The Names of the Stars

I've used the geocentric or Ptolemaic model of the Solar System, (with the planets visible to the naked eye) as the basis for a few posts.  

This understanding of the cosmos is also employed, with variations, by C.S. Lewis, in one place or the other (Planet Narnia was a revelation). He's not alone. Dante models his Paradise after the Solar System, though this may be less well-remembered than the layers of the Inferno. Closer to home are the crystal spheres of Spelljammer. The classes of Sidereal Exalted derive from the visible planets and their associations; the list is completed by the Lunar and Solar Exalted. The esoteric panoply of astrological and alchemical symbols are a connected part of fantasy aesthetics; e.g, the cover of A Most Thoroughly Pernicious Pamphlet. 

While the Signs of the Zodiac as we know them seem to be out of the running, astrological conventions are not unknown in fantasy. To chose a fairly mainstream example, the Birthsigns of The Elder Scrolls series of video games (which strike me as, well, thuddingly obvious - 'You were born under the Sign of the Thief, guess what you're good at'). Where Capricorn, Scorpio et al appear it tends to be in the form of a somewhat arbitrary decision; see the Twelve Colonies of Kobol. They're a 'complete set' of images and can thus be used as an (uncontroversial?) artistic motif - as in the Wisconsin State Capitol, for one. The combination of completeness and variation associated with the Zodiac when taken as a whole perhaps explains their use on the dust jackets of The Reprint Society in the 1950s (see below), unconnected to the content of the book.

Image found here. Other variations on the theme are available.

But let's set all that aside. This isn't the time to discuss the planets - or the Zodiac, or indeed any given constellation. To give the bounds of my discussion, I am looking at the names of the stars that reach us out of the distant past. As interesting as the recent decisions of the IAU may be, I shall be considering the list of names below, found in an old copy of Norton's Star Atlas (the below being the 17th Edition from 1978).

The various naming conventions of star catalogues that give us, say, α Leonis, are useful but do not concern us here. 

Where, then, do the names of the stars appear? An obvious place to start is with science fiction. The (nominally) harder sort of science fiction uses them; witness the use of Rigel, Algol or Alnitak in Star Trek, Deneb in Blake's 7, Altair in Forbidden Planet, or Sid Meier's Alpha Centauri. Of course, the rather looser Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy will also happily refer to Barnard's Star, Betelgeuse or 'an Arcturan megadonkey'. 

The use of such names is perhaps to be expected in a future history of mankind among the stars - though, in the case of sentient alien life emerging on the planets of one of these stars, the question of what name is used to refer to it would be a matter of dispute. It would be a suitable characteristic for an expansionist human star empire to apply the old Terran names of the stars - whatever the native population or a breakaway human colony think of that. 

You would expect this to come up in Warhammer 40,000. It doesn't; on second thought unsurprisingly, given the years of decay and ruin. The names of the stars do appear but as part of the lexicon of history and myth from which authors can draw names of people, places, organisations, &c: Vega, Antares, Arcturus, Sirius, Polaris, Polaris (duplication should not surprise us). A number of planets have been named for stars: Algol, Deneb - can one witness a sunset if one is standing on a star? Altair VII - presumably the seventh planet to orbit Altair - is a pleasing exception. The Imperial Stars don't have much more that a name and a colour scheme, but if anyone is going to make an army of them, I think we have a few names they can use. [Edit: Oct 2022. In Rath's Assassinorum: Kingmaker, an assassin without any particular astronomical or artistic education recognises Ursa Major from the ceilings of cathedrals, portraying the sky as seen from Holy Terra. Of course the old constellations would be a religious-artistic motif.]

Star Wars is, of course, set in a galaxy far far away, but one can't help thinking that Alderaan and Aldebaran share a certain kinship as names. Besides this, the very nature of the names of the stars gives the model of proper names - the majority of planets in Star Wars appear to have these rather than codes or catalogue-type names; Yavin 4 being an honourable exception. 

To shift genres briefly, fantasy gives us an entirely different use of the names of the stars. A number of names in Harry Potter are taken directly from the above list: Sirius, Regulus, Bellatrix - all members of the same family (names derived from constellations are among the wider family as well: Cygnus, Orion, Andromeda, Draco). The Blacks are among the older and richer families of wizarding Britain: the aristocratic pretensions of stellar, Latinate names are presumably to be contrasted with earthier, more typical names - further, these snobby, prejudiced people with the strange names aren't a bit like us and the protagonists. This isn't the sole reasons for such names, of course: Sirius is the Dog Star and, if you did not know it already, you can guess what sort of animal Sirius Black can turn into.

Weird fiction has a number of uses of the names of the stars; Carcosa, famously, is among the Hyades. Lovecraft wrote a story called 'Polaris', featuring the remote gaze of the stars on an ancient polar civilisation (as well as the sort of racial prejudice that is absolutely text rather than sub-text). More pertinent is A Voyage to Arcturus. This describes Arcturus as a double star, but it is no such thing - though this is hardly the limt of the novel's strangeness. It almost needn't have been set on Arcturus at all. However, I would note that the use of the stars as ancient (hence the deliberate use of the older names) and distant is the point. 

Martian canals were being charted by Schiaperelli in 1877 and in 1897 H.G. Wells revealed to us that Martians were blood-sucking machine-using imperialists who are vulnerable to disease (that is to say, just like Human Beings). Edison conquered Mars soon after. Later sword-and-planet fantasies like A Princess of Mars (1912) or the Northwest Smith stories of C.L. Moore (1933 onward) don't just involve journies through space but time as well. Therefore, in order to get distant, alien Weird Fiction, David Lindsay has to portray an interstellar journey, not merely an interplanetary one. 

You may be aware that A Voyage to Arcturus was an inspiration for C.S. Lewis's Cosmic Trilogy - but that these take place on the planets of our own Solar System. In such this case, the nearness of Mars (Malacandra) to Earth (Thulcandra) is no handicap: it is part of the revelations of that series that space is by no means as dark and unfriendly as the denizens of fallen, sinful Earth - the titular Silent Planet - would believe. 

Speaking of Lewis, I have highlighted above the use of Medieval cosmology in his work. As for stars, I would note the astronomy lesson of the half-dwarf tutor Doctor Cornelius given to Prince Caspian (in Chapter Four of Prince Caspian). Here they watch as 'Tarva, the Lord of Victory, salutes Alambil, the Lady of Peace.' The epithets 'Lord of Victory' and 'Lady of Peace' seems more apt for planets than the stars ('Mars, the Bringer of War', 'Mercury, the Winged Messenger') but a planet is, after all, a wandering star. (This neglects the stars in human form like Coriakin or Ramandu encountered on The Voyage of the Dawn Treader, but neither are currently being a star so I shan't discuss them).

Tolkien would place among his Valar Varda, Queen of the Stars (the subject of all those Elven songs invoking Elbereth Gilthoniel). The stars of Middle-Earth come in to being before the Sun and Moon with dews of the Silver Tree Telperion (vitally, the Elves awaken under the stars) and form Constellations similar to our own. 'Wilwarin, Telumendil, Soronúmë and Anarríma' are named by the Silmarillion. 'Menelmacar with his shining belt' is presumably Orion. Valacirca, the Sickle of the Valar, is the Plough rotated ninety degrees. 'Carnil and Luinil, Nénar and Lumbar, Alcarinquë and Elemmírë' are named as individual stars, some with distinct colours. The Tolkien Gateway cites The History of Middle-Earth to indicate that these are the planets of the Solar System, but more named stars exist: Borgil, for one - which appears to be the Red Giant Aldebaran. 

The Valar have as their responsibility Middle-Earth and indeed are based there for many ages before Valinor is lifted from Arda. In this regard, Varda's stars are not (cosmically) distant and unfeeling, but rather visible and amiable markers. One might compare them to the weathercock atop a Church spire in a nearby village: you will never touch it, but in returning from a long journey you may see it and be comforted. 

Fritz Lieber has Fafhrd and the Grey Mouser directed as to timing by their wizardly patrons in 'The Bazaar of the Bizarre' using the green star Akul - which is apparently visible even in the night sky of Lankhmar, City of Sevenscore Thousand Smokes. Perhaps it is made visible to the pair - the story does make use of wizardly enhancements of sight. 

That's been something of a digression, but I shall return to the subject at hand. Historical fiction will of course use the names of the stars, but one particular use stands out. This is the association of the people of Arabia with the stars. An early example is Lew Wallace's 1880 Ben-Hur (A Tale of the Christ). The horses of Sheik Ilderim (i.e, those used for the famous chariot race) are named for the stars: Mira, Sirius, Rigel, Antares, Aldebaran, Atair. The associations between the Arab World and astronomy can be as plain and superficial as the star and crescent symbol of Islam. A goodly number of the above names of the stars derive from Arabic - one thinks of Alnitak (al-nitaq), Megrez, or Algol (al-ghul) and the practice of Arab astronomy is witnessed by star catalogues like the Book of Fixed Stars. Ilderim in Ben-Hur explains this as the result of being in the desert at night, an explanation I recall from my schooldays (if with no firmer source than that). 

Of course, another explanation (also brought up by Ben-Hur) is the Magi of the Christmas Story, perhaps the most famous of astronomers royal. The Gospel of Matthew has them as 'wise men from the east' (μάγοι ἀπὸ ἀνατολῶν) in its Second Chapter. The Persian origin of the word 'Magi' aside, they are clearly not of Judea and the Near East, but from further off - the Middle East.  Later tradition would bring in the 'Three Kings' portion (echoing Old Testament prophecy about Kings worshipping the Messiah) and give them names (Balthasar, Caspar, Melchior) and countries of origin. Despite the precise countries varying, they do seem to stay between Ethiopia and India (there's the occasional Greek). Balthasar appears in Ben-Hur as an Egyptian. 

I note that a title as mainstream as the first Assassin's Creed video game had its Arab protagonist named Altaïr Ibn-La'Ahad. The name Altair may be as much in reference to the Aquiline characteristics of the game's order of asssassins as the star α Aquilae - but Assassin's Creed was made by Ubisoft Montreal and had what appears to be a group of Canadian and American writers, artists and designers. It would not suprise me if one of them encountered the name of the star (and its derivation) first.

Aside from fiction, there are many military uses of the names of the stars. Ships take names like HMS Sirius, HMS Castor, USS Mizar, USS Bellatrix.  Italian military aviation units are named for Antares or Vega. Star names are safe, aspirational, classical, respectable - and pay homage to the connection between astronomy and seamanship (they aren't as in-your-face as HMS Venomous or HMS Antagonist). One sees why they were used in cases like that of the USS Mizar (see Merak and Tarazed) in wartime expansions of a fleet; preferred, I should imagine, to the names that were given to the Flower-Class corvettes and sloops. Consider also the Polaris missile, not only safe, aspirational, &c but also conveying ideas of pre-eminence (literally at the top of the world), coldness, leadership and perhaps polarisation. A perfect name for Cold War American hegemonic efforts. 

[I feel compelled to include the USS Cor Caroli. Cor Caroli was a relatively recent star to be catalogued, being most firmly mapped in England in 1673 and named 'Cor Caroli', the Heart of Charles -  Restoration loyalties praising the heart of Charles I, King Charles the Martyr (Cf. Georgium Sidus). The USS Cor Caroli was built and launched under similar conditions to the USS Mizar and I take it the name was chosen for similar reasons - but it is still a cause of amusement to think that a ship of the United States Navy in the twentieth century was cruising round called 'The Heart of Charles I'!]

That may conclude an eclectic survey. You might start further investigation here. My thoughts above may also answer the question What is it to use the Real-World Names of the Stars in my work?

[An absence of the Names of the Stars - any stars - that catches my eye is in the Stormcast Eternals of Warhammer: Age of Sigmar. Sigmar himself might be God-King of the Celestial Realm, but this only seems to manifest in the ubiquitous comet and lightning motifs. The very names of the Eternals tend to the 'Lucius Skywalker' pattern - Latinate first name, second name noun-noun or adjective-noun (though there is some Punic representation in the shape of Hamilcar Bear-Eater). And yet the names of the stars make for great colourful High Fantasy names - as well as having a Warhammer-suitable thudding obviousness. Consider: Saiph Lionpuncher. Mizar Cometcrafter. Vindemiatrix Bronzehawk. Procyon Refeshingbeveragemaker.]

Two questions also occur: What is it to have named stars in your secondary world? What is it to have named stars be of consequence?

Well, Tolkien's named stars are right in the same mould as the stars of our world: they are named for similar reasons and organised in similar ways. Even if one imagines that the Elves when the world was young named and catalogued the stars in a very different fashion to the stargazers of (say) Bronze-Age Babylon. 

At any rate, it implies a measure of peace, security and scholarship to be able to track and name (say) around fifty stars - as well as, perhaps, permanent settlement. No doubt a nomadic people could recognise and track different stars, but the nature of star catalogues is such that I suspect they would be more likely to appear in a fixed community. (And if there aren't star catalogues but names of stars are acknowledged sufficiently widely, it means that this society is putting a quantity of work into transmitting those names). It also implies the preeminence of one set of star catalogues in a given culture: that red star is the Crimson Jewel, not the Scarlet Cross. Well, if everyone is speaking 'Common' no doubt they refer to the same stars and involve themselves in fewer disagreements over the names of nations.

What, then, is it for these stars to be of consequence? What if each School of Wizardry or Religious Figure or Blood-Oath Sorority of Magical Warriors is connected with a star? It's the difference between working in a office with ten people and working in an office of fifty. The dynamics and the feel of working and being in that group differ. A worshipper that has to answer to the various commands of the Twelve Olympians is someone with a different religious life to one answering the commands of the Fifty Star Archons (though that's still under Dunbar's Number). Those connotations of distance return once again.

I'm not certain those are very firm or very sound conclusions. And I've been in plenty of campaigns where I didn't have to refer to the stars at all to bring about the completion of a quest. But I hope this indicates some of the ways the Names of the Stars have enhanced or could enhance a work.

My thanks to the Three Mile Tree Brain Trust for their contributions in this matter. 

Something for Your Shelves: Fury

FURY. It's a somewhat abstract title; it has been apparently published under the title Destination: Infinity. Well, it was written by Henry Kuttner, first published in 1947 and re-issued by Gollancz for the Golden Age Masterworks collection in 2019. I found a copy of the latter kind second-hand.

Kuttner was born in 1915, lived in Los Angeles and died in 1958. He married the writer CL Moore (creator of Jirel of Joiry and Northwest Smith); husband and wife collaborated on a variety of stories under pseudonyms. He corresponded with Lovecraft and assisted Leigh Brackett in getting her first stories published. I'm not sure a biographical lens is the most useful with this book, but that gives you a measure of context.

It is several centuries in the future. Weapons of mass destruction have devastated Earth; humanity survives in sunken Keeps beneath the oceans of Venus. It has been at this long enough to lose any sense of real angst over having killed a planet and conditions in the domed Keeps are comfortable for enough people. The text describes it as 'stable but moribund'. Receding into the past are the names of mercenary groups that fought proxy wars - notably 'the Free Companions'. 

(Each Keep seems to be named for an American state - Delaware Keep, Montana Keep, Virginia Keep. The only exception I noticed was 'Canada Keep'; Wikipedia informs me that every Canadian province excepting the maritimes has a greater population than either Delaware or Montana. Did no-one else make it off Earth? Has the Soviet Union gone to the Red Planet? In the grim darkness of underwater Venus, there are only Yanks.

The vast majority of names, incidentally, are Anglophone.)

If this wasn't bad enough, several lineages of immortal mutants have risen to power within the Keeps (the Keeps themselves are formally democratic, but as the text notes: 'In the Keeps, the Immortals simply knew more than the non-Immortals. Psychologically a certain displacement became evident......Unconsciously the short-lived peoples of the Keeps began to look with dependence upon the Immortals....The Immortals, who knew what long, empty centuries were ahead of them, took pains to ensure that those centuries would not be so empty.'). 

The Immortals look entirely human, but live many centuries in reasonable health (they aren't sustained by constant medical intervention). An early book family gathering contains five generations of Immortals. One family of Immortals, perhaps the most influential are the Harkers.

Anyway, Fury is about a man called Sam Reed, born in Delaware Keep and coming to age in its slums. Anger and a focused, bitter drive propels him through the ranks of criminality to win a measure of prosperity and ability. This eventually leads him into contact with an Immortal called Robin Hale who plans to colonise the surface islands of Venus - against the long set policy of the majority of Immortals (who look to colonise the surface eventually, but not soon) - including the Harkers. A decades-long confrontation ensues.

Reed is a vindictive, energetic, unpleasant man. This is apparently just what is needed to drive the colonisation effort and enervate the society of the Keeps - including the Immortals.

***

Well, I shan't spoil the entire plot for you. But a number of things interested me about Fury. 

Firstly, the character of the Keeps and Sam Reed. The Keeps are dense urban constructs, full of paranoia about the native fauna and flora. Lots of narcotics use; enough crime to make people rich but not enough to endanger the system as a whole. Sullen, perhaps rather than squalid. Reed is the same way; remarkable but unpleasant; Byronic, perhaps. Both are somewhat more grimy than the Golden Age SF stereotype.

The exception might be the world of the Immortals. There's a careless ease to this, as well as a luxury. Couples lapse in and out of centuries long marriages. The wry, ironic, knowing strain in the Immortal character repeats itself; Reed occasionally connects them to Egypt - ancient, mysterious, wealthy.  This style of wealth strikes me as rather of the 1920s. Fury is not alone in this; reading about them, I thought back to Bester's The Stars my Destination (first published as Tiger, Tiger) and The Demolished Man. The future elites of all three do seem to share this Roaring Twenties-esque pattern to them (weren't we meant to be having one of those around now? I'd rather have the Charleston than NFTs).

 

The other obvious comparison for the long-lived of the future might be Heinlein's Methuselah's Children; but that space-faring road trip is an entirely different kettle of fish. The response of Heinlein's baseline humans to immortals is, of course, rather different to Kuttner's - but the destruction of Earth rather does change matters. 

The 1920s aside, the model of society in Fury has some obvious medieval overtones. The Keeps, for one. The aristocracy of the Immortals. The naming of a mercenary group as 'Free Companies'. The institution of a carnival, with the Immortals moving more freely in society. Religion is relatively muted, but there is the appearance of a 'Temple of Truth' with its Logicians that fills an interesting adjunct to the story. The 'moribund but stable' verdict echos a sort of traditional view of the Middle Ages. 

A medieval-inspired moribund post-apocalyptic humanity trapped in great imprisoning structures? Well, I didn't mention grim darkness for nothing. But it is a reminder that the novelty of cyberpunk was nothing to do with a class of tyrants in towers. 

The games of Immortal planning and intrigue - breeding a lineage of the short-lived as assassins for a certain Immortal target - is fascinating, but under-explored. Reed takes centre stage, so the hints of slow-grinding Immortal power, on-off marriages and careful manipulation remain just hints. The Immortals themselves seem more self-serving than villainous; their ills are echoed in Reed. 

Fury is not one of my new favourites. The prose is functional, but the plot just skips along where a few more heartfelt chapter breaks and a more formal structure could have done some good. Along with more Immortals. But it struck me by surprise, and got me to write a blog post on it. Something hooked me.

***

To add a final note of Bathos to proceedings, and in line with earlier references, I have recently been introduced to the following Twitter bot by a cunning gentleman. 

The Legacy of Horato

The city of Horato produced the Horatione Empire, which has shaped the languages, geopolitics and currency of Calliste for centuries since. If Loribides (and Malicarn thereafter) offer visions of the spiritual city, the model for worldly power and the acme of statecraft is Horato.

Therefore, here are some of the cultural legacies of Horato, which percolate through to modern Calliste in art and learning. 

Horato seems to have been founded by a combination of migration from one of the states near Loribides, mingling with a local population of herders. A congress of clan-chiefs gave way to an elected Prince attached to numerous assemblies. Following a series of costly victories which expanded Horatione territory at the cost of internal disruption, this became a 'Popular Despotate' which drifted into a Hereditary Despotate. Steady expansion of Horatione influence across southern and western Calliste eventually reached the point where hegemony became dominion and the title of Emperor was coined. Emperor succeeded Emperor (by fair means or foul) for three centuries, until the Horatione Empire fell, pressured by waves of migration and internal sclerosis. 

Horato was far from dogmatic on religious matters, an attitude which extended into its Empire. Worship in early Horato focused on the 'Old Protectors', a series of gods taken from the region of Loribides and variously augmented or melded with local deities. However, in the fourth decade of the Popular Despotate,  the magistrate Kallipyx the Elder, then Preceptor of the College of Priests declared that the prosperity and safety promised by the Old Protectors had been delivered. Horato had high walls and rich fields. Not every harvest was bound to be rich, but the foundations of comfort and safety were in place. Worship of the Old Protectors could (and would) dwindle - excluding certain occasions, sacrifices would take place only once in a fortnight. Foreign cults and temples, already present in a city with plenty of client states and close allies, began to flourish. Naturally, this included the Majestic Vision. While it was expected that a respectable citizen would attend the fortnightly worship and that the scions of the Horatione elite would learn the legends of the Old Protectors, the Horatione faith would never seriously revive. 

Horatione remains have produced a stereotype of its architecture. This is characterised by a series of round arches, each opening onto a space covered by a barrel vault. This model could provide both a template for street-level open-ended workshops and vendors, and for individual chambers coming off a central courtyard. At the monumental scale, four sides of such arcades could support a wider dome. The commonest building material was a form of flat brick, with dressed stone being used for floors, corners and arches. 

Frequent sculptural motifs were the Bull's Head, Garland and stylised Sun-Arc. The Bull's Head is more often connected with Princely Horato; the Sun-Arc came in later, with the Hereditary Despotate. Displaying the path of the sun from rising to setting, this was a conscious symbolic claim of broad dominion and more-than-earthly strength. The possible connotation that Horatione power would set even as the sun does was either undetected or carefully ignored. 

Unlike much of the rest of Calliste at the time, Horato did not take or keep slaves. Slavery was illegal for Horatione citizens; the keeping of slaves by resident foreigners was frowned upon - and only wealthy and influential foreigners could practically manage to keep and maintain a household of slaves in Horato. (Of course, by the time of the Emperors no foreigner would ever be as wealthy or influential as a Horatione). However, this form of exceptionalism aside, the rapid expansion of Horatione hegemony demanded workers. The 'labour tithe' was levelled on client states, protectorates and defeated enemies to provide corvée for Horato. Tithed workers were expected to spend several years in Horato and its domains, absorbing much of Horatione culture and mores in the process. This transfer of population, combined with the violent practices required by client states to provide the labour tithe, made Horatione practices quite as dislocating and exploitative as slavery. 

A feature of Horatione urban life was the municipal herald or 'Voice of the City'. This was a rhetor, dressed in a plain white robe and arm-wraps dusted with chalk. He (and it often was a He) would walk the streets of a district, arms spread, wearing a large full-face mask, lips modelled in such fashion as to amplify the voice. The Voice of the City was responsible for communicating edicts of the Prince, Despot or Emperor, bringing news of victories or defeats and announcing civic religious rites. 

Details of the Horatione military have been raised elsewhere; for now, it will suffice to say that the Magisterial Guard preceded the Imperial Corps of Intimates and that the early system of raising regiments based on civic and rural districts could not last in the changing environment of the Popular Despotate - in which social atmosphere the Siege Hands rose to fame.  

A certain privilege could be awarded to generals (principally those generals that never attempted to play the political game for their own sake) and decorated veterans. They would be kept after death as 'Sentinel Burials' on the city walls. Their bodies would be embalmed and wrapped in shrouds; shining white metal cases would be set around those portions of the body uncovered by armour. Propped up by spears and poles displaying their medallions and honour plaques, their death masks stare out beyond the city. The pole honours supporting them are strong and weatherproofed, but a Sentinel Burial can still slump or fall: this is, unsurprisingly, a bad omen. Either some dread foe is on its way to the city, or some milksop or traitor has, by action or inaction, betrayed it.

The psychological impact of the Sentinel Burials was noted even in their own time: only the boldest thief, it was thought, would scale the city walls where the vigilant dead waited. To Horatione defenders a standing army of their greatest soldiers was constantly on guard. Even those who note that it wasn't a literal army observed that the soldiers and armed citizens of a besieged Horato would never let their honoured dead fall into the hands of the enemy - or so the rhetoric went. Indeed, Annullina Perpetua (by her own account, an Imperial Sub-Secretary) in her Annals of a Pensionary bitterly notes that in the days of the final Emperor every single Sentinel Burial remained firmly upright.

Idleness and Paranoia

A recent (if November is recent) event of a game I am playing in saw my character ambushed in the course of carousing. While obviously, she wasn't carrying shield and sword, there was some debate about what how many coins she was carrying - as well as any expensive-looking personal items. 

I have no intention of re-inventing the wheel on this matter; we can make a rough guess at a character's civilian gear. Some charms, some money, a pocketknife. Exceptions for practiced thieves and tricksters, of course. Even if weapons may be openly carried, there is a distinction between the courtly small-sword and the claymore. One can imagine that wizards might be required to put a band around their spell-books, as a matter of security or courtesy. The same goes for their staffs; if it looks like it has an obviously magical function and Orvald the Orange is an outsider to the city of Zayana and can't claim it is mark of office, then it better not get brought out anywhere respectable.

But, of course, you wouldn't part an old man from his walking stick. Would you?

Enough on restrictions. This train of thought led me to the provision of non-encumbering items for two situations. These are not characterful or plot-enhancing, as Manola's (excellent) lists for different classes. They offer a modicum of roleplaying potential, but hopefully allow for unexpected uses of a relatively niche item. Carrying more than one would be unusual, and perhaps even uncomfortable. None are intended to be class-limited.

Firstly, let us consider 'hurry up and wait'. How many occasions will there be when a party of adventurers must wait, despite being largely ready to move on? Everyone's in their armour, with full packs - so no-one is actively relaxing - but still, the cleric needs to finish his prayers, the ranger is covering their tracks, the scholar is translating something on the cave walls. Small, portable amusements and pleasures. 

These are situated roughly as categories, rather than specifics. They all sit fairly closely in the pre-modern variety of settings that tend to characterise D&D (et al).

1. Dice or knucklebones. Not too ornate; probably not loaded. Will the testing of probabilities confuse oracular predictions?
2. Patience cards. Half the size of a regular pack, presumably less fancy, implies you know a few solo games. 
3. Prayer beads. Simple, easily pocketed. Can also be used to count steps. 
4. Counters (different designs on each side). Suitable for simple games like Noughts and Crosses or Nine Men's Morris. 
5. Blindfold. Privacy, easily obtained. A relatively fine piece of cloth. 
6. Compact musical instrument. A harmonica, a jaw harp, a tin whistle, a music box. Pocket-sized, not necessarily requiring any great talent, not a source of any real social cachet. If you play it and pass round the hat, you get coppers, not silver. Nothing loud enough to signal with, really.

The second category - as the title suggests - is hold-out items. Just in case. Nothing as impressive as a spy or practiced deceiver might carry, but present all the same. I have neglected to include the ever-popular boot knife. 

1. A lockpick. Only one, and hardly ideal for every lock, but concealable and useful.
2. A length of wire. A snare? A garrotte? Wraps neatly round the wrist; may be inside a piece of clothing.
3. Trade coin. The coin you never spend. A good weight of precious metal, valuable anywhere they like shiny things. It might even be a blank disc or gemstone. 
4. Marker stub. A small stick of material suitable for writing or marking most surfaces; chalk or wax pencil are possibilities. 
5. Treated handkerchief. Do not confuse with regular handkerchief. This piece of cloth has been treated so that you can breathe through it in foul air or poison gas. It can be moistened to create a seal of sorts over nose and mouth. It smells unpleasant.
6. Pocket mirror. A little larger than one square inch. Useful for signals, peering round corners and minor grooming.

All the above, of course, come from the school of equipment lists that is interested not so much in providing solutions for problems but in seeing what will happen when you give the players a new toy, no matter how small it is.

Rogue Movie & 2021

Recent viewing (well, as recently as last year) has been the 1976 Rogue Male. I've praised Geoffrey Household's 1939 novel on here before, and so happily picked up a BFI DVD (a dedicated set of notes on which is here) when I saw it. Made for the BBC, directed by Clive Donner, script by Frederic Raphael (who also did script work on that seasonal favourite, Eyes Wide Shut). 

Peter O'Toole plays the protagonist, unnamed - indeed, deliberately anonymous - in the original, but here given the name 'Sir Robert Hunter' allowing a normal flow of conversation; and for the credits to read 'HUNTER - Peter O'Toole'. Other characters played by Alastair Sims, John Standing, Michael Byrne and Harold Pinter (yes, that Harold Pinter). 

Rogue Male had been adapted before - by Fritz Lang, no less - under the name Man Hunt in 1941. This had altered the story rather and bore the weight of anti-Nazi propaganda efforts in 1941. 

Of course, Rogue Male is a suitable source for such a thing. The book features the nameless protagonist and narrator (an English aristocrat and hunter) taking aim at an unnamed dictator from a state that borders Poland. Well, Household was being relatively discreet in 1939, but the feel of the protagonist's torture, escape and pursuit through both the unnamed foreign power and Britain suggest Nazi Germany rather than the Soviet Union. Household would later confirm that he was thinking of Germany; to my mind the ambiguity of the framing narrative is part of the essence of the novel, but there is no real harm in knowing this. Naturally, the film would struggle to make an actor (and the set, and the costumes, and the spearcarriers....) look like either Hitler or Stalin. Maybe it could be done in some form of animation, but hardly live action. 

Va tacito e nascosto,
quand'avido è di preda,
l'astuto cacciator!

The narrator is caught and contends that he was only going to point his rifle at [Possibly Hitler]; it was a sporting stalk against the most dangerous game of all. Here is one of the major points of divergence between book and film: the text of the book has been written by the protagonist (even noting where he stopped work and started again). It takes time for him to admit - both to us, and seemingly, to himself, that he A) intended to kill [Possibly Hitler] and B) did it because of his love for a woman killed by the tyrannical regime. 

Of course, this slow-maturing portion of the novel cannot be reproduced in the film. Flashbacks, imagined sequences and montage make Sir Robert's motivation fairly clear. Further, other characters know of his romance, originally oddly concealed in an otherwise somewhat well-known man. 

Further, the film introduces Alastair Sim as a doddering Earl and government member to explain the delicate political situation of 1939 - things the book's protagonist could work out for himself. I can't find it in myself to complain about his presence, though the first name references to 'Neville' and 'Winston' are a bit much. Likewise, the plausibly Jewish lawyer of the book, Saul, is made definitely Jewish (Saul Abrahams, played by Harold Pinter). There is at least one piece of clearly framed British Union of Fascists graffiti shown on Sir Robert's return to London. The half-German adversary who uses the name 'Major Quive-Smith' is in the film no more than he appears - a Nazi sympathiser and English hunter, played by John Standing. 

So, the 1976 film is less veiled than the book, and is made with a dollop of hindsight. But it still captures the mood well; even if we cannot get so much technical information about Sir Robert's burrow or the surrounding farms, or miss his musings on British society, the impressions of his efforts in concealment, or the nature of his interactions with wider society are adequate. If O'Toole and Sim are perhaps sometimes over-arch or stereotyped (an escape through London is probably more compelling if Sir Robert knows how to ride the Underground!), well, it's all very finely done. Even if the protagonist's injuries are downplayed - who wants to cover up any leading man's face, let alone Peter O'Toole's? - we get a very strong impression of what has been done to him and the problems this causes. It all looks very good, as well. Strong, well-placed actors and settings. 

As ever, read the book first (or listen to the Michael Jayston reading). But I enjoyed this, certainly. 

***

I'm not given to reviews of the year, but 2021 did see at least one watershed for this blog with the launch of Punth: A Primer - bolstered by some kind words and good publicity. TRoAPW is the next such item on the agenda, but is still half-formed. My review of Magical Industrial Revolution was popular, and I may have to do a little more review work. 

In the meantime, enjoy the last days of Christmas and Epiphany, and let us see what 2022 brings.

[Postscript to say that this has got a lot of views for such a brief, commonplace post - perhaps more interesting is this other Rogue.] 

The Rest of All Possible Worlds: Ley Lines

Another 'problem post' detailing debates and questions confronting the community of magic-users in TRoAPW. 

Ley lines have been mentioned in an earlier setting post and equipment list.  

Premise

There are points in the world where magic is concentrated in its effects. There is a greater flow of background power, an easier flow of energies. The shortest path between two points, as the Geometricians have demonstrated, is a straight line. Thus, there are places where one is on one of these shortest paths, and therefore, closest to two wells of energy. 

It is thought that the two wells correspond in some way; even beyond the well boundary, minute magic tendrils - bearing no more especial power than most places - reach out and interweave, to form a line-like area. If two wells of magical power are hilltops, the ley line is the ridge between them. 

If magic on a ley line is not so spectacular in its effects as at a place of power, it is certainly easier, more ready to the mage's instinct. Devices and substances that are only borderline magically active will become more active on a ley line. The comparison given for apprentice wizards is like going from an overgrown lane to a well-kept road: you must still walk for yourself, but the going is far easier. 

The State of the Art

Wells of magic tend to have an established reputation for outlandishness. Finding or identifying them (in places where some remain to be found or identified) is often a matter for the antiquarian. Ley lines, however, must be charted and tracked.

Thankfully, this may be done, just as those state boundaries which do not follow some natural course like a river or a coastline may be surveyed. Of course, ley lines are to some degree as natural as a river, and even if they will not meander like a watercourse, there will be variations to be taken in. Thus, observations must be made. 

Once, this would involve a string of magic-users walking across the land, firing off flare spells. The strongest flare would mark a point on the line. Thankfully, this costly method is less necessary with the invention of the witchsight theodolite. The buzzing band of the ley line may be seen by the observer, and its path charted. Accordingly, ley line surveyors exist as a skilled magical trade. These are related to but distinct from Nematists* - those who specialise in the study and theory of ley lines.

What use is this? Well, wizards will attempt to find homes along ley lines, but the costs of relocation mean that naturally not all wizards can do so. Some Colleges of Magic are placed on them and are useful in coaxing out fledgling magical talent. Wider application is thus far limited, with an exception. Wealthy landowners, having become aware of the lines crossing their land have begun to erect Thaumaturgical Follies: elegant pavilions full of magical devices (for, say, light, heat, scent, sound, simple motion) which would either fail or swiftly deplete elsewhere. Serious-minded wizards deplore these, but charge through the nose for them. 

Opponents of the Nematists

Opposition to charting ley lines rarely comes from any magic-user: any mage but the merest neophyte can detect the ley lines and what they produce. Knowing where they are is at least useful, and so charting them will be a matter of When rather than If.

Thus, opposition comes from those locals (squires and commonality alike) who have a suspicion of any surveyor, let alone a magical one. Likewise, the idea that a wizard wants to move into the neighbourhood would be granted with a measure of trepidation, especially if their eccentricities include building a brand-new house miles from anywhere convenient. 

If an opponent of ley lines were to gain an understanding of some of the ideas in Nematist circles, this could very well strengthen their opposition - for motives of profit if no more. 

The Nematists divided

Of the group of magic users that make a particular study of ley lines**, two schools of thought may be discerned. These are the Static Nematists and the Dynamic Nematists.

As the term suggests, Static Nematists look purely to study and exploit the web of ley lines. This will not mollify Opponents, for their visions are quite as wild as anything the Dynamic may suggest. If every mage were to erect a mere humble cottage on a ley line, it would still warp land ownership pattern unthinkably, and Static Nematists have theorised about much more than that. 

Dynamic Nematists are something else. Having noticed that ley lines do not sit in useful well-connected places, they intend to create more wells of energy and thus place more lines on the web. No magic-user would have to leave the towns to dwell in distant, lonely places. The wonders and conveniencs of the Thaumaturgical Folly could be offered to so many more. 

The Static Nematist thinks the Dynamic, whether or not they can actually create new ley lines, is playing with fire (you do know why no-one ever settles permanently on a well of energy?). The Dynamic Nematist thinks the Static is ridiculously timid.

A question that remains open is if different ley lines produce different levels of power for respective sorts of magic. Those who hold that they do refer to a 'Spectrum' of magical streams and are referred to as Spectrumists (they are not important enough to be mocked often, but when they do, people refer to rainbow-chasers).

Implications

The vision nursed by some Nematists - of great automated workshops, some twenty yards across and twenty miles long, fed by the drip-flow of magical energy from a ley line - is unlikely to be seen by anyone now living in Calliste.

A fully-charted set of ley lines would doubtless lead to an alteration to land use, and perhaps, as well-funded well-equipped surveys increase in number and prominence, even speculation in ownership of certain well-placed plots. If you can hold onto that acre of scrub land where a ley line is just forty yards from the Roqueport to Loughdainne road, one day a wizard might be in a position to offer you quite a bit of money for it. 

The flowering of wizardry in rural climes aside, there are two implications offered by ley lines that might emerge in the next generations. Magical tools and devices certainly function advantageously on a ley line, but the production of these more widely is not sufficient in terms of quantity or quality to create the linear factories mentioned above.  What is far more likely are small workshops in talented, specialist trades that require delicate or intricate work (IE, watchmakers, gunsmiths, cabinet makers) obtaining sets of magical tools to drive production. Some greenhouses and other artificial environments might also be sustained by a ley line, though an automatic drainage pump for the fenlands is still a way off.

The other possibility, of course, is for workers with magical tools to use the ley lines to aid them in their industry. If navvies with rune-enhanced picks and shovels excavated the course of a canal along the course of a ley line, it would be a fair quicker process than if those navvies were to excavate a canal of identical length in a stretch of comparable ground. If something like a railway locomotive ever comes to Calliste, then using stretches of the ley lines could be the basis for the track system.

Of course, it takes a certain combination of factors to make this actually viable. Equipping workmen with rune-enchanced picks is not cheap or quick. There needs to be a reasonably accurate map of ley lines available, a pressing reason to go to work along them, ownership or similar of the land on which the line runs - and lots of money. The production of new roads operated as turnpikes would be perhaps the most likely circumstances under which a group could garner the funds and power to make such a thing happen. 

A fanciful scenario suggested by some Nematists is that a line of crack troops suitably equipped with magical weapons stationed along a ley line would be a mighty bulwark. Perhaps they would - but they could not manoeuvre and maintain that advantage. Nor does every battlefield conveniently possess a ley line. This would be the sort of expensive technical advantage that wins battles, not wars - though maybe a well-informed, canny and lucky commander could contrive to fight most of their battles on a ley line. Of course, unless you have a great many magical weapons, the high ground will always be preferable.

Most of the above applies to both Static and Dynamic Nematists. Unless the Dynamic Nematists manage to start making their own ley lines and placing them advantageously. In which case there could be a great deal of change to infrastructure. 

And all of this is disrupted again if someone creates a magical battery. 

Comments, nitpicks, &c welcome - I'd rather work out the problems now than later.

*My Greek lexicon gives νῆμᾰ, nema as 'that which is spun, thread, yarn: the thread of a spider's web'. Which seems apt.

**One would struggle to be a professional or full-time Nematist, Grimoirean, or similar in Calliste at present. But if you gain that reputation, it's rather like being a policy wonk among more generalist politicians.

November Miscellany

A few things I would like to write about or draw attention to, none of which quite constitute a post all of their own. 

***

Sumption of Peakrill has a Kickstarter going for something called 'Mostly Harmless Meetings'. This is a series of social and possibly whimsical encounters derived from the English countryside, and may well be worth a look. For my part, I know from the tabletop that Sumption has an abiding interest in the land, based as he is in the wilds of Northumbria, and seems willing to apply that. I am of course a wretched southron, who can't tell parkin from lardy cake*, but I bring this to your attention all the same. 

***

Far from rural England, we look to L'Empire du Soleil Défunt, as reviewed here. It's about an apocalyptic Early Modern Japan, written by Aldo Pappacoda. It runs by the compact 2D+ system (a first for me). Take a look at the second para of that review - the devastation and high magic implied by it make the idea instantly fascinating. 

Further, while the apocalyptic and post-apocalyptic are well-known sub-genres, there is something interesting about the period apocalyptic. My comments on Fallout aside, making the mechanisms of an apocalypse period-apt is an interesting approach. The notions of (say) aliens invading during the Second World War or a zombie plague bedevilling the Roman Empire are familiar enough, but this is somewhat new. I'm not sure if I can quite conjure something comparable. 

What if the Pilgrims on the Mayflower saw a sinful Britain sink below the waves as the Godly left for the New World? (If Robert Eggers made it, I'd watch it). How do the Varangian Guard in Micklegard react to Ragnarok? What if Hesiod's Men of Iron were succeeded or subverted by Men of Rust? 

Of course, the closer one gets to the present, the less supernatural and less comfortable such themes may be: thus, an early Victorian 'You fools, Malthus was right all along!' scenario. Still, the idea of the period apocalypse has potential. 

***

I recently acquired a copy of Max Beerbohms's Seven Men and Two Others. I knew of Beerbohm as a caricaturist and comic writer (see his parody of early twentieth century British authors, A Christmas Garland; parody is one way to learn the style and reputation of historical figures swiftly). So I anticipated the literary world and a spot of 1890s Bohemia - which I got. What I wasn't expecting was the supernatural elements, the games with reputation and memory, the occasional sense of peril and malevolence (how did Argallo die?!).

There is a form of comedy, and I'm not sure what to call it, that has in its centre a very genuine horror - something more supernatural than an unhappy marriage, I mean. (Actually, a theological-inflected setting in which an unhappy marriage was a supernatural curse would be interesting.) Anyway, Beerbohm's Seven Men (the two others were added later) has that, as well as a note of Borges. Give 'Enoch Soames' a read, and see what you think.

***

EDIT: An addition is the latest entry of the podcast Bad Books for Bad People, co-hosted by Guignol of Tales of the Grotesque and Dungeonesque. This interesting, firstly in that they are discussing Peter Fehervari's Requiem Infernal - part of his Dark Coil sequence. Secondly, it is two people - speculative fiction fans - discussing Warhammer 40,000 somewhat from the outside (with apt musical choices).  Much appreciated, anyway. Kudos for introducing me to concept of the qareen.

*This may be a lie. Both cakes are however lovely. 

The Rest of All Possible Worlds: The Anti-Grimoirean Thesis

Another 'problem post' detailing debates and questions confronting the community of magic-users in TRoAPW. 

Premise

A wizard needs a spellbook. Spells must be initially recorded and re-memorised for use regularly; the best means to do so is a compact volume. Mages must inscribe these themselves in one of the languages of magic using the shorthands, syntax, cyphers and symbols particular to them. They are things far too specific to be printed.

But what if spellbooks were unnecessary? What if mages could cast freely? This is the line of thought followed by the Anti-Grimoireans. 

The State of the Art

While there are legends of hermit mystics and certain Schoolmen casting spells without the paraphernalia of wizardry, to follow such a course would be rather contrary to the mood of the times. It would not be the thing at all for an inquiring, modern wizard. 

Widely speaking, two methods are in use among the Anti-Grimoireans. Firstly, there is an examination of ancient magically-associated relics and artefacts seeking for an older pictorial language of magic, where the carvings on a staff or paintings in a cave are memetic spell-triggers to allow the magician to re-memorise instantly. This field of study has extended to the examination of traditions outside the continent of Calliste. 

Some application has been made of these ideas in the form of so-called Savant-Mages. Apprentices (usually from a less-than wealthy background) are taught in the methods of rote memorisation and strict mental focus to cast a spell without a spellbook. It is noted, however, that there are very few confirmed Savant-Mages, that those that exist have a rather limited repertoire and that their livelihoods are rather dependant on one Anti-Grimoirean patron.

Opponents of the Anti-Grimoirean Thesis

The opponents of the Anti-Grimoireans do not regard them as deceivers, merely as fools. If we can cast spells successfully from a grimoire, why should we not continue to do so? Our research efforts are better spent in other fields - developing new and better spells, creating taxonomies of magic, and so forth.  A certain amount of hay is also made out of Anti-Grimoireans seeking after foreign artefacts and magics.

The Anti-Grimoireans Divided

The Anti-Grimoireans may be divided between the 'Hard' Anti-Grimoireans who contend that spellbooks will in time be completely unnecessary (and who get all the publicity and wide-eyed fans) - and the 'Soft' Anti-Grimoireans who suggest spellbooks will always be around one way or the other (and who have burnt far fewer bridges and have far quieter lives. You'd like to think this would mean they get more research done).

Beyond this fairly elementary division, there are the Ante-Grimoireans. These are those of a romantic cast of mind who believe that there was a golden age of magic where magic-users could manipulate the world around them freely with no need for spellbooks or the study of arcane languages. Anti-Grimoireans dislike them, partly for tainting Anti-Grimoireans by association and partly for the constant tone of adolescence.

Implications

What if the Anti-Grimoireans manage to produce a method of grimoire-less magic equal to or surpassing the existing model? 

To begin with, there is a mass change in magical training as the new methods are propagating. If the wizard was once an 'Antiquarian', mages now become 'Artists'. The change-over of methods also would spread a wave of new spells being taught and disseminated through the magical world. The disruption to existing magical institutions should be mentioned as well; the opportunities for Anti-Grimoireans sky-rocket. There is a real difference in the culture of magic, replacing rule-bound sects with personal cliques. 

As the Antiquarian-Artist comparison may imply, the business of actually teaching magic by the Anti-Grimoirean method may be troublesome. Potential mages may go unnoticed or undeveloped by the new method. 

New spells are likely to be taught by Anti-Grimoireans; a new group of 'set texts'. Of course, certain useful functions are likely to be kept or imitated: a fireball by any other name may scorch as much. Nevertheless, there is a potential for variation in the new method that exceeds the old as magical focus, mental imagery and personal disposition vary: at a minor level, the passage, shape, size and colour of a fireball could change. In a greater display of variation, the fireball could manifest as a rocketing salamander or flaming sword. 

The above presents frustrations to the mundane world, but fewer problems than might be expected. Bookish bewildering magecraft is replaced or supplemented with symbolic bewildering magecraft. In the short term, there going to be some important people disappointed by wizardly disputes, but the wise statesman does not put all his geopolitical eggs into one pointy hat. 

Comments, nitpicks, &c welcome - I'd rather work out the problems now than later.

The Rest of All Possible Worlds: Pneumametrics

This is the first of a series of 'problem posts' detailing debates and questions confronting the community of magic-users in TRoAPW. 

Premise

It is known that a journeyman mage will be able to hold and successfully cast X number of spells each day. However, X will vary between magic-users, even magic-users of similar years of training in the same tradition. Further, X is always self-reported - an observer has no way of knowing if a magic-user is keeping something back.

Thus, proposals exist to assess X by various means. The hypothetical study of measuring spell capacity is called Pneumametrics. A proponent is known as a Pneumametrician. 

The State of the Art

Pneumametricians have not yet devised a means by which they have successfully measured the number of spells a magic-user possesses. Proposed means of doing so include the analysis of a magic-users bodily fluids, rearing twins with magical potential, modified Detect Magic spells and the composition of vast comparative tables. 

The use of Charm spells to induce truth and the use of Auguries are variously considered either invasive, too resistible or overparticular for true Pneumametrics. Indeed, the possibility that someone might try and compel the information is sometimes cited by Pneumametricians as a reason for developing a non-invasive method. 

Opponents of Pneumametrics

Pneumametrics has its opponents, but these are not usually united. They do not write journals dedicated to overturning the reputation of Pneumametrics or test theories about why you can't reliably measure an individual wizard's spell capacity. They reserve their positive efforts for other spheres. 

Such opponents commonly include mystics, exceptionalist mages ('the occult traditions of the Cerulean Order cannot be assessed so lightly!'), sceptical rule-makers and traditionalists. 

Naturally, Pneumametricians regard opponents as reactionaries and fools. Opponents of Pneumametrics regard them as snake oil salesmen. 

Pneumametrics divided

However, of that group called Pneumametricians two camps emerge. 

The Unicameralists assert that the magical energies of a magic user are reserved within one chamber. The Polycameralists assert that the magical energies are held within a number of chambers.

The former are known as 'windbags', after a pamphlet outlining the position described the magic-user as a man inflating bladders (with the nature of the bladder influenced by its origin). Later Unicameralist publications quite deliberately use differently coloured and shaped paper bags as an example.

The latter are known as 'butlers' - spells being like the wine held in a variety of bottles. Polycamaralists are glad that their nickname is not associated with bladders or wind, but still bristle at being likened to servants.

Implications

What if the Pneumametricians are right? What if someone can somehow determine the quantity of spells a wizard can cast independently?

Well, to begin with one might expect a greater use of magics. Mages could be assessed with a certain set of standards: a trained soldier can march X miles with a full pack, a trained wizard can cast Y first level spells in a day. It would be an end to the hedge wizard and the court mage; the adept that could once cite exhaustion, or lack of resources, or mystical circumstances to refuse an aristocratic patron would find it more difficult to do so. A magic-user could still bewilder the layman, but the benefit of the doubt would be lost. 

The loose magical college and its quasi-feudal privileges and rights is set aside for employer-employee relationships. Wizards are no longer 'priests'; they are 'lawyers'. Beyond this, there might be the production of official mage-cadres to be deployed in dedicated military capacities. This last part is a favourite theme of Opponents of Pneumametrics, usually employing the spectre of a 'malevolent foreign potentate' - our own beloved Sovereign would never do such a thing. 

Even further in the future is the potential for centralised wizarding assessment and certification (rather than reputation - 'she trained under Malphoebe') and the attendant bureaucracy. But that is likely beyond the lifespan of any player character. 

Debates such as these are poised to be a cornerstone of TRoAPW. The next one is probably going to be on the necessity of spellbooks. 

Comments, nitpicks, &c welcome - I'd rather work out the problems now than later.

__punk, Cities and Detectives

There have been a few posts over at Monsters and Manuals on __punk (Cyber-, Steam-, Diesel-, &c). Reading them over reminded me of an old, short piece of writing I once did....

Times are tough in New Ur. The mammoth-drivers guild are in the third week of strikes, the fire-priests have raised the spark tariff again and the palm wine has gone bad. But in the shadow of the great ziggurats, rumours have come to the ears of a secret informer about a new technology that can successfully preserve for all time the secret speech of the Grand Hierarch....and that somewhere in the city, one woman can help him get it.

The point was, in so many words, to gently satirise the tendency of __punk works to end portray a world drawing greatly from images of hard-boiled detectives and urban life of the twentieth century (see also this other post on the Victims of the New). 

Now, one sees the worth of the private investigator as A) a protagonist that can go to all parts of the society being portrayed - slums and spires alike - in search of the truth, uncovering sins and secrets - and B) someone who can get into thrilling fist-fights, gun battles, &c. (Among other examples: Rick Deckard is a re-activated former policeman, Section 9 might be government agents but have a usefully wide remit - the private eye model is a useful one).

But the notion that the cities of humanity would always end up as something like, say, The Naked City or Taxi Driver - or the pastiches of the same .... is odd. And the visions of cities shown in __punk works don't quite have the strong 'sense of place leading to verisimilitude' that we might see in (say) Chinatown. Gotham is (or can be) a background for our hero; New York is an ongoing intrusive reality. They can feel oddly generic, despite megastructures and future-tech - where generic is '20th century western world, probably Anglophone'. This is foolish, even if one was born in the twentieth century in the Anglophone world; it becomes more foolish to apply it to counterfactuals and uchronia.

Hence, well, my moderate scorn. I've communicated the same thing here: the 'snarky, streetwise magician' is now quite well known. The appearance of a portentous, pompous decidedly uncool scholar-mage in the vein of Carnacki or Gilbert Norrell would be somewhat refreshing (drop one of them into a Marvel film: unsightly, quip-less, irritable and apparently completely sincere when speaking of 'the most dreadful peril unto your very soul.')

So, what is there to say for my Blade Runner but Flintstones mock blurb? Not a lot. (Neanderthals as replicants?) It might be complete in some fashion to make a Bastionland district out of it, but that's all. 

However, beyond the above, it does make me want to think about the kind of cities one portrays. Setting aside (or at least non-centrally) the crowded metropolises of Dickensian derivation and 20th century mass transit, though avoiding the stagey puzzlebox cities of Italo Calvino (Invisible Cities is good, but not quite what is wanted).

To suggest examples: 

• The manufactured new cities of a centrally planned economy, with districts ordered by industry. 
• A conquered city, now governed by a distrustful coalition of four powers, whose representatives travel everywhere in quartets. 
• A city distorted by the central lump of a palace complex in its centre, and by the demands of ritual centres around it.
• Fortress cities are nothing new (see Minas Tirith*; contrast Osgiliath), but the image of a fortress city full of perpetually humourless guards, bunkers and chokepoints, difficult to traverse even for residents ....I've rarely seen the like, with the exception of Abnett's vision of Cadia. 
• A city riven by municipal factionalism manifesting in sporting contests, brawls, and sporting contests that produce brawls. Your entire life may be bound up in the district: your place of worship, your family, your friends, your trade.....

Now, I concede that this is just me casting out somewhat loosely: actually connecting any of the given above schemes with a retro-futurist setting/aesthetic/message/theme/&c may be more difficult. But I hope that this can suggest alternatives to the cliches and defaults that __punk produces. 

*Incidentally, if you were to tell me that prior to The Return of the King Dol Amroth was a much nicer place to live than the capital, I'd believe you. The threat of Mordor aside, you're living in an actual city (comparable in age and fame) rather than an inflated barracks, and you aren't under the gaze of Denethor.