from fish to infinity

In a New York Times opinion piece, Steven Strogatz does a great job of articulating both the power and abstraction of numbers. It’s something I try to talk about in my classes — probably with less success than Strogatz. I often use the example of shepherds keeping track of how many sheep they have by creating piles of stones. The usefulness of carrying around a number, say “24,” rather than 24 stones, to express how many sheep one has is pretty self-evident. At the same time 24 applies equally well to sheep, bombs, dollars, stones, people, and more, which presents a potentially dangerous abstraction; that is, we don’t really want to treat 24 dollars the same as 24 people.

Strogatz writes about this issue and more in the article. His goal is to discuss “the elements of mathematics, from pre-school to grad school, for anyone out there who’d like to have a second chance at the subject — but this time from an adult perspective. It’s not intended to be remedial. The goal is to give you a better feeling for what math is all about and why it’s so enthralling to those who get it.”

If future installments are as well done as the first, the project will be useful for the math-interested and not.

(Thanks to Alisa for the heads up.)

green mars

After reading Red Mars, I started its sequel, Green Mars (1994), with some trepidation, having asked myself about the author (Kim Stanley Robinson): “Will he keep on demonstrating his technical and research prowess or really write a story we can dig into?” The answer is that Robinson does better in Green Mars, but that it still falls somewhere in between a geographical treatise on Mars and a good story.

My guess is that Robinson is trying to be too many things at once. Scientist, mystic, philosopher, politician, sociologist, social commentator, prophet—he attempts them all. His novel contains all the technical detail and description one could want in a book about a planet on which no one lives and about technology that doesn’t exist. He also tries to show the development of a new planetary culture and religion influenced by the environmental conditions of Mars, including the catastrophic and cold weather and the reduced gravity. At times, he espouses a utopian vision of human social life; at others, an over-riding cynicism about corporations, governments, and the money that drives them both; and, sometimes, a realist’s conception of the strengths and weaknesses of mass public movements. Psychologist is the weakest side Robinson displays, yet Green Mars manages to have a couple of relatively compelling characters, though he doesn’t develop them fully.

As a story, Green Mars is an improvement over Red Mars, but nevertheless lacks human spirit; Robinson tries to rely on how cool it is to be in the future and on a new planet. To his credit, most of the technology and the future extrapolation are within the realm of the possible, perhaps even likely, and certainly he tries not to violate any physical laws that we presently believe. Scientist is the role with which Robinson seems most at home and “hard” science fiction fans will probably love—or already have loved—these books.

other people’s lists — 2

The Best 100 Lists has an refreshingly unusual top 100 novels list and several other interesting lists—many of which need more votes to complete them. Check it out and add your voice to the lists.

Christmas 2009 — Oakland, CA

covering

In Covering: The Hidden Assault on Our Civil Rights (2006), Kenji Yoshino uses “covering” to mean the opposite of flaunting. Covering is a wide array of behaviors by individuals in a society that attempt to hide the way those people don’t conform to the “mainstream” idea of what society considers “normal” human behavior. Covering is assimilation, an often useful action in a diverse society of people trying to get along with one another.

Yoshino frames covering as part of a spectrum of oppressive behavior by dominant cultural groups, a spectrum that starts with demands to “convert,” then to “pass,” and finally to “cover.” Focusing largely on gay and lesbian identity, Yoshino traces some of the history of demands to “covert” to heterosexuality, followed by the demand to “pass” as straight, and finally, the current requirement to cover, potently symbolized by the “don’t ask, don’t tell” policy in the U.S. military. Converting is about actually becoming something different; the “converted” would actually stop being attracted to same-sex partners and be attracted exclusively to opposite-sex partners. Passing is less about actually changing your preferences; instead, it’s about pretending to be something you’re not; it’s a performance of heterosexuality. Covering is not a full on performance of straightness, but rather a not-flaunting of queerness. As I said above, covering is the opposite of flaunting.

The same spectrum of oppression works outside of hetero-normativity. For example, racial minorities in the U.S. have had a similar history, though of course passing is limited to those whose phenotype allows them to do so. Covering is much more pernicious. Witness the demand for African-American’s to wear their hair more like white or Asian hair, a demand that requires painful treatments, enormous amounts of money, and hours of regular maintenance. African-American women face especially stringent requirements for what hairstyles are acceptable, requirements that deny a rich cultural history and the physical nature of their hair. (If you haven’t seen Chris Rock’s documentary, Good Hair, on the subject, then check it out as soon as you can.) Essentially, our society asks black folks not to display their black hair, i.e., not to be so black.

As a straight, white male from an essentially middle-class background, I have to cover few, if any, of what U.S. culture considers major dimensions of identity to make myself seem “normal.” That doesn’t mean I don’t need to cover parts of myself. For a relatively mild example, I occasionally like to lick my plate, not wanting to waste the delicious sauce on the dish; however, I usually (but not always) restrain that urge in public because I don’t want people to think I’m completely uncouth or crazy. More seriously, I frequently hide my urge to cry in public. I also quite consciously dress to be taken seriously at my job, despite the fact that I would often be happier in other, less “acceptable” clothing.

I mention these examples not to trivialize the oppression that people of color, women, members of the LGBT community, and others experience, nor to make light of the strong demands that our culture makes on them to cover their individuality. Instead, I mean to emphasize that we are all required to cover in one way or another. Covering mutes our individuality by obscuring the idiosyncratic differences between us. And, as Yoshino acknowledges, this is often good because it helps the world run more smoothly. As long as people are given the choice to cover or not, Yoshino has no problem. What he objects to is forcing people to assimilate.

Yoshino’s discussion of covering is most poignant when most personal, when he describes his coming out as a gay man and then his struggle not to cover. His legal analysis brings out his training as a lawyer, which is good—and, as with much legalese, sometimes you wish he had said the same thing in a lot fewer words. At the same time, his experience as a poet and his general love of language make even the driest passages a relative joy to read. I’ve never read a more finely crafted piece of non-fiction. In this way, Yoshino is refusing to cover any of who he is—poet, lawyer, son-of-immigrants, gay man, and more—he flaunts it all. His final prediction, about the end of identity politics, seems overly optimistic, perhaps even naïve; but I believe he is true to his experience and to who he is throughout. That courage not to cover is rare and I, for one, appreciate it.

red mars

Kim Stanley Robinson spent a lot of time learning about Mars. He used that knowledge, in part, to write Red Mars (1993) and he won a Nebula award for the novel. Certainly, his research seems exhaustive and he wants you to know it. There are pages of description of the apparently massive Martian landscape. Canyons there make the Grand Canyon a tea cup. Martian mountains dwarf the Himalayas. Pretty much everything there is bigger than here. The way he talks about it, Mars would be a paradise—except that it’s cold, dry, and has almost no atmosphere. To colonize it, you’d need to send a lot of very well prepared people, mostly scientists and engineers, who could turn it into a place where regular people could live. The first 100 people would be stuck together in a harsh place for a long time, figuring out how to survive and thrive, building the infrastructure and social and political systems for a brand new world. Such a world, full of natural resources, would be a boon to an overcrowded, resource-depleted Earth. That idea would work fine (assuming you really can get people there) as long as all the people on Mars cooperate with it and cooperate with each other. But, once they’re on their way to Mars, and certainly once they’re there, those people would be a long way from Earth and have very little reason to do what they’re told.

It’s a good premise and if Robinson could get over showing off his research, it might have even been a pretty great book. As it is, he does pause now and then for long enough to explore his characters’ motivations and thoughts, but the book doesn’t really get going till it’s three-quarters over.

As I read Robinson’s novel, impressed, but bored, I kept thinking of Ender’s Game, also written by a three-named author (Orson Scott Card, 1985), also a Nebula winner, and also the first book in a trilogy. Card has said that he wrote Ender’s Game as a set up for the next book in the trilogy and I suspect the same about Robinson and Red Mars. The difference is that Ender’s Game is a good book all by itself. Maybe Nebula’s are awarded for research, but for me award-winning novels need to have it all, including a great story, written in prose that fits the content. Robinson’s prose gets the job done, but it’s nothing special and certainly his story needs some help. Just putting Mars on the screen doesn’t raise the tension or move the story.

So, now I’m left wondering what Robinson is going to do in Green Mars, the second book of the trilogy, and I’m afraid to commit to starting the book. Will he keep on demonstrating his technical and research prowess or really write a story we can dig into?

we real cool

In the preface to We Real Cool: Black Men and Masculinity (2004), bell hooks notes that “there is not even a small body of anti-patriarchal literature speaking directly to black males about what they can do to educate themselves for critical consciousness, guiding them on the path of liberation.” hooks writes the book, then, “as a black woman who cares about the plight of black men. I feel I can no longer wait for brothers to take the lead and spread the word. I have spent ten years waiting. And in those years the suffering of black men has intensified. Writing this book I hope to add my voice to the small chorus of voices speaking out on behalf of black male liberation.”

I read the book, not because I’m a black man, but to think about my African-American male students and how to help them succeed in my classes; I knew hooks would provide incisive cultural observation and a hopeful, loving message. I also read because I could, in the future, have a bi-racial child who would be considered by many to be black. I feel the need to prepare. I wanted to think about it with something beyond my own brain and the influence of those around me.

When I expressed these sentiments to my old friend, John, a parent, he said that he couldn’t help me think about having bi-racial children, but nevertheless he thought the most important thing a parent can do for a child is be present for him or her. He said that that the complications I was considering might be good to be aware of, but that ultimately the most important thing is to love your children and show them that you do. hooks says pretty much the same thing. The book is pretty critical of black men and points to better parenting as part of the solution. I can be a part of that solution in that I can hold high expectations for my children and give them the support to achieve them. I can love them and demonstrate that love consistently. Hopefully, I can also model what it means to be a man in a way that does not perpetuate all of the racist, patriarchal injustice against which hooks rails.

the eyeballing game

For the geometry/technology geek in us, there’s the eyeballing game. So far I haven’t made it to the good side of the distribution on it. (You’ll know what I’m talking about if you play.)

zodiac

A zodiac is a small, relatively high-powered, ocean-going boat, which entered the popular imagination primarily because Jacques Cousteau used them. They have a hard hull and big, soft, inflatable inner tube like sides. Zodiacs are the kind of relatively simple, fairly inexpensive, highly-effective and versatile tool that occasionally gets made and recognized. They’re fast and maneuverable and useful for getting people around quickly and easily in the ocean over fairly short distances. I rode in one in British Columbia, 17 years ago, to go whale watching; they haven’t changed a lot since then.

For Sangamon Taylor (or just S.T.), protagonist of Zodiac (Neal Stephenson, 1988) and veteran environmental activist, a zodiac is the best way around Boston, a superb tool for harassing toxic chemical producers, and a thrill a minute. In between getting drunk and sucking down large quantities of nitrous oxide, S.T. works against pollution by embarrassing corporations and politicians and, occasionally, by physically plugging industrial waste outflows, thereby at least temporarily shutting down a plant. He is well-known in environmental circles and infamous in the business world. S.T. is young and brash; when he’s working on a job and gets tired enough, he pops a couple tabs of LSD to keep him up. Regardless of his habits, he’s also pretty smart.

Zodiac is about S.T. and his investigation of and fight with one particular pollution problem. It’s told entirely from his perspective and, aside from a few side trips representative of S.T.’s somewhat distractible personality, the story stays focused and moves along well. Written by a young man about a young man, the novel has all the strengths, pleasures, and faults of young men in the U.S. It was a pleasant distraction for me, a break from more thought-provoking reading. In trying to look past the hubris and bravado, I see a lesson about the satisfaction and effectiveness of direct action in politics. What it lacks in profoundness, the book makes up for in fun.

humpty dumpty in oakland

Phillip K. Dick lived from 1928 to 1982. During his almost 54 years, he wrote 44 novels that have been published, mostly science fiction. All of Dick’s books that I’ve read are concerned with the nature of reality, how we know what reality is, and being manipulated to believe in false realities. Frequently there are more-or-less secret realities underneath or parallel to the surface reality that his books’ characters and readers take for granted.

Humpty Dumpty in Oakland was published in 1986 by the estate of Phillip K. Dick. The writing is dry. It’s one of the more matter of fact, plain spoken novels I’ve read. Its non-directed story seems to be going nowhere in a mundane, regular life kind of way. And then, near the end, our understanding of the story is severely questioned; I was left uncertain about what was true and what was fantasy, which I think is exactly what Dick wanted.

Read this book if you are a serious Dick fans or if you are from the Bay Area and enjoy recognizing your home in stories.