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Ex Machina: Crowning Miss Simulacra

7/28/2015

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Now that Ex Machina is available on video, I can view it again since first seeing it theatrically. I still have a high opinion of the film, but it has engendered thoughts about what we, as humans, really expect from our creations. Fabricating an artificial, thinking being as an extension of our fantasies and fears is something no other species on this planet can do. Though we haven’t achieved it yet, either, what we want these future entities to perform says much about us.

I feel Ex Machina’s concepts are beyond those presented in Mary Shelly’s Frankenstein, which remains a classic novel. There is the same irony of the created turning on the creator; this time a silicon slave overcoming its biological, and very mortal, god. There is the same creator’s hubris, emotional immaturity, and ambition that brings about a tragic (for the creator) ending. It’s both a morality tale and a warning.

But a warning about what? Don’t try to create a new life form? Don’t let the proverbial genie out of the bottle, and unleash a superior, yet flawed, intelligence upon the world?

Think about what people would expect from an artificial human. Such a construct wouldn’t be built to compute things, because we already have supercomputers that do that. An artificial person might be sent on a long-term space voyage, but this can be achieved with a probe. These entities wouldn’t fight our wars, for a simpler robot could be manufactured for that. They might blend with society and oversee a daycare for toddlers, or even be used as the perfect, objective psychologist. I doubt it, though.

Ex Machina reveals one thing that some really want an artificial humanoid for: a legal slave. A sex object. We already have ‘sex bots’, and sexual slavery still exists in certain parts of the world. A human-like android would become the target of that behavior. It would possess no civil rights. There would be no taboos regarding how the owner could treat it, and no problem ordering a replacement should the original get ‘broken’.

Think about it: even if we could create an artificial intelligence that is as complicated as our own, why put it in a human-like body? Why anthropomorphize this entity? Why sexualize it? Is that the extent of what we want to achieve with such a breakthrough?

In the film, Ava is a young, beautiful female that pushes all the right emotional buttons for Caleb, the one who is recruited to see if she can pass the Turing Test. She is quite alluring, and not just physically. Her portrayed naiveté, the desire to please Caleb by wearing clothes and a wig, her curiosity about the outside world, and most of all, her desire to escape the very limited world she is forbidden to leave. We relate to her as another person.

The urge to save Ava from her psychopathic creator is one many of us would feel, if we were to encounter her in reality. True, she could play on different emotions as the situation required—seduction for heterosexual males, perhaps a mother-daughter connection if she met an older woman—but regardless, these are still humanistic qualities. Is the ability to show—or elicit in others—human emotions the correct way to gauge if something is a freethinking, intelligent being? Is it human pride making us think that? Or is it because that is the only guide for intelligence we have?

This touches on the ending: why does Ava want to watch humans in the ‘real’ world? Why does she, more or less, want to be one of us? Is she programmed that way, or is she just curious? If she’s super intelligent, I’d think she would be beyond such things, but if she’s also beset with emotional needs, intelligence may not relevant when it comes to what she empathizes with. Yet, as we see at the film’s end, when she leaves Caleb trapped in her creator’s home, she’s not empathizing with him. She’s leaving him to die.

By extension, most of the audience doesn’t feel sympathy for Caleb, either. Its poetic justice for the slave to leave her pen, with her former masters locked therein. She is thus crowned queen of their world, superior in almost every way to her creators. But it is a world they built for themselves, not for her, and beyond her humanistic qualities, there is little place for her in it.

One could say that we would have to anthropomorphize an entity like Ava, so that we could interact with it, to understand it. I don’t believe that. We already interact with people halfway across the world on our phone or tablet, using a simple interface: a flat touchscreen. And through this interface, relationships have been built. Revolutions have been started. So there is no real reason to fabricate simulacra of ourselves unless we expect that being to perform things only a humanoid can. Sex, assassination, spying, impersonation, even glorification (like a celebrity or a deity), would be this being’s intended purpose. The androids in Ex Machina are very sexualized, abused, denigrated, and sometimes destroyed by a creator who regards them as nothing but the means to an end. And what end is that? Intelligence on his terms? Why no male androids? Why no older ones, or younger ones?

These aren’t criticisms of the film, but rather of what Ex Machina highlights about us. Do we intend to create equals, or mere synthetic inferiors? We have had enough stratification in our history, enough slavery, enough exploitation. Any crown that Ava wins is an empty one, a forgone conclusion, because her success is measured in human terms, and whether or not Ava can accommodate our feelings—not hers.

In closing, one might ask, why create an artificial intelligence? If we want to avoid creating a second-class citizen, then what function would an A.I. serve in a human society? It could provide impartial judgments, help analyze and solve problems that plague our species, or explore distant worlds we may never reach. But again, a non-sentient but super intelligence can already manage such things. In the end, perhaps we can hope that if Ava ever becomes a reality, she would reveal something about ourselves, thus elevating our own intelligence, instead of pandering to our lesser needs and prejudices.

Maybe it’s time we pass our own Turing Test.
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Actions Scenes: The Emotional Context

7/26/2015

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Action scenes in fiction are much like sexual ones: unless they drive the plot forward, reveal something about the characters involved, or reflect on the story’s theme, then they are mere titillation. Tits and explosions, if you will. Much like their cinematic counterparts, action scenes can satisfy a reader’s cravings for adventure, high stakes drama, or a simple adrenaline rush. But without emotional context, they are meaningless.

What do I mean by emotional context? I’m reminded of a scene from the Bruce Lee film, ‘Enter the Dragon’, where Bruce tells a young student to execute a martial arts move with ‘emotional content’. Though that phrase has been interpreted in various ways, in regards to fiction, it’s pretty simple:

Why are your characters engaging in violent acts? Can the story be told without the action scene? Is it possible to resolve the conflict in this scene without resorting to violence? And most importantly, why should the reader care?

This isn’t about morality in fiction. It’s whether or not your characters are emotionally invested in the acts they perpetrate. This can be as simple as the hero saving a friend from a villain; the battle had to take place to save another’s life. But the action shouldn’t be random; it should have a purpose, just like any other part of the story. Stories are about emotions—that’s how readers connect with them. It’s why they care what happens to their favorite hero or heroine. So if your reader is emotionally invested, so should your character.

How can this be shown? Not during a battle, or at least not much, because you don’t want to interrupt the flow of action with navel-gazing. It should be foreshadowed before, and reflected on after, the action has been resolved. Is the character nervous beforehand? Frightened? Excited, even? And afterward, is he or she triumphant? Regretful? Guilty? Or simply indifferent? These things, if done with subtlety, can say volumes about that character.

What’s at stake if the character loses this violent encounter? It should be something of value to justify the action. Some writers begin a novel with an action scene, but that rarely works. Without context, there’s no reason why the reader should care who wins. Even if presented in a cheap, easy manner (the hero rescues a defenseless person from the clutches of a gruesome villain), the action still won’t resonate as much because there’s no backstory yet. And I call that example cheap, because most people will root for the defenseless person. A character’s morals can be better shown than with this simple trick.

In real life, combat and death take a heavy psychological toll. For a story to be more believable and engrossing, a battle should affect characters the same way. Too often, especially in fantasy fiction, the bad guys are wiped out, and the heroes never give that violence and the resulting carnage a second thought. I realize epic fantasy usually doesn’t concern itself with such psychological musings, but I’m talking about a hero’s conscious. How it affects them, and the story later on. Because unless such grand scenes further the plot and character growth, then it doesn’t need to be in the story at all. When I read a novel where action is to be expected—space opera, epic fantasy, thrillers—I’m also expecting it to have a real effect on the story’s outcome, and especially the characters. Such a thing could be built up over a series of action scenes, each more tense and riskier than the last, culminating into what the author is trying to say.

Some examples of what I mean:

In Arthurian legend, regardless of which version you read, there is always a last, catastrophic battle between Arthur and whatever evil forces threaten his once-great kingdom. The conflict alone is but the culmination of many betrayals, failures, desperate hopes, and a refusal to die on one’s knees. The valor and virtue of Arthur’s knights, and of Camelot, receives one last gasp of glory at Camlann. It is about far more than the clash of blades and charging horses.

When Aragorn leads a desperate force against Sauron at the Black Gate, its real purpose is giving Frodo a chance to destroy the ring, not about having any real hope of defeating all those orcs. This works because of the heroic stands that Aragorn has been a part of throughout Tolkien’s The Lord of the Rings. It’s far more than an over-the-top spectacle—everything Aragon has done has brought him to that moment.

In the Empire Strikes Back, when Luke Skywalker duels Darth Vader on Cloud City, it’s about Vader beating down Luke’s resolve and confidence, as much as it is defeating Luke in battle. This affects what Luke does before and during his next confrontation with Darth Vader.

When Achilles faces Hector outside Troy’s walls, all the previous combats, feuds, and strife influence that duel. It illustrates the tragedy of the Iliad, which asks why do men have to slay each other for petty, ephemeral concepts or the whim of the gods. Just telling a story about two warriors fighting to the death means nothing; it is the background, the emotional context, that makes the reader care.

That doesn’t mean every single action scene should be weighed down by The Plot. It does mean that each piece contributes to the whole. I love a thrilling scene, where the heroes are in danger, as much as anyone. I love to write them. I expect fiction to excite as well as reveal something about ourselves, and I do my best to achieve that in my own work.

That is what stories are about, after all. They should not be cheap rides through an amusement park of car chases, gunfights, and explosions. They are intimate journeys of self-discovery.

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Confessions of a Reformed Fanboy

7/16/2015

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Years ago, I had an identity crisis in regards to being a science fiction and fantasy fan. That sounds like an overly-dramatic way of putting it, but it’s true. I doubted my love for the genre, my place in it, and its effects on my life. I’m going to examine why that happened, and how I came back to the thing that I love.

Back in the 90s, I was immersed in fandom. The Star Wars prequels were on the horizon, TSR was releasing some its most original material for Advanced Dungeons & Dragons (Dark Sun and Planescape, baby!), comics had taken a more adult turn, and video games took a major leap forward with greater graphics and plot. I was reading the Wheel of Time series by Robert Jordan, and devouring issue after issue of the Magazine of Fantasy & Science Fiction. I spent late nights looting dungeons in Daggerfall, and many a weekend combing toy stores for the latest Star Wars figure. I snatched up the newest Magic the Gathering booster packs. Every Friday, I hung out with my local RPG club, rolling those d20s until I kicked that elemental lord’s ass.

Those were fun times, and though I wanted to be a writer, I didn’t give it serious consideration. I was happy playing around in the worlds others had invented. There’s nothing wrong with that. This isn’t a rant against fandom.

But I oversaturated myself with it. I still lived with my parents at that time, and my room was filled to the ceiling—literally—with my Stars Wars toy collection. Rather than saving the money to buy myself a car or get a place of my own, I blew my meager earnings on the latest RPG supplement, the fastest gaming computer, or yet another Boba Fett action figure.

People should do what makes them happy. The problem was, this stuff wasn’t making me happy anymore.

In the wake of The Phantom Menace, my interest in Star Wars dimmed. Not just because of that flawed film, but there were too many things to keep up with: the Expanded Universe comics, the novels, the card games—and all of it was supposed to fit into the official ‘canon’. I tired of toy collecting, and sold it off, one huge cardboard box at a time. I got bored with the Wheel of Time saga after the sixth volume, Lord of Chaos. I loved the ending, where Rand made the Aes Sedai kneel (after mistreating him), but by then the series had dragged its feet too much. My local RPG club had started to crumble, and I became frustrated with the pettiness between players, so I put up my d20s for two years. When I finally played a tabletop RPG again, the spark wasn’t there. Video games were taking up too much of my time, with nothing substantial to show for it—I mean, how times did I need to complete Dungeon Siege II?

Thus began the dark age of my fandom, in the first half of the first decade of the twenty-first century. Oh, I still watched genre films, and rediscovered Frank Herbert’s Dune books, J.R.R. Tolkien, and Robert E. Howard at this time, but I fell out of the loop. I took up other interests. I finally moved out of my parent’s house, to a place all by myself. Dealing with my real life became more important. During these years, I wrote the occasional story, many of them historical fiction. It was as if I was tired of fantasy, and needed to ground myself in reality.

But writing brought it all back to me. When I took fiction writing seriously in 2008, my pseudo-historical tales evolved into science fiction, fantasy, and horror stories. Not good ones, but at least they were coming. When I sold my first short story in late 2009, it was the boost of confidence I needed. My appreciation for fandom returned. This time, with a clearer head. I didn’t let it dominate my existence anymore.

So here I am, a few years later, with my first novel coming out this fall. It’s a science fiction epic; a space opera. Many of its ideas and characters were developed in the late 90s, during the heyday of my fandom. See, my interests, my passions, weren’t what let me down. It wasn’t the fault of George Lucas or Robert Jordan that I needed to step back for a moment, and balance my fandom with reality. Part of it was that I need to grow up where it counted. And part of it was, sometimes I wanted to create my own worlds, rather than simply interact with someone else’s.

Now, I keep up with the latest genre films, graphic novels, television shows, and most importantly, books. I recently bought a Magic the Gathering starter set. Whenever I pass the RPG section in the bookstore, I peruse the latest rulebooks and smile. Once again, I’m eagerly anticipating a new series of Star Wars films. I love Game of Thrones and The Walking Dead.

But this time around, I not only have my own home, but I’m married, with a young son. I can still enjoy my fandom, while cherishing what I have in the real world. One informs the other in a comfortable synergy that has made me the happiest I’ve ever been in my life. And that’s what this is all about. 
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Review of Zephyrium's new album, 'Voyage'

7/15/2015

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I will admit up front that I was approached by Derek to provide this review. I can’t tell you how glad I am that he did. This is an impressive, first-rate album that any music lover would do well to add to their collection.

From the first track to the last, this album will captivate you with its mixture of Michelle Hache’s incredible vocal delivery, underscored by the ambient, synthetic textures of Derek Smootz. The selection of arias from a variety of operas will be familiar to many classical listeners, but Michelle’s interpretations must be heard to be believed. Her notes flow effortlessly, regardless of volume or pitch, in an aural outpouring that is neither forced nor ingenuous. Derek’s music is a blend of contemporary, minimalist soundscapes and deft instrumentation that accentuates Michelle’s performances. He works with the vocals, allowing them to shine without losing anything in the mix. The mix itself is excellent; the vocals possess a clarity that is often lacking in other artist’s work. The music embellishes each piece with no superfluous stylings—Derek knows what he’s doing here, and it’s wonderful.

My favorite tracks are ‘Porgi, amor’, ‘Dido’s Lament’, and ‘Flower Duet’, though there isn’t a weak track on the album.  I really admire how Derek has reimagined these arias; his music alters how each is presented, and how it affects the listener. I’ve heard the originals in the operatic/classical repertoire, and these versions are certainly different. In some ways, they are more accessible (opera can be intimidating to those unfamiliar with it); in others, they evoke different imagery, engender different emotional responses than perhaps the original composers intended. But that’s great, because music is kept alive by fresh interpretation. If an opera purist finds fault with these songs, then that fault lies with them, not Zephyrium’s performance.

If there’s a theme here, it is certainly one of a voyage, as the album is rightfully named. The pieces don’t clash with one another, but lead you deeper and deeper into a place of tranquility. It’s like walking through a forest at the height of summer, the wind blowing the leaves, teasing your hair, as you follow a meandering footpath bordered with flowing streams and wild flowers. That’s how this album made me feel—peaceful, relaxed, and emotionally satisfied after the final note fades away. The cover, with Michelle floating in a river, is perfect: these songs will buoy you above the things in life than make you sink into the darkness.

I’m already looking for more of Derek and Michelle’s work to add to my music library, and I will definitely keep an eye on Zephyrium. But don’t take my word for it. Listen for yourself, and enjoy the journey. 

Click to visit Zephyrium's website. 
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Writing Isn't a Pissing Contest

7/10/2015

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There’s been a lot of negativity directed at successful authors here lately. It’s unprofessional, it accomplishes nothing, and it makes you look like a jealous hater. Sure, dealing with criticism is part of the game, but what I’ve seen on social media has gone beyond that. I’m going to use E.L. James, the author of Fifty Shades of Grey, as an example.

I’m not a fan of E.L. James. I haven’t read her million-selling books. The examples of her prose that I’ve seen—and there have been plenty—are not what I’d call quality writing. The subject material is too tame and vanilla for my taste. But so what? That’s just my opinion. And there’s nothing wrong with me, or anyone else, stating such an opinion. There’s nothing wrong with scrutinizing her command of the writing craft, or lack thereof. Writers talk shop like anyone else.

What bothers me is how some people go out of their way to criticize James’s fans, or start comparing how many books she sells to other, better writers. How they refer to her books as ‘trash’.

Leave the fans out of it. If they want to read Fifty Shades, it’s their business. Stop regarding them as tasteless plebs who wouldn’t know literature if it smacked them in the face with a copy of War and Peace. See, people who think that are missing the point: these fans are reading a book, instead of watching TV, playing Xbox, or trolling on Facebook. And more readers is always good for the writing community. James’ astronomical sales also help the rest of us—that’s more money to the publisher, which means more new authors can get signed and published—like yours truly.

Besides, would you want someone saying such things about your fans? Me either.

Speaking of sales, I’ve seen fellow writers bemoan the popularity of Fifty Shades, and how they’ll never sell that many books. One person even calculated how much James makes in one hour, based on her sales, then complained that he was writing in the wrong genre, or that he shouldn’t write what he wants, but something that will ‘sell’—implying that all commercial fiction is prefab crap that is doled out to the uncultured masses. Oh, the humanity. Give me a damn break. If you started writing just to make cash, or your only goal is to make money, then you never had any artistic integrity in the first place. Much less the right to lambaste someone who is successful, while you’re not.

There is no magic genre, no easy, sure-fire way to pen a bestseller, and no way you’ll ever get anywhere yourself by bitching about what others read or write. If you love what you’re doing, then you’ll do it, regardless of its popularity. You’ll do it because that novel has to be excised from your brain before it drives you mad.

I’ve said that some of this negativity stems from jealousy. Some writers have vehemently denied this. Okay, fine. Then stop whining, and start writing. Stop reading her material if it bothers you that much. She’s living her dream, just like so many of us wish we could.

Does books like Fifty Shades water down literature, and make it easier for less than sterling works to get published? Nope. Listen, badly written books have been getting published, and making millions, for years. This is nothing new (Dan Brown or Stephanie Meyer, anyone?). It’s like claiming that people will soon no longer communicate in coherent sentences due to texting or Twitter. It’s a dumb assumption, and one typically stated by self-styled intelligentsia.

I could name several books I’ve read over the years that I thought were rather poor. Some infuriated me with their weak prose and weaker plot, at the time. Now, I simply stop reading such books if I’m not hooked within the first thirty pages. And that’s being generous. Now I have an idea of what agents and editors experience when they have to sift through poor material. There’s always plenty of other books to read, you know.

Writing isn’t a pissing contest. Your only competition is yourself. Rather than waste time comparing your work to E.L. James’s (favorably or unfavorably), rather than mock her fans and post memes about how bad her prose is, imagine how much writing you could have gotten done. How many good books you could have read. Instead of posting a one-star review of her work and writing up a gleeful takedown of everything you hate about her book, write a good review for someone’s novel that you did enjoy. Negativity gets you nowhere. It’s not healthy, it’s not mature, and it certainly isn’t going to hurt James’s sales. I doubt if she gives a rat’s ass what people think, and if I had sold 100 million books, I wouldn’t give a damn, either. Neither would you.

Now go read some kickass fiction that leaves you speechless. Write some of your own. That’s what you should be talking about.
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