I discovered two of my favorite stories in this anthology. George R. R. Martin's "Sandkings" is my favorite short story of all time. It won the Nebula and is one of the most tightly written stories out there. The main character, Simon Kress, is a real jerk who treats everything with utter cruelty. He's looking for a new pet, and finds an insect-like lifeform called a Sandking. Sandkings literally worship their owners, but what happens when their owner is a cruel and sadistic god? That's what "Sandkings" explores.
The other story that really stood out for me is "Second Variety" by Philip K. Dick. It's an exciting story about a war in which humans invented robots that would end the war forever. But what happens when the robots improve and reproduce themselves? It's a probing question about where technology is taking us and human nature.
There are other strong stories in here: "Enemy Mine" by Barry Longyear was truly poignant; "We Can Remember It For You Wholesale," by Philip K. Dick was the basis for _Total Recall_; and I would have LOVED "Herbert West--Reanimator" by Lovecraft if it wasn't for the constant recapping of the previous sections of the stories (that was probably due to the piece being published in serial fashion, but it's annoying when read straight through).
Then there were the duds. "Amanda and The Alien," though cute, really does nothing for me. Doesn't have a strong, poignant theme. "The Forbidden," basis for _Candyman_ had a great ending, but took so long getting there it didn't really matter. And I was very dissapointed with "Nightflyer"--doubly disappointed sicne George R. R. Martin is my favorite writer.
All in all, there wer more good stories than bad, which I guess is all you can ask for when reading a collection like this that encompasses a large variety of works. And if you're trying to learn to write speculative fiction, this is a good place to study different story constructions and techniques. Recommended.
But it was, nonetheless, a great collection.
Mimic was short, but interesting.
Second Variety was cool, even if it wasn't really surprising and had a cheat ending.
Amanda and the Alien was better then the movie, but that doesn't say much.
Sandkings is a stroy by one of my favorite writers George R R Martin, and was the scariest thing I've ever read.
We Can remember it for you wholesale was very cool, and very different from Total Recall, too.
Enemy Mine was prety cute, if obvious.
Air Raid was intriguing but not all that unique, reminded me a little of stephen King's The Drawing of the three.
Johnny Menemonic, by william gobson, was terrible, boring and totally uncomprihensible.
The forbidden was Ok, not great.
Martin's second entry, Nightflyers, was extreamly cool, almost as good as his first, defnetly a classic, even if it was a little similar to 2001.
So go buy it, 'Sandkings', 'We can Remember it for you' and 'Nightflyers' each is worth the price of the book alone.
This is a reprint of one published a little more than a hundred years ago, and is most definitely not a "kook book." The author, Mr. Martin, writes a very good description of the nature and significance of Tesla's work up to about 1895. The second part of the book consists of reprints of lectures delivered by Tesla, apparently written by the great man himself. The book contains many good diagrams and illustrations.
Both parts have the expected "old-fashioned" feel, but the book gives us a chance to compare Tesla's writing style with that of a contemporary. My own impression is that Tesla's writing style is fairly good as well as interesting, though perhaps even more florid than customary during that age. The book is rather long, and I would venture only two types are likely to read it in entirety: 1) historians of science, and 2) the Tesla sycophants.
When the book was originally published Tesla was at the height of his powers. About that time his assertions started to become more and more grandiose, if not fantastic. Following the debacle of his "world wireless power transmission" scheme (just prior to WWI), his reputation suffered. Although he lived until 1941, in later life he tended to be increasingly seen as an eccentric loner and kook. He died in loneliness and poverty.
OK, so why does a "kook" label tend stick to anyone who has more than passing interest in Tesla? The first reason is, of course, the fantastic and eccentric claims Tesla made late in life. But by itself this is not enough - after all, even the great Newton dabbled in alchemy and the Book of Revelations late in life. To the first reason must be added a second: a "conspiracy" cult has grown around Tesla; cultists explain all his failing not as personal failings, but as due to a conspiracy against the man. In short, Tesla has been turned into a messianic figure, and scientists are not comfortable with this image.
This is not about his life and times, and how this genius could understand the mysteries of electromagnestism but could not help himself when it comes to battling corporations represented by lawyers of JP Morgan. It may seem outdated, since the work was published in the 1890s. But nowhere can you find a book that will explain more about the foundations of his technical and scientific work.
What both Berger and the previous reviewer seem to miss is the multiplicity in Eakins' work. This was an artist working at a liminal period, when images of men, whether clothed sportsmen or nudes, could embody both virility and erotic appeal. Previous American artists failed to realize the erotic possibilities of their frontier heroes, while 20th century painters chose either to emphasize eroticism (as in Cadmus and later, even more blatant, gay artists) or athletic heroism (consider here Leroy Neiman, or other artists of sport usually consigned to the "kitsch" brigade). Eakins did not work in an innocent time, nor did he possess an innocent eye; nonetheless his paintings, through their rigorously scientific realism and embrace of a physical ethic, were marginally acceptable to the guardians of public decency. It is fitting that Eakins would eventually land in hot water for exposing a male model to female students: his erotic attitude lay somewhere in the borderlands between idealization of the athletic male and celebration of the discerning female.
Berger's volume opens an important discussion, long resigned to platitudes, regarding Eakins' attitudes toward the male nude and toward masculinity. Nonetheless, his analysis leaves much to be desired.
In the introduction, Berger wisely informs the reader that this book is "neither a biography nor a standard art historical study." It is, instead a "cultural art history" which explores "Eakins's art in fashioning manhood for both the painter and his white, middle class contemporaries." According to Berger, Eakins's paintings "do not merely reflect cultural concerns, but are engaged in both legitimating and forming conceptions of Victorian manhood." This is intriguing because, Berger writes, "Eakins's images of men" are "characterized by physical activity, mental engagement, and nudity." Assuming that there is some broader cultural significance to these images, what do they tell us about late-19th century American society? In Berger's view: "On the simplest level, Eakins's athletic canvases offer symbolic reassurance by linking the artist to a series of unimpeachably masculine characters and professions." Berger explains that "the manliness of Eakins's athletes was a function not simply of their participation in sports, but also of their success, modernity, and 'whiteness.'"
According to Berger, "most critics faulted Eakins's monumental Gross Clinic of 1875...for the violence of its realism." Berger observes, however, that, after 1900, "critics began consistently to interpret the artist's bluntness as a strength." What purpose was served by Eakins's severe realism? Berger writes: "In the aftermath of the Civil War, questions of gendered identity gained ascendance as white, middle-class men struggled against sweeping national transformations." Berger explains that, in the 19th century, and especially during the great and radical economic changes after the Civil War, "middle-class men "took their social identity largely from their success or failure at work." Eakins's paintings of men at work (and play) were efforts to provide insights into their social identities. In The Champion, Single Sculls, according to Berger, Eakins seeks to convey the fact that competitive rowing's development was encouraged by the industrial revolution, and this explains why the sculler is depicted against a background containing railroad bridges, a train, and a steamboat. In The Biglin Brothers Turning the Stake Boat, according to Berger, "Eakins "points to rowing's reliance on both physical and mental skills." Berger concludes his chapter entitled "Manly Associations" by writing: "By judiciously negotiating a path through the conflicted demands of Gilded Age masculinity, [Eakins] offered images of athletes that reassured middle-class American men about their masculine identities."
Eakins completed only 14 canvases depicting nudes or scantily-clad figures, but, according to Berger, "it is for his depiction of naked men that the artist is most frequently remembered today." In fact, Berger writes, "[w]hile Victorian critics could endure the exposed buttocks of the male patient in Eakins's portrayal of the Gross Clinic,...many were profoundly disturbed by his depiction of Christ's body in The Crucifixion in 1880," in which Jesus wears only a small cloth tied around his waist. According to Berger: "By illustrating nudes without narrative excuses, the painter's canvases make the case for the value of nudes in their own right." The best example of this, according to Berger is The Swimming Hole, which shows six naked men relaxing on a stone pier and cavorting in the surrounding water. According to Berger, in this painting "Eakins points subtly to the recreation available to men of the middle class,"who were permitted by the "solidifying industrial economy of late-nineteenth-century America...to acquire great wealth and so maximize their available time for play." In Berger's view: "Swimming offered a practical model for daily life. (Berger notes that the scenes depicted by Eakins's often were intensely personal, and, in several of his paintings, Eakins included a small self-portrait.) Furthermore Berger also analyzes at length Eakins's boxing painting Salutat, in which a victorious boxer, shown from the rear, wearing only what we might, today, call a thong, "salutes the cheering crowd." According to Berger, this painting "visualizes the economic ties between an athlete and his patrons." In addition, Berger asserts that this painting recalls others by Eakins in which "nude figures strike poses for male onlookers who clearly value their physicality." Berger offers some fascinating and revealing insights into Eakins's artistic process: "Throughout Eakins's career, the vast majority of his paintings were preceded by fastidious preparatory drawings in which the artist would construct a horizontal grid, on which he plotted every detail of the final work." In Berger's view: "Eakins's working process embodied his scientific credentials...[and] helped shore up his masculine position by permitting him an unprecedented degree of control." Furthermore, according to the author, "Eakins made himself seem more masculine by associating himself with virile athletes and scientific craftsmen and by employing a working process with positive links to science."
It is too easy to dismiss Eakins's paintings, especially the male nudes, as erotica intended to push the envelope to the limit of the artist's day. Although Eakins frequently depicts a world which is homosocial, it is unlikely he sought only to stimulate male viewers. Berger emphasizes, for instance, that Salutat was shown at the annual exhibition of the Pennsylvania Academy of the Fine Arts, where "Eakins's canvas offered women an apparent window into the lives of their male contemporaries." And that, by analogy, clearly is Berger's main premise: The paintings of Thomas Eakins allow us, at the beginning of the 21st century, to look into the construction of white, middle-class American manhood at the end of the 19th.
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In the case of older speeches, the selection is very good, considering the restraints of time, and the readers are uniformly excellent.
As for the modern speeches, it is a marvel of technology that we can hear these speeches as delivered. It is incredible that we can hear the voice of William Jennings Bryan. I can listen to Martin Luther King's "I have a dream" a thousand times and never tire of it! How I wish I could listen to the voice of Patrick Henry! But this selection is too heavily weighted to the modern, and many of those do not deserve billing as the GREATEST speeches of ALL TIME. Also, some of the modern speeches which are included are abridged, e.g. Reagan is cut off in the middle of a sentence, while lengthy and undeserving speeches are played out in their entirety.
Also, with only a few exceptions, the selection is almost entirely American. It is hard to understand why Jimmy Carter's lengthy speech on energy policy is included, while Pericles' funeral oration is not; or why only a small portion of a single Winston Churchill speech is included; why while Bill Clinton's complete 1993 pulpit address, in excess of 20 minutes, is included.
It would be helpful if the complete list of speeches were available to online buyers, as it would be to shoppers in a brick and mortar store.
For the first time it is actually possible to get an idea of the fornix and ventricular system from a book.
Louis wanted to be like his older brother Willie and wear long pants. He stood on shore with his mother and brother waving goodbye to his father's ship, which would be gone all summer. Willie announced he'd be in charge for that time. Louis, angered, took off on his bike, then crashed.
At the bottom of the hill, a blueberry train pulled into the station, and Louis asked his mother if he could ride it alone to Copper Creek to pick berries to sell to Hemplemiers Bakery. He planned to buy long pants with the proceeds.
After a night dreaming of dragons, black knights and gloomy dungeons, Louis set off on the train the next day by himself, with a bucket for blueberries and a lunch pail. On board, a woman asked to sit with him, and pretended to feel frightened. Louis was heartened.
The train rolled over a wooden bridge, through woods and past farms, finally stopping at Copper Creek. The woods filled with blueberry pickers. At lunchtime he ate with his train companions, but he went back to work by himself.
Louis trudged into a far part of the clearing, and began picking. He could feel something watching him. The bushes shook, and Louis whirled around to see a toddling black bear cub, not much bigger than a puppy.
Things got nastier before they got better. But readers must pick up this book to learn how Louis escaped from the mess.
Tell you what, though. This book is like a piece of fresh blueberry pie. Alyssa A. Lappen
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I agree with my fellow countryman that the reviews are not very readable (some black text over a dark brown background) but the designs are the thing that matter and they speak for themselves. It is a very cool book. If you should make a choice between Klaus' 2 books, buy them both. You will see Klaus' growth from the first book to the second, design wise....
It is to bad that evil art bases his opinion on the review (text pages. Which is not what the book is about. There aren't even that many text pages in the book. I'd say ± 90% of the book is design. And cool design it is.
I like the general concept of your book, but it seems to technical to me.
Thanks you,
Kirk