It's August Already?

August. 


It's a Miyazaki morning here on this misty Wisconsin morning. So far, it's been Kiki's Delivery Service followed by Ponyo on a Cliff by the Sea. 


The countdown for back-to-school has begun. My contract year (for which I still do not have a contract outlining my salary) begins August 26th.


As a newly-tenured professor, I will get a pay bump. One that will be completely wiped out by the new insurance co-pays and premium increases. Really happy about that.


OK I am not going to complain in this post. I am going to write about what I am looking forward to in this upcoming academic year, namely my SF lit/film course.


ENG 28(4): Science Fiction Literature and Film. Here's the course description from my 2009 syllabus:

“Commerce is our goal here at Tyrell. ‘More human than human’ is our motto.” –Dr. Eldon Tyrell Blade Runner (1982)

For almost two centuries, science fiction (or speculative fiction) has existed as a genre that explores, more than any other, the question “What if?” This course will examine what it means to be human in an engineered age—what responsibilities do we have, if any? How far will we go to push the limits of science? Is there such a thing as ‘too far’?

The consensus among SF writers and filmmakers seems to be…yes. We will spend considerable time in and out of class pondering the impact of technology on our lives—the moral, political, and social ramifications of our dependence on machines—a dependence as old as civilization itself. Some of our themes will deal with the idea of progress; industrialization (and its ancillaries: capitalism and globalization); the corporatization of society; feminism; and we will wrestle with the question of postmodernism.

I absolutely adore this course. The whole thing is centered around what it means to be human in a technological age, and it's long been my opinion is that this is the central motif in all SF lit and film. All other questions are ancillary to question "What does it mean to be human?" (I'd argue that this is the prime question for all creative human endeavors--that those who create are seeking answers to this question.)

The course starts with Frankenstein (the novel, then James Whale's 1931 adaptation), progresses to Metropolis (1927, Fritz Lang), Asimov's I, Robot stories ("Robbie" "Escape!" and "Evidence"), watch I, Robot (2004, Alex Proyas) and round out the first half of the semester with Vonnegut's Player Piano. I love that I get to mess around with critiquing capitalism. It's one of the things that makes this class so much fun.

The second half of the semester is devoted to the development of cyberpunk, starting with Philip K. Dick's Do Androids Dream of Electric Sheep? and Ridley Scott's Blade Runner (1982) which is one of my favorite films of all time. We read C.L. Moore's 1944 novella No Woman Born, which slots in really well with Frankenstein and the Prometheus idea. We do James Tiptree, Jr.'s "The Girl Who Was Plugged In" and I wish to heaven I had time to show and discuss Avatar (2009). I have them read three stories out of William Gibson's only short story collection Burning Chrome ("Johnny Mnemonic" "The New Rose Hotel" and "Burning Chrome") because I found in 2007 that we didn't have time to properly examine Neuromancer (1984). We finish out the semester with Ghost in the Shell (1995) and The Matrix (1999).

I could do an entire course devoted to cyberpunk, and I think that the next time I teach SF lit (Fall 2013) that's what the course is going to have as its prime focus. There are so many stories (Bruce Sterling, Lester del Rey, Neal Stephenson, etc.) and films (Akira, Terminator / Terminator 2, etc) that I simply don't have time but would love to teach that I think it's time to re-jigger the course again. As I'm teaching it this semester, I'm going to plan for the next time instead of leaving it go.


And don't get me started on steampunk...I know, I know, I'm way behind on my book reviews. Stay tuned...

Mental Health Break

I came home on Wednesday night from a long day of classes and a presentation/interview/dinner with a candidate for an open position on our campus. Hubby was waiting for me with a glass of wine and an announcement:

"We are going to Chicago on Friday. You need a break from all this mess and we have a place to stay and there is fun to be had. So we're going, and don't argue."

We left early Friday afternoon to drop the Things off with Hubby's parents, because we needed to be in the city by 7:00 for the show.

On the way down, I flipped off the "Wisconsin is Open for Business" billboard. 

It was raining like crazy, and traffic (as usual) was awful as soon as we hit Touhy Avenue on 1-94E. Stop and go...so we were late, but hadn't missed the start of the show. 


It was interesting--the "Stella!" yelling contest was entertaining too--and I got to define "eructation" for the entire audience. The best part came afterward.


While chatting on the settee with Mimi, I was approached by a nice gentleman who complimented me on my helpful definition--and asked if I was a professor. I said yes, and he exclaimed "That's awesome!" and expressed concern when he found out that I teach in Wisconsin.

Mimi and I continued our conversation, and she remarked how wonderful it is that I'm a teacher--especially given what's going on in Wisconsin (and nationally). Later in the evening, as we shouted over drinks and food at the Haymarket brewpub both Mimi and Greta had lots of kind things to say, and Dominique asked lots of questions about what I teach (Hubby had told them earlier that I teach science fiction--the next NGR is a science fiction show for which I will be unable to attend, as I'll be at a conference giving a paper on SF author William Gibson).


As I sat there bathed in the warm glow of my martini and their admiration for the work that I do, I thought, "I wish I could share this with my friends, my colleagues who are feeling beleaguered and demoralized by the events in Wisconsin and Ohio--my home state--and who need to know that people care."


So this is me, telling all of you: PEOPLE CARE. They care a lot--the talk was impassioned and very anti-Walker, and they expressed admiration for the protests and the people who continued to peaceably assemble and assert their right to petition for redress of grievances.

I wobbled out of the bar feeling better than I have in weeks. And not due to the alcohol (though maybe it helped a little). People care. Maybe there's hope for the future.

A New Year

I am writing this from my "office" in the basement of the tiny house I share with my husband, Thing One and Thing Two, and three cats. Beside me is an oil radiator valiantly attempting to dispel the chill, as the basement is uninsulated and it's 9 degrees outside. In the next room roars the water heater as it works to heat yet another tank (I took a leisurely shower before coming down here--not smart, as my wet hair provides me with a nice chill). The washer and dryer hum and tumble, and I am feeling not unlike the jeans swirling through the heated air--jumbled and rumbled and in desperate need of someone or something to help me get straightened out.

My tenure promotion dossier is nearly complete. What I call my "back brain" (the part that continues to work on problems even when I am not conscious) has been busily organizing my ideas for the article/presentation I am writing on William Gibson's "Bigend" trilogy (Pattern Recognition, Spook Country, Zero History). It has also been working on my self-assessment (limit of 10 pages, single-spaced). While I was in the shower, it was processing the New Yorker article on CD Wright's latest book of poetry, and started suggesting controlling ideas for chapbooks (at the forefront is a series about my father, with whom I have not spoken in nearly 10 years). There is so much going on in my head that I am having trouble just getting started. I suppose just writing this all down is as good a way to start as any.

I want to write about how I'm starting this year with a renewed sense of purpose, and I'm sure at some level it's true, but what I really feel most clearly right now is a deep and abiding Dread. And yes, that's Dread in the Existential sense. Not quite the Kierkegaardian sense--that I fear failing my responsibilities to God--although I suppose were I to substitute "Department Executive Committee" for "God" that would be something approximating the truth. It's more along the lines of a sense that if I fail at this--an endeavor that has lasted for more 15 years--what am I?

I am still a mother. I am still a wife. I am still a daughter and sister and cousin and friend. No matter what--even in death (and may that be a long way off), I will be all these things.

I have defined myself for two decades as an academic--even at my corporate job, one of the Managing Directors nicknamed me (affectionately) "Professor". I have known that I was meant to teach. My students can sense it--even the ones who don't like my subject--and probably the most common comment out of 8 years' worth of student surveys is some variation of "She's so enthusiastic!" 

I love this life, and the thought that I might lose it fills me with a very strong desire to curl up in a fetal ball under my desk. 

To date I have resisted that urge--I have been sending work out into the World and I have worked hard to keep doing it despite consistently being rejected (which is partly the reason I didn't send my work out in previous years: like most people, I fear rejection). I wasted $25 to have an editor read my chapbook and tell me "I can't use your ms" and nothing else--nothing that might have helped me understand what she thought was wrong with it. I have spent more money entering chapbook contests only to get form rejections back. I have entered contests with high hopes for my best work, only to get a form rejection, then read the "winning" entries and be unable (not unwilling) to see what made them winners and mine the losers.  I have spent hours and hours on my "professional development" Fridays looking for likely markets--and have sent work that matches what those markets are looking for--only to have to sit and wait and wait to hear...nothing. And all the time adding things to my list of PD in the hope that it will be sufficient for the Executive Committee. All the while thinking of my colleague who published and presented and still perished not long after I started on the tenure track. When I asked what happened, I was told that the colleague's teaching hadn't been focused on enough to suit the department.

Up through the last 5 of the 6 years I've been on the TT, I have focused on teaching and service--to the near-exclusion of all else, and to my detriment in the eyes of my department (but not my campus)--and here I am in the last stage of my tenure bid panicking that I haven't done enough. That I'm not good enough.


Does everyone go through this?



 

Things I'm Looking Forward to Seeing/Doing

Vacation Reading List

We are in the last stage of summer, now. I can smell the "end" in the air: a mix of freshly-cut alfalfa, liquefied manure spread on shorn fields, and the mist of mosquito spray...

I am gathering up my books and papers to take to the cottage in far northern Wisconsin, and for the sake of my marriage, I am not taking anything post-apocalyptic. Hubby says it's making me a bit ... shall we say, nuts. I read Paolo Bacigalupi's most recent book Ship Breaker, as well as The Windup Girl. Both are set in a near-future where there's very little food and the gap between rich and poor has widened even further (in the case of the former), and where what food there is has been genetically engineered by huge megacorps that have in turn spawned unstoppable mega-bugs that kill off the crops and cause mass famine (in the case of the latter). Coming as this does on the heels of my teaching Food, Inc.and Michael Pollan's The Omnivore's Dilemma, I'd say that Bacigalupi has hit the right nerve. I now have nightmares about our garden getting fungus and giant bugs.

So my vacation reading list:

• Dracula Bram Stoker (re-read)
• Snow Crash Neal Stephenson (re-read)
• The Anubis Gates Tim Powers (re-read)
• In Defense of Food Michael Pollan (finish for class)

Plus whatever else I can find that's halfway interesting when I finally get to BookWorld in Minocqua. If they have George Mann's new book The Osiris Ritual (steampunk), I'll be getting that. Gail Carriger's third book in the Parasol Protectorate, Blameless, doesn't come out until 8/31, which is inconvenient for my vacation plans. William Gibson's new book Zero History doesn't come out til September 7th so I'll have to cram that in while I'm getting the semester underway. He'll be at Borders on Michigan Ave. in Chicago on 9/17 so I'll have to see if I can get down there for that.

I'm also taking my notebooks so that I can keep scribbling ideas for my own book. I've discovered that sitting on the pontoon boat in the sun does wonders for my overall attitude about life, and when I'm in a better frame of mind, I can take my post-apocalyptic nightmares and turn them into something useful.

My protagonist has a name and I'm beginning to get the history together. In spite of having my chapbook summarily rejected last week, I'm feeling pretty good about my prospects for getting some work out there, and even though I've overloaded my brain with dystopic visions of the future (again), I'm feeling hopeful that we'll find a way out of the mess. The involuntary media-fast I'll be on (no cable, no internet, spotty phone service) means that I'll be able to focus without getting angry at the BS that currently passes for new-media journalism coverage of climate change, the oil spill, wheat shortages in Russia, and the Tea Party's unsurpassed arrogance and stupidity.


Be well, my friends.