Return to the Abbey of St. Leibowitz

 “So it was that, after the [Flame] Deluge, the Fallout, the plagues, the madness, the confusion of tongues, the rage, there began the bloodletting of the Simplification, when remnants of mankind had torn other remnants limb from limb, killing rulers, scientists, leaders, technicians, teachers, and whatever persons the leaders of the maddened mobs said deserved death for having helped to make the Earth what it had become.”

– A Canticle for Leibowitz

Time for me to read Walter M. Miller, Jr.’s A Canticle for Leibowitz again. It’s one of the books I reach for when I need a break...from my more serious non-fiction reading, from the news, from numerous stress vectors mercilessly bearing down on what’s left of my psyche. Like many, I find diversion and solace in books, an escape so we can (hopefully) find renewed strength and get up to face our toilsome, everyday challenges in reality.

Author Umberto Eco likened books in a good library to remedies a medicine cabinet:

“We understand that it is good to have many at home rather than a few: when you want to feel better, then you go to the ‘medicine closet’ and choose a book. Not a random one, but the right book for that moment.”

One Year Later: Reading The Hobbit at Bedtime

Last year around this time I began reading The Hobbit to my then two year-old son as part of his bedtime reading routine. Mommy reads a few short children’s books while he sits in bed, then he puts his head on the pillow, cuddles with some of his plush buddies, and (sometimes reluctantly) closes his eyes to listen. The ritual usually includes him asking to see one of the fantastic Alan Lee paintings in my wonderful illustrated edition of the book.

Since starting this tradition in April 2012 we have read it four times through, and now we’re well into a fifth reading. I tried reading several other books that might lull him to sleep, including undiluted Grimm’s Fairy Tales (in which truly horrid things happen, especially to kids), but they didn’t possess the wondrous enchantment of The Hobbit or Tolkien’s melodious, often rambling writing style. Though I might try some children’s versions of Greek mythology or Aesop’s fables next time around, there’s something about Daddy reading The Hobbit that appeals to both of us. The fact that it’s viewed as Daddy’s special book to read feeds my inner geek dad; I certainly find satisfaction that it may be the first of many shared geeky interests to come.

During the course of our one-year, four-reading journey through The Hobbit I’ve gained a greater understanding of the literature and myself. Gandalf’s sometimes doddering, sometimes gentle authoritarian manner has grown on me, and I find comfort in it that Bilbo and the dwarves must have felt in his presence. I don’t much care for the Mirkwood passage, possibly feeling the dwarves’ tedium at the dark, airless atmosphere and the revulsion at the spiders and their wicked intentions. Smaug remains brilliantly evil, a true scenery-chewer, and insidious in his efforts to turn Bilbo against the dwarves by playing on greedy stereotypes. Throughout the book I more thoroughly enjoy Tolkien’s often rambling, conversational storytelling style, something I’m ruefully noticing has always crept into my own writing style since I first read the book as a boy.

Part of the fun comes from “performing” the reading. Though I don’t have individual voices for all 13 dwarves, I have voices for key characters: Bilbo’s higher, sing-song voice; Gandalf’s melodious bass and casual tempo; Thorin’s almost monotone, gruff bass; Bard’s grim baritone; Smaug’s snake-like, almost sneering voice. Gollum, of course, follows the patterns voiced by Andy Serkis in the Lord of the Rings films, at least when I’m in the mood. I’ve also learned to vary my tone and inflection to represent other character voices, such as the Elvenking’s high nasal condescending tone. Since it’s bedtime reading, I start at a fairly casual pace and take my time, lowering my voice -- sometimes even to a whisper -- should the reading go longer than 10 minutes or so, to further induce sleep from a sometimes fidgety toddler.

I did not take my toddler to see Peter Jackson’s The Hobbit: An Unexpected Journey, though I saw it twice in theaters and enjoyed it immensely as something quite different from the book. (My son might see the films when he’s old enough, though if I ever find a working VCR in the house, or find it on DVD, the Rankin/Bass animated version might be more his speed.) Despite the movie’s departure from the literature on various levels, the soundtrack captured much of the magic and mystery of Middle-earth, particularly the dwarves’ Misty Mountains song, the tune of which I’ve memorized and now sing softly when encountering the lyrics while reading The Hobbit at bedtime. In reading the book aloud I’ve found the songs remain the most difficult to parse from the printed text to spoken voice; I wish the film offered tunes for the other major verses in the novel, particularly the songs of the Rivendell elves and the goblin chants (“Down to Goblintown” and “Fifteen Birds in Five Fir Trees”).

Has reading The Hobbit kindled any interest in related geek activities for my toddler son? That’s not easy to discern. He knows Gandalf is a wizard, Smaug is a dragon, and Bilbo is a hobbit. He likes the immense, plush red dragon hanging from the ceiling of the local library’s children’s section. I’ve brought him to the friendly local game store enough times that he’s declared he wants to play games with Daddy, and we’ve engaged in some very simple games (such as a Dinosaur Train-themed chutes and ladders reskin and Steve Jackson Games’ Dino Hunt Dice…more on that in a later post); but, as I patiently explain to him, he needs to master the skills of counting and taking turns before he tries anything but the simplest of games (and he’s working on those with adequate progress).

But I see all that as part of his broad introduction to the host of subjects that interest most kids, among them dinosaurs, wild animals, aircraft, and trains (the last two being interests of his father and a pilot uncle). Bedtime reading remains only a small portion of his day filled with way too much PBS Kids television programming, library story times, programs at the local history museum, trips to the park and playground, and more toys, Hot Wheels cars, blocks, and Legos than I care to clean up….

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Inspirational Espionage Fiction

As long as I can remember I’ve had a fondness for espionage films, novels, and games. It’s not as strong as some of my other interests, but it’s a recurring theme that provides frequent satisfaction when done well. Given my interest in World War II, it’s natural I gravitate toward espionage fiction inspired by or set in that period, particularly the work of Ian Fleming, W.E.B. Griffin, and Alan Furst.

I think my first exposure to the espionage genre was a network television broadcast of a James Bond film -- I don’t quite remember which, though quite possibly it was the mediocre Diamonds Are Forever -- followed by a healthy dose television and film fare often merging espionage elements with adventurous action, like such classics as Where Eagles Dare and The Guns of Navarone, more James Bond films, and even the short-lived Tales of the Gold Monkey series. The confluence of action-adventure and espionage has in recent years manifested itself in my affinity for pulp roleplaying game projects such as Afrika Korpse for Weird War II, Pulp Egypt, and Heroes of Rura-Tonga.

While most of my gaming endeavors focused on fantasy fare like Dungeons & Dragons, dark-future like Cyberpunk, Victorian steampunk like Space 1889, and, of course, space opera like Star Wars, I’ve often dabbled in and quite enjoyed espionage-themed roleplaying games. In my earliest years in the hobby, during the “Golden Age of Roleplaying” (the early 1980s) I bought TSR’s Top Secret game because the espionage setting intrigued me and was, lamentably, one of the few roleplaying games available in the local hobby store. The next espionage game to grab my attention was Victory Games’ James Bond 007 Roleplaying Game based on the films I’d grown to love from network television and later as they were released to theaters.

It wasn’t until after I’d absorbed the espionage material in movies and games that I finally became interested in the literature. I’d already done a great deal of reading in the science fiction and fantasy genres in my younger years; my first forays into espionage literature were with what one might consider the seminal body of modern spy literature… Ian Fleming’s original James Bond novels. To those familiar with the films, the novels are quite tame in terms of action, gadgets, and other movie conventions modern viewers expect. While at first I was slightly disappointed the novels contributed only trace elements to the films, I soon found enjoyment in them primarily because they retain some authenticity of the espionage tradecraft enhanced by the (for the time) exotic locales and fantastic plot elements. Now and then I pick up a new one as a diversion from whatever I’m reading at the moment. You Only Live Twice was my most recent James Bond novel, though I’m rather fond of From Russia with Love, the film version of which still retains a good degree of the tradecraft and original story, having been filmed while Fleming was still alive and active in the James Bond franchise.

In college a writing professor encouraged me to branch out from my science fiction and fantasy fare and read some John LeCarre novels. While I enjoyed Tinker, Tailor, Soldier, Spy and The Spy Who Came in from the Cold, I realized that, without the classy sheen of glamour and attitude of James Bond, Cold War-era espionage stories really didn’t engage my imagination (possibly a by-product of having come of age during the waning years of the Cold War).

As I immersed myself in researching World War II espionage for a variety of roleplaying game projects (some as yet still unpublished) I stumbled upon the novels of W.E.B. Griffin, particularly his Men at War series -- about the OSS -- and the Honor Bound series -- about an American with Argentinean connections who works against the Nazis through the OSS. He quickly creates some engaging characters, interweaves them through relatives, friends, and social connections, and puts them through their paces in various espionage activities in World War II. His writing isn’t high, polished art -- he tends to take his time building up to the climax, which often occurs so quickly it’s almost an afterthought --  but it manages to draw readers into the characters and action. I’ve found the earliest books in each series the most entertaining and easiest to dive into.

The other espionage literature I’ve only recently discovered is Alan Furst’s novels set in the pre-war and early-war years of World War II. The two I’ve read thus far are The Spies of Warsaw and The Polish Officer. Furst tells an engaging tale, swiftly drawing readers to care for his protagonists as they struggle against the onset or arrival of war in exotic European locales, all set against the uncertain backdrop of World War II in which the participants have no knowledge how it might ultimately end. He accomplishes several literary feats with a talented author’s artistry. He quickly conveys a vivid sense of character, whether for protagonists, secondary characters, or even those with brief appearances. He effortlessly paints an impression of each location without spending far too much time on exhaustive descriptions. But perhaps the best element of his fiction is Furst’s ability to demonstrate the true tradecraft necessary of the time: dead drops, clandestine meetings with false identities, wireless telegraphy procedures, agent infiltration and exfiltration, and the nature of many covert operations against small yet significant targets. Though not as flashy as Fleming or even Griffin, Furst portrays a gritty, realistic, and dangerous world of espionage within a realistic historical context.

So how does this literary source material inform espionage roleplaying games? Fleming certainly creates the iconic classy and accomplished spy, though the books provide quite an interesting insight into his inner character the films cannot. He sets the groundwork for the modern spy genre by emphasizing exotic locales, cutting-edge technology (for its day), and larger-than-life characters. Griffin emphasizes social contacts to navigate an espionage organizations inner bureaucracy as well as operations in the field. Furst offers an illustration of front-line espionage operations complete with artfully drawn characters and locations. All three demonstrate practical tradecraft for their time, though perhaps Furst does this best in numerous yet concise little episodes.

I’ve done some game work in the past with World War II espionage, notably elements of my Weird War II Afrika Korpse sourcebook, elements of Pulp Egypt and Heroes of Rura-Tonga, and some personal games using a more rigidly defined version of Risus: The Anything RPG. One of these days I’d love to develop an espionage game or sourcebook based on operations during World War II, possibly with alternatives for running a straight historically inspired game or one infused with fantastic pulp elements to augment history. Given the simple historical scope of the period and material such a project would remain a massive endeavor, but one which taps my enthusiasm.

The Hobbit as Fantasy Resource

I’ve finished reading J.R.R. Tolkien’s classic The Hobbit to my toddler son -- for the second time -- as part of his bedtime routine. Over the course of two recent readings I’ve realized how many traditional fantasy roleplaying game elements emerge from this particular classic, a far more concise and straightforward vision of Tolkien’s Middle-earth setting than his other works.

Certainly inspiration for fantasy roleplaying games existed well before The Hobbit’s publication in 1937. Tolkien drew on a rich heritage of European folktales that still permeates much of Western collective consciousness. My examination of The Hobbit’s inspiration isn’t meant to challenge the efficacy of Appendix N of the Advanced Dungeons & Dragons Dungeon Masters Guide, or its equivalent “Inspiration Source Material” list in my beloved Moldvay-edition Basic Dungeons & Dragons rulebook through which many entered the hobby in the early 1980s (arguably the “Golden Age of Roleplaying”). Many sources influenced Gygax, Arneson, and their contemporaries who forged early concepts of roleplaying games. The Hobbit seems to have earned a place in mainstream fantasy literature as both an accessible and culturally ubiquitous work compared to other stories.

The Hobbit reinforces certain literary themes and illustrates them in one of the earliest and most popular medieval-fantasy settings. Thorin and company embark on a quest typical of many launched in past folklore and literature. Individual episodes lead across a greater story arc toward the ultimate goal, with heroes facing and overcoming challenges and ultimately evolving over the course of the journey. Themes of good versus evil, suspicion of others, and the overarching theme of treasure-inspired greed (felt by nearly everyone, from Thorin and the dwarves to the Elvenking, the Master of Lake-town, the goblin and warg army, and even Bard on some levels) also blanket the book.

But in reading The Hobbit one cannot fail to see core stereotypes beyond the basic literary tropes, elements now taken for granted in fantasy roleplaying games:

Fantasy Races: Arguably the stereotypical fantasy races of elves and dwarves have existed in various forms throughout European folklore, though Tolkien refines these for a medieval fantasy setting with specific examples within the depth of the novel. He reinforces such stereotypes as elves as nature-loving, graceful creatures and dwarves as greedy, conspiratorial warriors concerned only with honor and treasure. Perhaps Tolkien’s greatest contribution is that of hobbits, or “halfling” as translated to a more generic, non-copyright-infringing term. Although he establishes a very particular, cozy vision of hobbits, Tolkien offers up an entirely new “little race” fantasy roleplaying has embellished into a more generic adventurer type on equal footing with elves and dwarves.

Maps: Not only does The Hobbit use maps to orient readers to a strange new fantasy world and enable them to follow Thorin and company’s progress across “Wilderland,” but a map with magical moon letters forms the focus of the quest and the essential clue to opening the secret door leading to the dragon’s hoard. I’m no expert on fantasy literature, so I can’t say whether earlier works of medieval fantasy included maps that have, since The Hobbit, become almost required for any such novel creating a new world. While the dungeon map remains a unique byproduct of hack-and-slash roleplaying games, wilderness maps form the basis for many game settings, from Greyhawk to the Forgotten Realms and beyond.

Enchantment: Magic items have a long provenance in mythology, but Tolkien takes them one step further, putting them in the hands of more mundane heroes like Bilbo Baggins (though more heroic figures like Thorin and Gandalf use them, too). Numerous scenes in The Hobbit illustrate how such enchanted items operate, both their inherent magical qualities (the elven swords’ glow in the presence of goblins) and their secondary effects (fueling the goblins’ rage at seeing elven weapons). Enchantments aren’t simply tied to items like swords and rings, but to places as well; Elrond’s home at Rivendell and Beorn’s house seem to have restorative qualities for those staying there, and the infamous stream in Mirkwood befuddles those exposed to its waters with forgetfulness and weariness.

Treasure: Apart from the magical treasure Thorin and company discover along the way to the Lonely Mountain, the acquisition of the dragon’s hoard and the subsequent bickering over it between the dwarves, elves, and men reinforces the book’s theme of greed and provides a launching point for the importance of treasure and its equitable division in roleplaying games. Several iconic pieces of artwork (at least from the Moldvay-edition of the Basic/Expert Dungeons & Dragons rules) illustrate this concept of characters bickering over treasure; though it isn’t written into the rules, such disputes have no doubt fueled inter-character (and possibly inter-player) feuds at the gaming table.

Given how Tolkien drew on familiar European myth and folklore it’s no surprise he uses many elements fantasy roleplaying games adopted from those sources in different forms: not-so-powerful magic-users as Gandalf (though, technically, Gandalf is far more of a wizard in the greater Middle-earth setting); a party of adventurers going on a quest; and the bevy of monsters including goblins, spiders, dragons, were-bears, giants, and trolls (though more the Scandinavian type than the gangly, regenerating D&D type). The line between what Tolkien used from the collective consciousness of Western folklore and original elements that ultimately found their way into fantasy roleplaying games is, admittedly, quite gray and blurred; but The Hobbit developed key tropes that ultimately influenced adventure gaming and still informs it today. The novel continues serving as a gateway into fantasy literature and thus fantasy roleplaying games.

Gamification & Summer Reading Programs

Gaming and libraries luminary Professor Scott Nicholson of Syracuse University's School of Information Studies has recently been exploring and discussing “gamification” -- “the use of game design elements in non-game contexts” -- especially its relation to increasing usage of library services. His musings on the subject come at a time when I, as a parent and gamer, am finishing up my son’s first public library summer reading program. I admire Nicholson’s examination of the subject -- I follow his scholarly activities about gaming as part of a self-edification kick and because the intersection of gaming and other elements of society interests me -- and while I agree with his general theory that gamification alone doesn’t guarantee development of an independent motivation and interest in a rewarded behavior, I myself haven’t seen overuse of gamification to boost participation in programs at my own local public library.

I think public library summer reading programs strike a balance between far too much gamification of library services and making an honest and effective effort to keep kids reading outside the school year. No matter how many “prizes” libraries offer for children reading a certain number of books, I’d wager such programs mostly attract kids whose parents take an active part in their education and have already instilled in them some affinity for recreational reading. (I have no hard-and-fast data to support it, though I’d love to see some from the ALA or scholars like Nicholson; I’m no librarian and I have been told in no uncertain terms that without an MLS I shouldn’t even consider applying for a part-time library job, so  my opinion on this matter carries little weight.) At least in suburban and rural areas without decent public transportation kids participating in the program need parents or guardians to drive them to libraries to sign-up, select books, participate in events, and redeem their rewards. Participating in library programs that interest me and my family remains the true prize (as Nicholson has pointed out in some discussions), and one not viewed as a reward for participation but as part of our own worthwhile self-edification.

Lifelong Interest in Reading

I myself don’t recall participating much in summer reading programs as a kid, and had (and continue to have) a love/hate relationship with public libraries. Yet I still have a hearty appetite for books across the fiction and non-fiction landscape.

I have one memory that stands out. When I was a kid the local library summer reading program offered a free poster with great Dragonriders of Pern artwork to kids in my age group who read a certain number of books. All the neighborhood kids loved fantasy (I can’t recall if we’d discovered Dungeons & Dragons yet). One kid I knew boasted he’d get his mother to sign off that he’d read the required number of books just so he could get the poster without much effort (I have no idea if he actually read any books or simply carried out his scheme). To me this exemplifies the ineffectiveness of “gamification” of such library programs (at least for children) and reinforces that its effectiveness lies with parents.

I’ve been a voracious reader most of my life, so I really never felt the need to be driven to read by library summer reading programs. I was terribly proud the summer of 1977 when I finished reading my first “novel” in a week, the novelization of Star Wars. Let’s face it, this young geek spent the summer before his senior year in high school consuming every Larry Niven and Michael Moorcock paperback he could get his hands on and then some -- probably a book each week all summer long -- without any summer reading program incentive.

The Little Guy’s Experience

I registered the Little Guy for the local library’s summer reading program despite my skepticism…kids his age had to “read” 20 books to fulfill the requirements for receiving prizes. My wife and I regularly read to the Little Guy every night as part of his bedtime routine, and we have a variable but standard litany of titles to choose from, usually ending with Teddy Jam’s Night Cars, which we find far more lyrically hypnotic and engaging than Goodnight Moon. So we logged in the titles as we read them, often seven or eight a night, and didn’t note how many times we read them. We signed up in mid-June with a deadline of July 29; after a month we’d read 25 different books.

After a summer storytime session we stopped by the summer reading program table where a young teen fellow (heck, he called me “sir”) checked the list and loaded us up with prizes: a summer reading certificate, a star on which we wrote his name to paste to the bulletin board (the Little Guy was upset because he wanted to keep the star…), a plastic bracelet that’s too big for him, and wads of summer reading program-themed stickers, coupons, a ticket to the “after party” for the program, and a free book. Let’s face it, my two year-old toddler doesn’t really care about the coupons for free chicken nuggets, Italian ices, and curly fries (though ultimately he will enjoy most of those treats). He may go to but probably doesn’t care much about the ice cream party for successful participants at the program’s end (though we might see if he has a clown phobia…). He’ll lose the stickers after about a week. But the Little Guy really cares that he got a free copy of Clifford the Small Red Puppy. He also enjoys most of the events associated with the summer reading program: the goofy magic show, wild animal showcase, and participatory music program. Those and the summer storytimes go on our menu of late-morning excursions we take to get out of the house and expose him to more of the world. Those are the real rewards.

In another aspect of my fractured life I volunteer regularly at the library’s teen gaming events, hosting board games and trying to foster a sense of good sportsmanship and a positive experience. The teens for these once-monthly events -- and those at the one associated with the summer reading program since it occurs in July -- don’t have to reach goals to participate; they attend primarily because they enjoy games with their peers (and oddly enough, more play analog board games than the digital games offered). While attendance throughout the year varies due to a number of factors, it’s usually well-attended, if not packed. No gamified library incentive there other than playing games and having fun.

I’m not aware of any other library programs beyond summer reading that gamify services. The local library offers a host of resources beyond the ability to browse and check out books and other media, from children’s storytimes and teen gaming events to job search coaching, computer classes, and grant seeker training, not to mention special programs throughout the year.

The Hidden Prize: Numbers

But there’s another, hidden, gamified “prize” in library patronage. Visiting the library -- to check out books, enjoy kids’ storytimes, volunteer or play in gaming events, or enjoy other programs -- benefits the library by adding to the tally of people using its services and programs. The library’s annual budget report to the county includes numbers for usage of library services and programs; if the library can show it’s serving more people, the more it’s justified in asking for and getting a larger budget…or, in these Great Recession days, asking the county to hold the budget at previous years’ levels and not cut funding further. Additional funding circles back to benefit me and others in the community with more offerings from the library to entice us to use its services and enjoy its programs.

Like many of us, public libraries are trying to redefine themselves according to today’s constantly changing technology, balancing well-established programs with new innovations while striving to remain relevant in local communities. Gamification seems like a tempting means of drawing more patrons to use library services and thus increase numbers for the bean counters (both in library administration and local government). I’m happy to say if there’s any gamification at my local library, it’s limited to the summer reading program. I’ll continue reading to my child for as long as he’ll allow it, and plan on encouraging him to read on his own when he’s ready. If we get a few prizes for that beyond the sheer joy, knowledge, and satisfaction of reading, that’s nice, but not required.

Summer Re-Reading

Summertime brings the local public library’s inevitable Summer Reading program, with logbooks and prizes and entertaining programs for the younger ones…all intended to foster some sense that recreational reading has a place in our lives no matter our age. Many who fall into the category of adventure gamers have a love of reading that transcends incentive-based programs flogging kids to read for prizes. It reminds me of books I consider relevant classics of science fiction and fantasy that I haul out every other year or so and re-read like comfort food for the mind.

The Library of Congress recently released its list of “Books that Shaped America.” I didn’t expect to find many titles from the science fiction and fantasy genres, so I was pleasantly surprised to see two classic science fiction novels among all the fiction and non-fiction: Ray Bradbury’s Fahrenheit 451 and Robert E. Heinlein’s Stranger in a Strange Land.

One of those titles resides on my own very short list of novels I read over again periodically. Many people have favorite books they re-read now and then, in part because they offer enjoyment and because something within those tomes speaks to the frequent reader and appeals to their own character. When the Lord of the Rings films released, I recall Christopher Lee saying how he read the trilogy every year; since then I’ve noticed various other personalities have noted significant books they re-read.

I certainly don’t have time to read these once every year, but frequently enough over the years that they’ve influenced me in various ways.

The Hobbit

I discovered the J.R.R. Tolkien classic around the time the Rankin/Bass cartoon aired on television, and well before I read the thick, intimidating tomes of Lord of the Rings. With none of the overwhelming weight of the trilogy’s themes and language, The Hobbit still embodies for me qualities of the quintessential fantasy story: quest for treasure, the contented hero leaving home for unknown adventure, and a host of elves, dwarves, a wizard and a dragon. It’s written for children, though certainly in a narrative style better read aloud than to oneself (as I’m discovering slowly reading it to my toddler). On the surface it’s an enchanting fantasy story with all the expected trappings, perhaps one defining the genre like no other since Grimms Fairy Tales. On a deeper level it illustrates -- sometimes very blatantly -- how stereotypes can change (that of “burglar” and “thief” to hero), how greed, entitlement, and stubbornness lead to strife and tragedy, and how one can overcome self-doubt and temerity to rise to the occasion when the time comes. The Hobbit remains an enjoyable read that inspires the very roots of my interest in fantasy gaming.

Stranger in Strange Land

I first read Heinlein’s classic way back my senior year in high school, when I took what many considered a semester-long “fluff” English course in science fiction. For me it wasn’t “fluff” since I was already heavily immersed in science fiction novels (and gaming) and had ambitious plans to write for the genre myself (though little did I suspect those publishing endeavors wouldn’t be in novels but roleplaying games). Whether one reads it as provocative examination of human nature, society, and spirituality or simple satire on life, love, and religion, it pushes readers to think and react to themes brought to life by rich and diverse characters, many of whom politely demand our compassion and respect: what is the divine, how far do we go in standing up to the establishment, how does religion shape society, is humanity on the right path? Each time I read it something new comes to the forefront, whether the concept of divinity in all (“Thou art god.”) to the ancient Martians lurking in the background, wondering whether humanity remains worthy of existence (and humans wondering if they’re really wondering that and capable of acting on it). Reading it becomes an exercise in challenging my accepted perceptions of authority, the norm, and belief.

A Canticle for Leibowitz

Unlike Heinlein, Walter M. Miller, Jr., published only one novel in his lifetime, A Canticle for Leibowitz. I recall reading it the summer before my senior year in high school, when I tore through mass market paperbacks of science fiction and fantasy from a local bookstore whose owner made sure he stocked all the books of series or authors in whom I took interest (primarily Larry Niven and Michael Moorcock). I picked up Leibowitz for the post-apocalyptic setting; back then I lived in the waning years of the Cold War, where television movies like “The Day After” and other nuclear-war-themed post-apocalyptic fare filled the media with images of missiles raining atomic death into the lives of ordinary people. The book conveys a sometimes overwhelming pathos that, no matter what we learn from our past, we always seemed doomed to repeat it, if only with a few contextual deviations. Throughout the novel readers keep seeking hope that, maybe this time, humans can set aside their vices and selfishness and move toward something greater, the improvement and future survival of humanity; but ultimately it paints a bleak picture that humanity can’t, and won’t, change from its self-destructive tendencies, that even the influence of religious institutions cannot sway humanity from that course, though it might help in smaller ways.

Right now I’m busy reading my beautiful, illustrated edition of The Hobbit to my toddler in bits and pieces as his patience allows. Once his tolerance evaporates, it’s back to reading more toddler fare to reach our 20-book goal so the Little Guy can earn some cute prize from the Summer Reading Program….