Title: Sandkings
Author: George R.R. Martin
Where I Read It: The Weird: A Compendium of Strange and Dark Stories
Simon Kress likes to collect exotic pets from different planets. At one point, he purchases insectile creatures known as sandkings. They come in four colonies – orange, red, black, and white – with each colony sharing a hive mind. The colonies can interact in various ways, including waging war, and they're capable of forming images of their owner (as if their owner is a god hovering over their world).
Simon becomes bored with them quickly. Rather than leave them to interact and flourish with minimal interference, he agitates them by withholding food and watching them fight over scraps. Then he begins to pit them against other types of creatures. He receives warnings that his behavior will end in disaster, and it does – after he horrifyingly drags down others with him, then meets a horrifying end himself, with the evidence of his cruelty staring back at him.
Even if, like me, you never got into George R.R. Martin's A Song of Ice and Fire series, you should still check out "Sandkings." It's a chilling story.
Title: The Tip-Top Club
Author: Garrison Keillor
Where I Read It: American Short Stories Since 1945
Bud Swenson is a radio personality whose show, "The Tip-Top Club," has attracted many devoted fans. From the early 1950s to Swenson's retirement in the late 1960s, his fans have been tuning in for special interest stories, gardening advice, mild congenial remarks, and overall positive feelings.
Over the course of his time on the show, Swenson speaks less and becomes merely a vessel for his audience. He seems to fade away, his personality gently but determinedly rubbed out. The audience members calling in dictate the content. What they want is camaraderie and no controversy. Swenson's personal views and character aren't important as long as he gives way to them.
However, once Swenson retires, his replacement makes waves by actually having opinions and wanting to discuss books, political issues, and other cultures. He may be open and friendly, but he's met with tremendous hostility by Swenson's fans. It isn't Swenson they miss, but a platform for themselves to showcase their own comments on the topics they prefer to discuss. How they react to this new host – with a nastiness that may seem surprising coming from people who pride themselves on being nice – reminds me of different internet subcultures. "The Tip-Top Club" has attracted the best people who naturally know what's best to put on air, and they get really angry when you don't allow them to control the content.
Showing posts with label creatures. Show all posts
Showing posts with label creatures. Show all posts
Tuesday, July 21, 2020
Friday, December 22, 2017
Week in Seven Words #375
digits
Entering numbers into a form, carefully, on a laggard computer that decides at odd moments to step out for the computer equivalent of a coffee break.
drying
Thick sheets of rain sweep past the movie theater's marquee. The lobby is stuffy and has a dusty, buttery smell.
flustered
They like improv but are also afraid of it, because it's too unpredictable. They hold back, undermining the scene, for fear of saying something unacceptably weird.
mingled
There's a lot of reassurance to be found in a shared pizza and companionable silence.
speakeasy
It's a roaring 20s theme party, where the gals show off their gams in shimmery knee-length dresses that shiver as they dance.
tied
The interviewer acts like he's trying to corral a horse. He wants the rage of denial, the flare of indignation. Followed by inevitable submission.
unicorn
Sometimes, making them laugh is as simple as holding a staring contest with the head of a unicorn.
Entering numbers into a form, carefully, on a laggard computer that decides at odd moments to step out for the computer equivalent of a coffee break.
drying
Thick sheets of rain sweep past the movie theater's marquee. The lobby is stuffy and has a dusty, buttery smell.
flustered
They like improv but are also afraid of it, because it's too unpredictable. They hold back, undermining the scene, for fear of saying something unacceptably weird.
mingled
There's a lot of reassurance to be found in a shared pizza and companionable silence.
speakeasy
It's a roaring 20s theme party, where the gals show off their gams in shimmery knee-length dresses that shiver as they dance.
tied
The interviewer acts like he's trying to corral a horse. He wants the rage of denial, the flare of indignation. Followed by inevitable submission.
unicorn
Sometimes, making them laugh is as simple as holding a staring contest with the head of a unicorn.
Friday, February 10, 2012
Week in Seven Words #105
coding
The online coding tutorial rewards you with a blue check mark on every exercise you successfully complete, and it's a good feeling to see one surface on the page, a sense of progress and mastery, even if you later realize that you have to go back to those old exercises because you've forgotten something important about the correct placement of semi-colons and the script you're trying to write isn't working anymore.
freeing
I like brainstorming on the train. The rocking motion seems to loosen things up in the mind.
impregnable
The blue doors on the school are like portals in a fortress, admitting no one. I expect that at any moment a sphinx will alight on the steps and demand an answer to a riddle in exchange for entrance.
marigold
The Shakespeare Garden is quietly alive in the winter sunlight. And on a plaque I find this passage from The Winter's Tale:
The marigold, that goes to bed wi' the sun
And with him rises weeping...
The marigold flowers are nowhere in sight; only the promise of them.
relaxed
Boats drifting by on the river. I don't need to know where they're going.
unruffled
Ducks and seagulls are scattered across the lake. When they take wing the water hardly stirs.
whimsies
Two of my favorite things are Thing 1 and Thing 2 from The Cat in the Hat.
The online coding tutorial rewards you with a blue check mark on every exercise you successfully complete, and it's a good feeling to see one surface on the page, a sense of progress and mastery, even if you later realize that you have to go back to those old exercises because you've forgotten something important about the correct placement of semi-colons and the script you're trying to write isn't working anymore.
freeing
I like brainstorming on the train. The rocking motion seems to loosen things up in the mind.
impregnable
The blue doors on the school are like portals in a fortress, admitting no one. I expect that at any moment a sphinx will alight on the steps and demand an answer to a riddle in exchange for entrance.
marigold
The Shakespeare Garden is quietly alive in the winter sunlight. And on a plaque I find this passage from The Winter's Tale:
The marigold, that goes to bed wi' the sun
And with him rises weeping...
The marigold flowers are nowhere in sight; only the promise of them.
relaxed
Boats drifting by on the river. I don't need to know where they're going.
unruffled
Ducks and seagulls are scattered across the lake. When they take wing the water hardly stirs.
whimsies
Two of my favorite things are Thing 1 and Thing 2 from The Cat in the Hat.
Wednesday, October 5, 2011
Good Short Fiction: 2 tales from The Oxford Book of Fantasy Stories
Collection: The Oxford Book of Fantasy Stories
Editor: Tom Shippey
Title: Lila the Werewolf
Author: Peter S. Beagle
Farrell, a musician living in NYC, keeps falling for women who have serious issues. His latest live-in girlfriend, Lila, is a werewolf, as he discovers after she moves in with him. At one point in the story he explains to his horrified best friend why he's still with her:
Farrell is a laidback guy who seems at ease in the presence of other people's weirdness, but his tolerance is put to the test in the story's climactic scene, where Lila (in werewolf form) goes into heat and starts roaming the city pursued by packs of male dogs. Farrell follows her to try to prevent any unfortunate liaisons, in a scene that's both hilarious and surreal. He's accompanied by Lila's formidable mother, who keeps popping in and out of taxi cabs, and he's trailed by his building's superintendent, who hopes to put an end to Lila once and for all. As for Lila herself, she's initially excited by the presence of her canine suitors, but by the end of the night her feelings turn from lust to bloodlust, and unfortunately that's when the little coddled lapdogs venture out to have their chance with her:
Owners of small dogs will not like what happens next. But even if lapdog carnage isn't your cup of tea, there's a lot to enjoy in this story, not least the author's knack for odd funny descriptions; for instance, this is what we're told about the superintendent of Farrell's apartment building: "He smelled of black friction tape and stale water" and "He roamed in the basement all day, banging on pipes and taking the elevator apart."
-------------
Title: The Silken-Swift
Author: Theodore Sturgeon
Rita is cruel and stunning; she'll toy with men, humiliate them, and dance beyond the reach of their touch or their vengeance. Barbara is "a quiet girl whose beauty was so very contained that none of it showed"; no one notices her, but she is never alone:
Del is the man who meets with both women during a night where he's preyed on and where, in a haze of anger and drink, he acts as a predator. After a certain point his perceptions are false. But matters are cleared up in the bogs, where "there was a pool of purest water, shaded by willows and wide-wondering aspens, cupped by banks of a moss most marvellously blue." The Silken-Swift, written in evocative language, addresses the concept of purity and how it's often equated with virginity. Blindness is also an important theme in this story: blindness to truth, character, and genuine beauty.
Of everyone in the story Barbara is in many ways the strongest. She isn't cruel or vengeful; she has no part in the destructive power plays that diminish the other characters, whose actions corrupt the world around them. This is why she lives on the margins of society, ignored by everyone; she offers no attraction to blinded people.
For Barbara the idea of love is receiving what the world offers (instead of seizing and conquering). Sometimes the offering is painful in the extreme. What the world offers can also be beautiful beyond measure. But can a place "without hardness or hate," as the pool in the bog is described, survive the intrusion of people?
-------------
This post has been linked to at Short Stories on Wednesday #13 over at the Breadcrumb Reads blog.
Editor: Tom Shippey
Title: Lila the Werewolf
Author: Peter S. Beagle
Farrell, a musician living in NYC, keeps falling for women who have serious issues. His latest live-in girlfriend, Lila, is a werewolf, as he discovers after she moves in with him. At one point in the story he explains to his horrified best friend why he's still with her:
"The thing is, it's still only Lila, not Lon Chaney or somebody... she's got her guitar lesson one night a week, and her pottery class one night, and she cooks eggplant maybe twice a week. She calls her mother every Friday night, and one night a month she turns into a wolf. You see what I'm getting at? It's still Lila, whatever she does, and I just can't get terribly shook about it. A little bit, sure, because what the hell. But I don't know."
Farrell is a laidback guy who seems at ease in the presence of other people's weirdness, but his tolerance is put to the test in the story's climactic scene, where Lila (in werewolf form) goes into heat and starts roaming the city pursued by packs of male dogs. Farrell follows her to try to prevent any unfortunate liaisons, in a scene that's both hilarious and surreal. He's accompanied by Lila's formidable mother, who keeps popping in and out of taxi cabs, and he's trailed by his building's superintendent, who hopes to put an end to Lila once and for all. As for Lila herself, she's initially excited by the presence of her canine suitors, but by the end of the night her feelings turn from lust to bloodlust, and unfortunately that's when the little coddled lapdogs venture out to have their chance with her:
They were small, spoiled beasts, most of them, overweight and shortwinded, and many were not young. Their owners cried unmanly pet names after them, but they waddled gallantly towards their deaths, barking promises far bigger than themselves, and none of them looked back.
Owners of small dogs will not like what happens next. But even if lapdog carnage isn't your cup of tea, there's a lot to enjoy in this story, not least the author's knack for odd funny descriptions; for instance, this is what we're told about the superintendent of Farrell's apartment building: "He smelled of black friction tape and stale water" and "He roamed in the basement all day, banging on pipes and taking the elevator apart."
-------------
Title: The Silken-Swift
Author: Theodore Sturgeon
Rita is cruel and stunning; she'll toy with men, humiliate them, and dance beyond the reach of their touch or their vengeance. Barbara is "a quiet girl whose beauty was so very contained that none of it showed"; no one notices her, but she is never alone:
... Barbara's life was very full, for she was born to receive. Others are born wishing to receive, so they wear bright masks and make attractive sounds like cicadas and operettas, so others will be forced, one way or another, to give to them. But Barbara's receptors were wide open, and always had been, so that she needed no substitute for sunlight through a tulip petal, or the sound of morning-glories climbing, or the tangy sweet smell of formic acid which is the only death cry possible to an ant, or any other of the thousand things overlooked by folk who can only wish to receive.
Del is the man who meets with both women during a night where he's preyed on and where, in a haze of anger and drink, he acts as a predator. After a certain point his perceptions are false. But matters are cleared up in the bogs, where "there was a pool of purest water, shaded by willows and wide-wondering aspens, cupped by banks of a moss most marvellously blue." The Silken-Swift, written in evocative language, addresses the concept of purity and how it's often equated with virginity. Blindness is also an important theme in this story: blindness to truth, character, and genuine beauty.
Of everyone in the story Barbara is in many ways the strongest. She isn't cruel or vengeful; she has no part in the destructive power plays that diminish the other characters, whose actions corrupt the world around them. This is why she lives on the margins of society, ignored by everyone; she offers no attraction to blinded people.
For Barbara the idea of love is receiving what the world offers (instead of seizing and conquering). Sometimes the offering is painful in the extreme. What the world offers can also be beautiful beyond measure. But can a place "without hardness or hate," as the pool in the bog is described, survive the intrusion of people?
-------------
This post has been linked to at Short Stories on Wednesday #13 over at the Breadcrumb Reads blog.
Saturday, October 16, 2010
Week in Seven Words #37
linger
Things that get put off and delayed do not go away. Why do I keep letting myself think they do? Though I turn my mind to other chores and tasks, the things I've tried to put off still sit there (I can see them out of the corner of my eye) siphoning away my concentration until at last I just have to deal with them.
neglected
I don't want a human life to go by unobserved. The people who seem invisible, unloved, and unwanted by others - I used to think they're ignored in large part out of a lack of time and willingness, also an indifference and callousness (life's busy, so much to do, can't stop to look, and are they worth it anyway?) but there's more to it than that. There's an underlying fear too, that anyone can slip through the cracks.
penne
Maybe it's the colder weather, because I get a craving for pasta this week; I like the way it bubbles in the pot, the billow of steam as I tip it into the colander, and the plentiful plate of it drenched in tomato sauce, garlic, basil and mozzarella.
phoenix
A new week, and new ideas rise out of the unceremonious ashes of old ones.
puddled
The world is overrun with cold water. Every step is a squelch, a splish, a spatter.
straining
I want them to understand. I point, repeat, stare at them with a desperate encouragement, ask questions, try to urge them out of a state of passive absorption. I wait for the light to flow into their faces, the glimmer of comprehension, that tells me they've learned - and that even if they don't grasp everything, that they want to at least struggle with the material, to lean forward in their chairs and puzzle things out, ask questions, throw suggestions out there without a fear of being wrong.
vaccine
The nurse administering the flu shot asks me if I'd like her to tell me when the needle is about to go in. I tell her it's not necessary, because I'm going to watch. Ever since I was a kid, I've never taken the suggestion to look away during a shot. Much as the sight is unappealing, if I don't look I'll tense up; maybe when I look, it feels less like something is happening to me that I have to just passively take.
Things that get put off and delayed do not go away. Why do I keep letting myself think they do? Though I turn my mind to other chores and tasks, the things I've tried to put off still sit there (I can see them out of the corner of my eye) siphoning away my concentration until at last I just have to deal with them.
neglected
I don't want a human life to go by unobserved. The people who seem invisible, unloved, and unwanted by others - I used to think they're ignored in large part out of a lack of time and willingness, also an indifference and callousness (life's busy, so much to do, can't stop to look, and are they worth it anyway?) but there's more to it than that. There's an underlying fear too, that anyone can slip through the cracks.
penne
Maybe it's the colder weather, because I get a craving for pasta this week; I like the way it bubbles in the pot, the billow of steam as I tip it into the colander, and the plentiful plate of it drenched in tomato sauce, garlic, basil and mozzarella.
phoenix
A new week, and new ideas rise out of the unceremonious ashes of old ones.
puddled
The world is overrun with cold water. Every step is a squelch, a splish, a spatter.
straining
I want them to understand. I point, repeat, stare at them with a desperate encouragement, ask questions, try to urge them out of a state of passive absorption. I wait for the light to flow into their faces, the glimmer of comprehension, that tells me they've learned - and that even if they don't grasp everything, that they want to at least struggle with the material, to lean forward in their chairs and puzzle things out, ask questions, throw suggestions out there without a fear of being wrong.
vaccine
The nurse administering the flu shot asks me if I'd like her to tell me when the needle is about to go in. I tell her it's not necessary, because I'm going to watch. Ever since I was a kid, I've never taken the suggestion to look away during a shot. Much as the sight is unappealing, if I don't look I'll tense up; maybe when I look, it feels less like something is happening to me that I have to just passively take.
Wednesday, January 27, 2010
Yonder - a video
Eerie and absorbing and delightful.
It reminded me, at some points, of Fantasia, and at other points of the animations in Monty Python's Flying Circus.
There's whimsy in it, along with beauty and mystery.
But the word "yonder" suggests distance, while I prefer to think of the sort of lovely and peculiar landscape and the creatures found in Yonder as just beneath the surface of things nearby (like opening up a dark closet, where your coat and boots are, and finding nameless colorful shape-shifters).
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