't complain.
                          
                          Now.  I just finished Lafferty's "Episodes of the
                          Argo."  And it is impossible to say anything about
                          Lafferty that's of any use -- it's balderdash, and
                          beauty, and waking dream, and Irish Texas bull, or
                          maybe high mysticism, the fiction God gives us to
                          remind us that all is at stake, and to be of good
                          cheer (for He has conquered the world).  Bah.  Any
                          ways -- if you get a chance (it isn't easy, is it?)
                          read it.  Read it.  And miss Lafferty.
    UPDATE: 10/31/06:     Hey.  Jeff VanderMeer isn't just a squidsy trickster
                          of a high order.  He can write a lovely novel of
                          character that also moves through the mystery, the
                          baroque slimy elaboration of Ambergris with joy and
                          love for his characters.  SHRIEK:  AN AFTERWORD is
                          a fine, fine novel.  I just reread Wolfe's SOLDIER
                          books as well, to prepare for SIDON.  Lovely, sad,
                          cruel, and beautiful.  Books about people and their
                          god(s)(God), as always with Wolfe.  Interesting in
                          the case of SHRIEK and SOLDIER OF ARETE how well an
                          opening epigraph serves to frame the story, as about
                          _mortality_ above all -- about death, one of the few
                          things really worth writing about and thinking about.
                          "The dead have pictures of you" / "I knew that I begat
                          him mortal" -- good reading before All Saints' Day,
                          and All Saints' Eve.  (All Souls, too, though let
                          us pray if not believe that these days shall be one.)

                          Josie and I also reading some books my mom suggested
                          to us, by Jane Duncan.  I've only read the one, but
                          Josie's started a second.  Quite good, very Scottish.
    UPDATE:  12/1/06:     What have I read lately?  My first Walter Mosley
                          mystery (good, not great).  On the plane back from
                          NC, some of THE ELEPHANT VANISHES, though Josie,
                          that charming Indian giver of a wife (twas a birth-
                          day present from her) read further than I did.  Um,
                          read some reviews for a rejected journal paper.

                          Oh -- and of course I read SOLDIER OF SIDON.  What
                          did I think?  Well, on Amazon I said it was great,
                          KING SOLOMON'S MINES by Nabokov and Herodotus.  I
                          stand by that, and by the claim that Wolfe's writing
                          has become better and less arbitrarily tricksy in
                          the years since ARETE.  But.  I think ARETE and MIST
                          are better novels.  SIDON is wonderful, and perhaps
                          when Wolfe writes the rest (there's more, I'm pretty
                          sure, to come) it will be as fine.  But SIDON is a
                          good book that lacks the animating and soul-searing
                          punch of the thematics of the first two Latro books.
                          In particular, SOLDIER OF ARETE is a tricky book,
                          and an irritating book -- but it's also a profound
                          meditation on mortality and the gods (and God) in a
                          way that SOLDIER OF SIDON is not, though it comes
                          close at points.  There is no "I knew that I begat
                          him mortal" behind SIDON, to make it grab the heart
                          and squeeze, though certain scenes come close.  It is
                          not that SOLDIER OF SIDON is shallow -- it's a deep,
                          wise book (and fun, and you should read it), but that
                          SOLDIER OF ARETE is a deeper, wiser, harder book.
    UPDATE:  1/23/07:     Various and very sundry things -- Avram Davidson's
                          ADVENTURES IN UNHISTORY (finally!), and thus in an
                          indirect fashion ol' Pliny the Elder and Herodotus
                          and Pindar and suchlike, not to mention obscurer
                          souls (who, unlike Somerset Maugham, didn't sell
                          their souls to the Devil to be famous).  CEREBUS vol
                          3 & 4, Murakami, Henry Petroski, a lot of randomized
                          testing literature, etc. etc. etc.  My mother-in-law
                          is reading Joseph Mitchell, by the way.  Josie
                          is devouring Tintin (and I'm going to relive my
                          youth when she's done).  If I said that Robert
                          Graves poems were in here, that would also be
                          true, at a slow rate.  Oh, I read it a while back
                          but I thought Cory Doctorow's SOMEONE COMES TO TOWN,
                          SOMEONE LEAVES TOWN was very good, indeed, almost
                          enough to get me to read his earlier books.  Even
                          the pointless wireless internet subplot made me
                          happy, in a way.
    UPDATE:  1/24/07:     And, best of these, on Josie's recommendation,
                          IN THIS HOUSE OF BREDE.
    UPDATE:  1/31/07:     Not to mention THE LIFE AND TIMES OF SCROOGE
                          MCDUCK (yes, we found a good comic shop right
                          near where we live)...
    UPDATE:  2/20/07:     Finished the Rule of St. Benedict (accompaniment
                          to BREDE) and lots of McDuck and Tintin.  On
                          my dad's recommendation, reading Rick Bass' THE
                          BOOK OF CHOPPING FIREWOOD, er, WINTER -- good,
                          for the most part.  Nice writing, nice sense of
                          _winter_ -- and the wood chopping really does make
                          the book.  A bit overblown in places.  Also, Jack
                          Vance -- EMPHYRIO.  One of the few "big" Vance books
                          I hadn't read.  Good?  Of course.
    UPDATE:   3/5/07:     Cormac McCarthy, BLOOD MERIDIAN -- what to say?  It's
                          as violent, as apocalyptic, as unsettling and strange
                          and (yes) as fun to read as reported.  As good as
                          it claims to be, really.  BREDE remains wonderful,
                          and totally different.  Also, some good Tim Powers
                          short stories, and (in a sense) short stories on
                          the drive to and from work each day, in that I think
                          most every Decemberists song is a weird little
                          Gothic baroque short story.
    UPDATE:   3/8/07:     And a bunch of ICSE 07 papers -- including Dwyer
                          on how heuristics aren't really as good as random
                          search (sigh, I think it's true) and a whole bunch
                          of testing papers.
    UPDATE:  3/12/07:     Still ensnared by BLOOD MERIDIAN -- oh, I finished
                          it, but it lingers.  The judge is the scariest thing
                          in American literature -- if there's no such thing
                          as the Devil, I don't know how there could be such
                          a thing in a book as the judge, arguments to the
                          effect that we can describe with perfect accuracy
                          things that do no exist aside.  (Yes, but we cannot
                          describe, I suspect, with perfect accuracy, things
                          that cannot exist, so here we have established at
                          least the possibility of a demon).  Surely the best
                          novel of horror (a Western?  I dunno, didn't seem
                          much like GUNSMOKE to me, though maybe you need to
                          have watched GUNSMOKE or BONANZA or read McMurtry
                          to win the whole shooting match here) of the last
                          century.  Impressive in a century of horrors.  In
                          a sense it is not a "horror novel" of course, or
                          at least not the debased thing that can be, for all
                          that this is a more violent and cruel book than most
                          of those.  The things here are things, not pictures
                          put on display for a circus (well, maybe not much,
                          anyway).  Also, the writing is about as good as it
                          could be, embedding the things in words and playing
                          every serious game with the language that's available
                          given the story.  It's even funny, in places, for
                          a book of nightmares loose in the desert places of
                          earth and man.

                          What to follow that up with?  The coin "game" by
                          the fire makes me want to read THE BOOK OF THE NEW
                          SUN again -- partly because it seems bad luck to
                          read a book about the devil without reading one as
                          strong but a bit more balanced (MERIDIAN gives the
                          devil his due, at least) -- and the coin bit in NEW
                          SUN's better.  Though the judge beats Baldanders,
                          hands down (but you couldn't put the judge in a book
                          without his running the show, unless you were a
                          better writer even than Wolfe or McCarthy, I suspect
                          is the case).
    UPDATE:  3/29/07:     Rereading NEW SUN.  One thing it's easy to forget is
                          how _funny_ Wolfe can be -- Dr. Talos' play is, you
                          know, screamingly funny, in a way.  There are a lot
                          of _jokes_, of a wild and weird sort.  But you can
                          see why Wolfe doesn't get much credit for this: he
                          means 'em.  These days, Wolfe and Walker Percy are
                          my desert island novelists.
    UPDATE:   4/2/07:     NEW SUN sure is good.  And appropriate Lenten
                          reading, I guess -- is this not the time of year
                          when, before all, we should be Seekers of Truth
                          and Penitence?  Not that I manage very well, but
                          then neither does Severian, for the most part.
                          Man proposes; the Increate disposes, eh?  As a
                          side venture, Josie has me reading her THE
                          SPACESHIP UNDER THE APPLE TREE at night; maybe we'll
                          go live in a hut and write apocryphal Danny Dunn,
                          Boy Software Verification Researcher stories.
    UPDATE:   4/9/07:     So, why is Wendell Berry's localism, though in many
                          ways clearly correct, probably doomed?  As many
                          reasons as why Chesterton's visions are unlikely
                          to be arriving at a world near you -- but here's an
                          obvious one:  in the modern world, which is very
                          much non-localist, large-scale power belongs almost
                          exclusively to non-localists, because to have this
                          power you must abandon the place you were born and
                          head off to DC or LA or NYC or the UN, the EU, or
                          another "heart of the world" fortress of gigantism.
                          Real localists tend to stay home, if they're sincere
                          (if they're insincere, like me, they head off to
                          some ugly city but regret it, and drag a family
                          along, I guess?), and thus even movements that tend
                          to give some lip-service to something small, such as
                          serious conservatism (as opposed to pro-businessism)
                          or environmental conservation tend to be in practice
                          all about thinking globally -- which means focusing
                          on things so large and abstract that "thinking" is
                          hardly the right word.  I am as guilty as anyone.
    UPDATE:   5/1/07:     David Niven's THE MOON'S A BALLOON.  Good to read
                          "just" after watching through season 5 (or was it
                          4?) of I LOVE LUCY with Josie -- Charles Boyer (a
                          bunch -- not that I'd heard of him before LUCY/Niven)
                          Holden, Ball herself, etc.  It's a good book, sad
                          and funny and pretty well written, not to mention as
                          noted before I'm a sucker for any Brit who has a life
                          to tell and was born just before, after, or during
                          the death of Western Civilization (you know, that
                          great war they had).

                          Other than that, enjoyed CHARMED LIFE (after Josie
                          pushed it) much more than HOWL'S MOVING CASTLE,
                          HEXWOOD, or other highly recommended Diana Wynne
                          Jones.
    UPDATE:   5/2/07:     Three Wed. morning questions:

                          1.  Has anyone written a really first-rate history
                              of video games?

                          2.  Is the moon, in fact, a balloon?

                          3.  Were my undergrad courses woefully remiss?
                              I was a "Science, Technology & Society" minor,
                              and a dual humanities/engineering major, so I
                              took a lot of "Ethical Dimensions of Progress,"
                              "Science, Values, and Technology" and the like.
                              Good classes, well taught -- and we read Lasch
                              and other useful people.  Reading Wendell Berry,
                              now, I'm not thrilled with his adoration of the
                              Luddites.  But I am thinking -- by and large
                              those classes presented two views of technology
                              (at the highest abstract level) as possible:
                              the instrumental view, where technology is inert
                              and "merely" a tool which we may use for good
                              or evil -- in itself, morally neutral (unless
                              the actions of the technology itself are of such
                              nature as to be evil -- there was clearly room
                              here to condemn a technology for eliminating
                              garden snails by means of human sacrifice).  On
                              the other hand, presented as the more Luddite
                              notion, was the idea that technology was active,
                              and might be inherently inimical to man.  As
                              good engineers we knew there was no magic in
                              our _tools_, and so inclined to the first, as we
                              should have (and as the classes intended).  But,
                              while there's this whiff of animism in some anti-
                              technology folks, and more than a whiff in some,
                              it seems to me that it's also reasonable to take
                              anti-technology views without any inclination to
                              that sort of magical thinking.  All that is
                              required is the obvious point that man is sinful,
                              and certain technologies may present such a
                              temptation to evil use that, while inherently
                              "neutral" they are problematic to anyone who
                              does not possess a lunatic (*cough* *cough*
                              enlightened *cough*) optimism about man's ability
                              to choose good over evil.  "Deliver us from
                              temptation" is a reasonable and non-magical-
                              thinking basis for technological pessimism.  I'm
                              not going Luddite, but they are given an unfair
                              treatment, I think, without considering this
                              point.
    UPDATE:   6/5/07:     GILEAD was very good, an extraordinary novel.
                          For whatever reason, it has me reading von
                          Balthasar's THE GLORY OF THE LORD (slowly), not
                          Karl Barth.  I think I did my Barth "duty" (not
                          that I minded it) years ago, during undergrad
                          days.  Anyway, that's to the side.  A beautiful
                          novel, about a good man -- and a Christian novel.
                          
                          Rhys Hughes is fun -- the first part left me cold,
                          but the last half of A NEW UNIVERSAL HISTORY OF
                          INFAMY is very funny and awful clever.
    UPDATE:  6/20/07:     The ideal mystery, as Chandler pointed out, is one
                          you would read if the end was missing.  Most of
                          them are not ideal, of course.  I've read several
                          mysteries in the last few months -- the second
                          Maisie Dobbs book (Josie suggested -- the first one
                          I took in while waiting for jury duty), a Spenser
                          or two, and Sue Grafton.  None of them would have
                          worked without the ending, which is fine by me --
                          I wouldn't like the Spenser books (one of them hardly
                          a "mystery" -- you knew whodunnit and whattheydid
                          from the get-go) without the snappy dialogue, or
                          Dobbs without the eerie WWI haunted atmosphere, but
                          I think they'd also be weak without the payoff (in
                          the Dobbs case, you can't really get the atmosphere
                          to work without the payoff, I think).

                          I started but never finished writing an essay on Wolfe's
                          constant use of mystery-novel techniques, starting
                          from his Sherlock Holmes and Nero Wolfe parodies
                          (Wolfe's clearly a mystery _reader_) and his stint
                          as an actual "mystery-novel" writer in PANDORA, BY
                          HOLLY HOLLANDER.  Silk is based in part on Father
                          Brown, and Severian, Silk, and most other Wolfe
                          protagonists spend a lot of time doing what amounts
                          to detective work -- ratiocination to understand
                          a web of motive and circumstance based on clues.
                          It makes sense -- the detective story is in a sense
                          where Wolfe often is -- the intersection of science
                          (a detective is a scientist, right?  performing
                          "experiments" and examining evidence to produce
                          theories about the world) and theology -- or at least
                          morality (_justice_ is the aim of the detective's
                          science, at its best).  "Mystery" has many meanings,
                          and the most important are clearly theological --
                          Wolfe makes it clear he knows this in "The Detective
                          of Dreams."  You could even argue, though I would
                          not, that the times Abel plays detective in THE
                          WIZARD KNIGHT are homage to Chandler's detective-as-
                          knight images.  Anyway, I think Wolfe's novels and
                          stories are often, under the hood, Chandler's ideal
                          mysteries.  In many cases, though I think Wolfe
                          believes he is playing fair with the reader in
                          classical fashion, the work functions for us as
                          a mystery in which the end is missing.  And we still
                          want to read it.

                          On an unrelated note, it makes sense that Disney
                          shows up so much in science fiction -- Varley,
                          Cory Doctorow, Howard Waldrop, Wolfe, and others.
                          I wonder how many of us got our first in-person
                          sight of THE FUTURE from Tomorrowland?
    UPDATE: 11/12/07:     Lots and lots and lots and lots of data points about
                          error detection rates as related to test length.  But
                          some other things, too, that I don't try to fit to any
                          quadratic, linear, or cubic model.  DON QUIXOTE, and
                          Fitzgerald's ILIAD, and 1 & 2 of Pelikan on THE
                          DEVELOPMENT OF CHRISTIAN DOCTRINE.  All good.  BEL
                          RIA (why do dogs always die at the end of dog books?
                          yes, it's a life story, but it's not as if every novel
                          ends with the protagonist shuffling off this mortal,
                          is it?), HEIRS OF GENERAL PRACTICE.  This and that.
    UPDATE:  12/5/07:     PIRATE FREEDOM was, as expected, very good.  Not
                          Wolfe's best, but very good.  Certainly the most
                          explicitly Catholic of his books, and probably (in
                          some ways) gives more of a look at Wolfe's politics
                          and such, but mostly just Wolfe doing a super-readable
                          pirate adventure, with the expected "well, of course
                          with Wolfe, God will be around and the people will be
                          real people, and so forth, and much cleverness in the
                          details."  Josie's going to have me reading Barbara
                          Pym soon.
    UPDATE:   1/7/08:     BEFORE THE DAWN is one of the better pop-sci books I've
                          read in some time.  It'll be interesting to see if the
                          promise of reading ur-history from the genes works out
                          half as well as it's looking like it may; there still
                          (to me) seems to be an unavoidable and irritating amount
                          of "just so stories" (now with statistics!) in this kind
                          of evolutionary work, it just comes with the field --
                          you can't do experiments, precisely, and there's just so
                          few clues to so much that has happened.  I (vaguely)
                          guess astrophysics is even harder, in this sense?  Hat's
                          off to the folks doing this work.  Enjoyed DZUR, as
                          expected.  NOVA SWING was... odd.  Not as dazzlingly
                          good as LIGHT, but more coherent (in a way) and with
                          some beautiful, attention-grabbing prose -- self-mocking
                          that steps around the bend to not be mockery at all.

                          I liked TRUMPET OF THE SWAN very very much.
    UPDATE:   2/8/08:     Hmm, well...  EARTH: AN INTIMATE HISTORY -- hey! Babbage
                          shows up at the beginning, traipsing around in a volcano,
                          and it's a nice travel-book walk through geographical
                          history.  Also walking back through Bentley's PROGRAMMING
                          PEARLS, just because.  And the complete DENNIS THE
                          MENACE, '51-'52.  And the Hollander and Hollander
                          PARADISO, and not much else.
    UPDATE:   5/7/08:     INTO THE BLACK is a well done history of the last
                          chunk of JPL's history, from the Murray years up to
                          MER or thereabouts.  It is a little academic (too
                          dry for pop science history), but very readable.  One
                          thing it points out, and that the history of plate
                          tectonics I just started also shows is how much the
                          20th century history of science and engineering is a
                          history of big institutions in addition to actual
                          scientists and engineers.  JPL has a character that
                          goes beyond the folks who make up JPL, and so do the
                          key places for geology.  It's not as if money hasn't
                          always mattered to science, but it does seem to be a
                          real difference, as instruments for experiments cost
                          more and more and require a "cast of hundreds."

                          Pym's QUARTET IN AUTUMN is great.

(note that the width above reflects Xemacs default window width; make of it what you will)

Do you see? Even after we have considered the curious incident of the dog that did NOT bark, we are in the dark. Even Severian the torturer, with his perfect memory, could not explain himself. Even Latro, who forgot everything every night, could not explain himself. Dennis Alden Weer, perhaps, managed it, but he was dead.

I love my parents, though we fight too often. I have friends enough that I seldom eat lunch or supper alone, which is a great blessing. I have been to two foreign countries, although since they were England and Canada, they weren't all THAT foreign (UPDATE: wow, should have fixed this a while back--I've also been to France and Brazil, which beat Canada and England hands down on food, and are nice places. In general, as far as I can tell, the world in general has much to recommend it, including New Jersey). I played Michael Darling in "Peter Pan" when I was in the fourth grade, and wore a flying rig. "Think lovely thoughts." "Candy." "Christmas."

Sometimes I feel very alone, sometimes I feel very un-alone. I've had some very Southern experiences: I once sat on the porch of my friend Bruce's Aunt Rose's house on New Year's Eve with a bunch of guys singing "Peaceful Easy Feeling" while rain went pitter-patter on the roof above. My Dad owns guns. I have a HUGE backyard, and I think there are a few cows in my name on our farm. I don't like country music, though.

I read a lot. I sleep too little, and often lie awake for hours at night, thinking. This doesn't accomplish much. UPDATE: I sleep more now. I've learned that I actually like sleeping, I just hate going to bed early--I want to be the last person around who is awake. I'm unsure as to what this means, other than that I may be a prickly jerk who doesn't want anyone doing anything sneaky while he's asleep. Or a peculiar manifestation of laziness.

I enjoy programming computers. BASIC, Logo, LISP, C, FORTH, you name it--I like it. But I'm beginning to burn out, because I've been doing so much of it these last few years. (UPDATE: not really as true, oddly enough--I did even MORE programming, and the further in you go the more fun it gets, although I'm told thesis topics become truly repugnant after a while.)

I ramble. You still don't know me, do you? And I don't really know you.

"Is that not an odd introduction? I don't understand it at all."


A blast from the (not so) distant past... fast receding at the speed of time...
* picture stolen from Mike Whalen
"Is all that idle? Probably; because it is true, and truth is not by its nature purposive, nor love a thing that can be called to order except under pain of death." - Robert Aickman, The Attempted Rescue
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  As we know,
  There are known knowns.
  There are things we know we know.
  We also know
  There are known unknowns.
  That is to say
  We know there are some things
  We do not know.
  But there are also unknown unknowns
  The ones we don't know we don't know.
Epistemological mantra adapted from the works of Donald Rumsfeld, though I wouldn't ask him to run MY war anytime soon.