reading

The always-entertaining Strange Maps posted a spiffy entry about a 2005 map that shows how to duplicate Phileas Fogg’s Around the World feat in only 42 days. Jules Verne would be thrilled, I bet.

It’s still possible to travel around the world without airborne transportation, of course. And here also the travel times have greatly diminished since Phileas Fogg’s era. This map is a proposal for a round the world trip, only travelling by boat and train (as Fogg did), starting at and ending in New York. The trip would only take 42 days.

See “309 - Around the World at Twice the Speed of Fogg”.

Also, a belated happy birthday to HG Wells, who turned 142 on Sunday.

One must assume a towel or towels will be making appearances in the increasingly unwritten-by-Douglas-Adams Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy. Linked to already today by the entirety of Geekdom was this Guardian story, “Eoin Colfer to write sixth Hitchhiker’s Guide book”.

Douglas Adams’s increasingly inaccurately named Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy trilogy is to be extended to six titles, after Adams’s widow Jane Belson sanctioned a project which will see children’s author Eoin Colfer taking up the story.

Spoiler alert for the already-published fifth book in the next quoted paragraph. However, if you have not read it, you should probably turn in your geek card to the appropriate authorities.

And Another Thing… by Colfer, whose involvement with the project was personally requested by Belson, will be published next October by Penguin. No information has yet emerged about the plot of the novel but Hitchhiker fans will be hoping for a resurrection of much-loved characters Arthur Dent, Trillian and Ford Prefect, who were all apparently blown to smithereens at the end of the fifth novel, Mostly Harmless.

Why am I suddenly suspicious Douglas Adams has been dead these seven years only for tax purposes?

Anyhow, Eoin “It’s pronounced Owen!” Colfer (website) is Irish, so he has that going for him, but is also reportedly a megabestselling fantasist (see Artemis Fowl series) with quite a following of his own. So we shall see. He’s off to a good start saying this:

Colfer, who has been a fan of Hitchhiker since his schooldays, said being given the opportunity to continue the series was “like suddenly being offered the superpower of your choice”.

“For years I have been finishing this incredible story in my head and now I have the opportunity to do it in the real world,” he added. “It is a gift from the gods. So, thank you Thor and Odin.”

One year ago today, I wished Ray Bradbury (along with Dorothy Parker) a Happy Birthday. On October 2nd last year, Ray went to San Bernardino to speak to fans of his work at an event organized by the San Bernardino Public Library. It was originally going to be at the Feldheym Central Library downtown, but due to high demand wound up being moved to the Sturges Center for the Fine Arts down the road.

I managed to score a stand-by ticket, meaning I might or might not get in, depending on available seating. So I went to the theater, not knowing whether I’d get in, although any overflow would still be able to watch the event on projected television outside.

Dozens, seemingly hundreds of people queued up and went inside while I and others in the stand-by line stood by.

But luck was with me. I got inside. After brief remarks by various functionaries (including, if I recall, the mayor of San Bernardino). Soon enough, Mr. Bradbury came out, the lights dimmed, and he began telling stories.

The talk was the culmination of a community reading of Fahrenheit 451, a favorite of librarians and readers for over 50 years now (and yours truly for that matter), so he spoke of writing the book, of becoming a writer, of creativity. Much of what he talked about I remember reading in various books of his, but to hear it from him in person, not to mention witnessing other people hearing him, was truly a magical experience.

It had been announced that Mr. Bradbury would be signing autographs for whomever wished it, for as long as he could. Given his infirmity and age, I was frankly surprised he was going to attempt it at all.

Since virtually the entire auditorium wished it, two great queues of people formed going down both aisles of the theater; they got things a bit organized, taking a handful of people from each line, alternating back and forth. So there was this slow advancement, as the crowds watched the lucky ones at the beginning get their copies of 451 signed.

It took a long time to get to the front of the auditorium, then around to the side and up to the stage. Over the next hour or so, I texted Denyse a few times to update her on the progress.

As I finally got closer I could hear fans telling Mr. Bradbury various things as he signed, getting photographs with him. He took the time to acknowledge every one of them, especially the kids, shaking hands, replying graciously, and always signing, signing, signing. Scores of people went before me, but he was still going strong by the time I reached the stage.

I’d been running over and over in my head, anxious as can be, what I wanted to say to him.

It isn’t every day you meet one of your heroes. What are you supposed to say?

How are you supposed to encapsulate decades of joy and profound influence into 15 seconds of prattle? How do you summarize how much he influenced you, both to become a writer and to keep writing?

I handed my copy of Dandelion Wine to the attendant (in my nervous haste to get there, the only volume among the several of his books I own that I could find) and snapped the above picture. I told him hello, which he returned as he smoothed the book out to sign.

What did I say to him as we shook hands afterwards?

“Thank you so much, sir, for everything.”

He brought his other hand on top of mine, “Thank you,” he said with heartfelt emotion. “Thank you.”

As I left the theater, he was still at it with dozens of people waiting their turn.

I’ll bet he got through every last one of them.

Ever since, I had intended to pick out a few of the pictures, write a few things, and post this very entry. But whenever I came to do it, I just couldn’t. I’m not sure why.

I think it was a version of that sense of profundity I mentioned earlier. The moment was too special to grasp quite yet. Months passed.

Then on my calendar this week I noticed it was again Mr. Bradbury’s (and Mrs. Parker’s) birthday on the 22nd. A perfect moment.

So, on this August 22nd, Happy Birthday to Ray Bradbury!

Thank you so much, sir, for everything.

John Steinbeck’s In Dubious Battle is a novel describing the Great Cotton Strike of 1933 by farm workers in the California Central Valley. I’ve not read it, but it has been criticized at times for the author’s choice to focus almost exclusively on white Okies rather than the Mexicans who formed three-fourths of the workers in the real event.

The Village Voice has an article by Tony Ortega, who began researching the question at the behest of his mentor, novelist Louis Owens. As he digs deeper, Ortega is stunned to realize that members of his own family, still living, were there during the historical strike.

It was in the small farm town of Pixley, for example, about two weeks into the shutdown, that the most harrowing event of the strike occurred. The organizers, who included a man named Pat Chambers and a woman named Carolyn Decker, had called for a meeting at a hall in town. So many strikers showed up, however, that many were unable to get inside. As the crowd tried to get word of what was going on in the meeting, someone managed to snap a couple of stunning photographs: About a dozen farmers with rifles in their hands were sneaking up on the Mexican workers.

The farmers opened fire on the unarmed crowd. Miraculously, only two men were killed; several other people were injured, including a woman. The gunmen then jumped into their cars and sped away, but were almost immediately pulled over by California Highway Patrol officers who had actually witnessed the attack (the farmers’ weapons were literally still smoking). The officers took the rifles and then told the men to go on home.

Read “Louis Owens and John Steinbeck’s Ghosts”, by Tony Ortega.

(Found via “John Steinbeck’s migrant workers” on the LA Times’ Jacket Copy blog.)

So I’m cruising through my NetNewsWire feeds this morning and happen to notice that the Orwell Diaries blog name was in a different color:

That particular color indicates a feed that hasn’t been updated in a while. A smidgen perplexing, especially since I’d read today’s entry earlier this morning. Looking up at the entries list, however, revealed the issue:

So, yes, 1938 is “a while” since it was last updated. ;)