The Dreaming Void Review

Following hot on the heels of reading the Night's Dawn trilogy, I began reading The Dreaming Void, Peter F. Hamilton's first of three epic space opera-ing books set in the distant future.

In 3584 AD humankind has expanded far beyond the sphere of earth into the vast expanse of our galaxy, encountering and making peace with the various sentient races that checker the stars, some almost as ancient as the stars themselves. While many species are mentioned, only the Raiel take the center stage throughout the first book since they are concerned with the next Devourment, a massive star-engulfing event in which the Void, a mysterious gateway to another dimension through which no one can seem to pass at the center of the galaxy, expands at a horrifying scale.

Humankind has divided into three groups; regular people, who still manipulate themselves on a genetic level, Advancers, who are connected empathically by gaiamotes, and Highers, whose ultimate goal is to ascend beyond the physical condition into a greater existence. All of the above merely sets the backdrop for a story filled with mystery, espionage, sex, destruction, crazy cults, and interesting characters. Unfortunately a bit of apartment renovation is thrown in the mix, but the author can be forgiven quickly because it helps establish a pivotal character to the storyline.

Really, the book is two books, with one focusing on the future, while another takes us into the Void, where we follow Edeard through the early years of his life in a society which is technologically medieval. Edeard's story is brought to us by a series of dreams from Inigo, the first Dreamer in the future timeline who could see to the other side of the Void in his dreams, which has established a galaxy-spanning cult that desire only to enter the Void to become a part of Edeard's seemingly simpler society.

I won't give away any more of the plot, and considering that everything I mentioned is condensed into the first couple of chapters, I didn't spoil much. What I really enjoyed about this book were the numerous interesting characters, the enthralling storylines, and the excellent writing. Petter F. Hamilton has managed to condense his wild imagination into an understandable, readable, and exciting work, especially when compared to the expansive and often dragging Night's Dawn trilogy. I could always believe the actions and reactions of the characters and seldom felt pulled out of the universe of The Dreaming Void by dull or inconsequential sequences. There are still plenty of detailed sections describing the technology of the future, all of which are relevant and interesting. I felt that Peter F. Hamilton has also improved his ability to describe the ideas that must storm around in his imagination, bringing to life crystalline cities and outlandish alien cultures.

If you like sci-fi or fantasy or just a good book, please support an amazing author by picking up The Dreaming Void. I eagerly anticipate the next title, The Temporal Void, and can't wait to find out what happens next and how the two storylines converge.

Until then I will be reading Carrion Comfort, Dan Simmons' second book, which was published during the same year as Hyperion, which has so far been a chilling and enthralling read. More on that one later.

EARTHQUAKES

Look! Earthquake data! So many to locate...




It's for the best though. After picking all of my P and S waves I will be able to find the hypocenters for all of the earthquakes from my data set and unearth the secrets of the Fraser swarm!!!

Check it out!

My short story from yesterday was posted on about.com! It even has a comment. *gasp!*

http://fictionwriting.about.com/od/writingexercises/a/tolife.htm

Untitled Story Start

Alright, so I guess I'm feeling creative today. I pumped out a couple of pages inspired by fledgling industry society vs nature. This has been kicking around in my brain for a while, basically since I discovered a band called Midlake, which has many naturalistic overtones, a few years ago. Not sure where to go with it, but I'm sure it will involve some sort of adventuring, romance, and fantastical aspects, but not in the traditional big picture good vs evil stuff that is in so much of sci-fi and fantasy these days. Let me know what you think, all one person that might actually read this:

Gray are the days of this town. The men, the women, and its emaciated children. The earth gives little any longer. Our rape no longer brings satisfaction, just more work-weary days in the dark of low black smoke until dusk when the furnaces hiss to a halt and we all come home beaten and lost to our wives. Gray are our days and I fear they shall only turn darker, dark as the ore we so achingly crave. It is our lifeline, our profit, the umbilical to a larger world which could sooner be free of us and not notice.

Justice, not the ideal, but my wife, grows anxious with the times. She harasses me so, begging me to move the family to a new town and a new existence, but I resist, not entirely sure why. Perhaps it is because I have lived my whole life in this town, dredging through the nearby swamps and hiking through the looming, dark forests in my youth. I look to them, which are dreary to some, and my heart yearns to return to their carefree realm. Instead I labor and break and come home to a wife who I never wanted and never wanted me.

The children think me lazy and turn to books instead of the wild, dreading the day that they might become me. Our youngest, Edwin, is the only of our four that has any worship for me left. He still sees me as provider, hunter, father, and god. His bright-eyed blindness to my faults give me what little satisfaction I have left in life, but I am struck with the horror that any day he too will forsake me.

As I write this, I sit alone at my desk illuminated beneath a candle so dim I can barely see the pages, and I wonder how much longer we can last. The veins of these mountains have all but dried to pitiful dust. I I have decided that once this town is gone it will be the end of me, my last hurrah before I return to the fantasies of my youth. I’ll live off the land and forget the family that has been my parasite since I was only sixteen. Hardly should I feel old at my age, but I have already found a dozen gray whiskers in my beard and more streaked throughout my air. My lungs feel stale with the rock dust I inhale every day deep below. My limbs are weak and without will.

Perhaps I’ll leave tomorrow. For now, I just wish to sleep beside my wife, who loathes me.

Edwin rested his father’s journal on his sidetable, carefully folding the book shut and fastening the tie about its cover. He must have been a toddler still when this last entry was written. Three or four, perhaps. Now, having just turned sixteen, the same age his father was when his oldest brother was born, Edwin felt the burden of responsibility closing around him. He could barely remember his father’s face, except for his sad, deep eyes. Edwin remembered his father’s coarse hands too, always there to comfort him and tuck him in to sleep after dark.

The coal mining town that he read of seemed a distant memory, a place both dreadful and mystical, but so much more exciting than the little farm they had lived in for much of his youth. He had read the journal time innumerable, as if it were a prayer book, and every word his father had scrawled were rules to guide his life by. This had been one of the final entries, after so much of his father’s vigor had been choked out by the beginnings of modern industry. He died in a tunnel collapse only a few days later, and after that, Justine, Edwin’s mother, moved the family to the countryside with her cousins where they raised livestock.

A soft wrapping of knuckles at his door made Edwin jump. “May I come in?” his mother’s voice requested. “Of course, mother,” he responded a little hoarsely. She glided in dressed in her white nightgown. Her black hair was streaked with gray now, her mouth drooped in a permanent frown. To say the least, the years since his father’s death hadn’t been kind to her. She eyed the journal resting on its pedestal beside Edwin and frowned further.

“He is gone, Edwin.”

He rolled his eyes, tired of this old argument, “I know, mother, I’m not an idiot.”

“Well why do you still pretend as if he’s alive. As if he reads to you every night. You need to grow up. You’re a man now, and you are the spitting image of him. It is an unfortunate truth, but it must be told if you are to learn from your father’s mistakes.”

“You always talk about him with such spite, but I’ve read his words a thousand time and I know he loved you with every bone in his body!” he felt a bit niggled by the last entry he had read, but his father had grown more delusional as he came unknowingly closer to the day of his death. Or maybe he did know. A sense of foreboding always filled Edwin while he read the final recordings.

Now it was his mother’s turn to roll her eyes, “You must stop living in this fantasy world of yours. Look around you. The world of science surrounds us now. There will be no mysteries left in the world with the enlightenment.”

He took her words literally and looked around him. The only things he could see outside under the moonlight were miles of endless pasture and the stout figures of a few roving bovines. He groaned to himself. Hardly enlightening.

“Now, listen,” she continued, bristling at his attitude, “I know that you are a young man and that the only thing that crosses your mind is where to sow your oats, but please be mindful of your family. We are depending on you. Since the death of your brother, Percival, heavens keep him, we’ve no head to the family. Your sisters and I rely on you, as the man of the house, to bring us to providence. Your aunt and uncle have nearly had it with us and would sooner boot us to the curb than accept another late deposit.”

“Yes, Mother,” Edwin droned helplessly.

“And another thing. You really must wake up earlier. You waste half the morning in bed when there is money to be made. The cows can’t just milk themselves. Not to mention clean the barns.

“Yes, Mother. Is that all? I need to rest if you want me to do all of these things tomorrow.”

Her nostrils flared. How his father had ever seen anything in her… Then her eyes began to glisten, “Of course, Edwin. Goodnight. You really are your father’s son.” She abruptly slammed the door behind her. Edwin listened to her footsteps recede down the hall, followed by the sound of her door creaking shut. Had he upset her? It almost sounded as though she were complementing him, but no, it was the usual digging insult, he was sure.

Edwin blew out his lantern, watching the white curls of smoke rise and letting the smell sting at his nose for a while. Then he turned to his side and closed his eyes to sleep with one last thought; he had to get out.

Short Story: Life and Wedding Cake in the Middle of the Road

Just finished a short story this morning for a contest thing I found on about.com. Basically I just had to include "wedding cake in the middle of the road" in the context of the story, so I decided to very loosely base it on an experience the wife and I had. It's still very much fiction, but here it is.

Towering overhead, like some great tusked mammoth of millennia gone by, is the wedding cake in the middle of the road.

After more than seven years together, Nina turned to me from the passenger seat, clasping my right hand with slightly chilled fingers. I glanced over to her from the freeway for an instant to see her eyebrows crinkled together.

Her breath caught for an instant before the flood of words broke from her mouth, “You know we’ve been together for seven years. More really. I think we’ve known each other for ten. People are starting to wonder, you know, if we’re ever really going to be together. I’m not saying we’re not, but I think that’s what they’re thinking. You know what I mean, right?”

For a moment the words coalesced, thickening like a simmering sauce. “I suppose so, yeah.” I hesitated an instant, questioning my choice of words before brazenly pushing further, “So what?” Her grip on my hand slackened and her eyes darted to the dashboard. Tightening my grip on the steering wheel, I continued, “I mean to say, you don’t really care what they think, do you?”

The corner of her mouth twitched, “No, I’m not saying I do. People wonder all sorts of stupid stuff. It’s just that this time I’ve been thinking the same thing.” She sighed, taking me back in with her hazel eyes. I smiled at her sheepish grin, nodding slightly.

“Yeah, I’ll admit the thought has crossed my mind as well.”

“Really? I thought you might be weirded out or something. We’ve never really talked about it before.”

We hadn’t, I’d realized, “I guess not, but I always assumed it was there. It seems like you’ve been my whole life, so marriage wouldn’t really change things.”

“Probably not,” she shrugged, “but it could be fun to put it all together. To see everyone we love in one place dancing and throwing back a drink or ten. Let’s not forget my gown and everything underneath.”

The driver’s seat became a bit more uncomfortable for me at her last mention, which Nina noticed with a chuckle. “Alright,” I glowed in embarrassment, “those are all very valid points, but we both make crap wages. I know our families could help, but I’d rather not ask. We’ll have to pay for a venue, drinks, food, someone to marry us, the dress, suits, and, uh, the wedding cake.” Five cars passed us as I anxiously pushed along in my rather ill ’94 Volkswagen Jetta. I could feel the engine straining to match sixty, which always felt unnerving.

“Good points, all of them,” she nodded, not the least bit perturbed, “but we can find a way. We always find a way.” Her eyes suddenly widened, “Paul. Paul!” I snapped to face the road again. Tumbling toward us, breaking apart and flying into the air, was a six story wedding cake. A blue tarp flapped wildly behind it, and in front of that a silver truck spun and flipped, scraping on its side toward the ditch to our right. I pumped at the brakes, clutching white knuckled at the steering wheel, instinctively wanting to jump in front of Nina to protect her, but all I could do was watch the cake speed toward us, pink and white frosting writhing each time it impacted with the pavement.

Nina braced her arms against her door and the car began to swerve as I spun the wheel. The world spun in a sickening vertigo, blurring like smeared pastel. A scream escaped my throat, “This can’t be happening, this can’t be happening! Oh shit, shit shit shitshitshit-“ the impact rattled through my bones. My head twisted one way as our car twisted the other, shuddering and screeching. The glass cracked in an instant, becoming a white network of tiny fractures. Panicked, I grabbed at Nina’s arm. Our hearts raced together. Then another impact hit. Airbags burst from their compartments, slamming with unbelievable velocity and punching the wind out from my chest.

I could steel feel the momentum of the car sliding, even after we stopped. Smoke began to pour from the console with a familiar, acrid sting to it. For a moment, I stared dazedly at the deflated airbag which had burst through the front of the steering wheel like the Xenomorph from Alien. In a flood of panic I reached out to Nina and ripped off my seatbelt.

“Nina! Are you alright?” her hands gripped at my arms and then pulled me in to a tight hug. She started sobbing. I shook violently at her touch, adrenaline and relief flooding my veins. We held each other another moment, relishing in our warmth, her hair pressed against my cheek, tickling at my face.

The smell of the electrical burn had gotten stronger when the world came back into being. I tried pulling the keys out, but they were jammed. I cranked the parking brake into place and pushed out of the doorway. More smoke billowed out with me. Nina came out of her side of the car a moment later, and we just stared at the front of the car in disbelief. Wedding cake had splattered across the grill, which was now caved in, nearly to the windshield. Behind us more cars had spun out of control, flung from one side of the freeway to the other, while we had apparently slammed into the truck which had lost the cake in the first place. I cringed at the sound of bending metal and plastic as another collision occurred. Onlookers from the other side of the freeway slowly drove past, mouths agape, refusing to mind their own business and slowing things up for everyone behind them.

I embraced Nina again, asking, “Are you alright?” This time she nodded, with tears blurring her eyes. We stumbled to the side of the road, collapsing to the ground in exhaustion. For a while, we stared out at the destruction, Nina’s head on my shoulder, until the paramedics and police arrived.

After several accounts and hours we managed to get back home. The sturdy floors, solid doors, and warm air filled me with relief. I could only stew over the facts. Our only car was lost. We’d nearly died.

Nina put on the kettle, telling me not to worry. We would find a way. We always did. We were home, alive, and relatively uninjured, she had to remind me. A wrong turn, a slower reaction, and we’d have been smashed by a ginormous, barreling cake. I nodded forlornly, trying not to feel so self-centered and irresponsible.

A cup of tea later, she turned to me, wincing at the cuts across her brow. She held up her mug with a lopsided smile, “I’d still like for us to get married, you know. To life and wedding cakes in the middle of the road.”

Darksiders Review

I've decided to write some brief game reviews on some games I have played/completed from the holiday season. The first of these reviews is on Darksiders, a third-person action puzzler for the PS3 (as well as the XBOX 360):

Without giving much away, Darksiders is a fantastic blend of swordplay, platforming, and puzzling. You play as War, one of the four horsemen who has awaited the coming Apocalypse, only to be unleashed before his time for havoc has come. While the story is fairly simple and limited in scope, it establishes an interesting setting set in the distant future, long after the Third Kingdom, Man, has been destroyed in the war between Angel and Demonkind. The reasons for your premature release (you can laugh now), are unveiled over a course of well animated cutscenes with surprisingly well-performed dialogue. The only exception to the interesting cast of characters is War himself, who is given a laundry list of generic one liners and a standard gravelly, grumbling voice.

The graphics in Darksiders were particularly enjoyable for me, being a fan of comic-book artwork and diverse, colorful environments. I never bored of the settings, ranging from medieval/gothic cathedrals to flooded subways overgrown with plantlife. The amount of backtracking through the world, which opens up to larger landscapes as you progress, never became repetitive. The animations also complement the intricately designed characters, adding life where too many titles fail (sorry Bethesda, I love your games, but I've grown tired of watching people move around like they are hiding a turd in their pants).

The most important factor of any game is its gameplay. I spent seventeen and a half hours traversing the post-apocalyptic world of Darksiders, and enjoyed nearly every minute of it. The beginning of the game is truly the worst part with linear progression and limited combat and equipment. After an hour or so, the possibilities really begin to open up in the game as you unlock new combat moves, weapons, and tools for solving puzzles. It becomes apparent that Darksiders is not just an action game like God of War or Devil May Cry, but more akin to titles such as Okami and the Legend of Zelda. Everything a fan of Zelda could enjoy is in this game, including dungeons, creative gadgets, and even a horse.

After completing Darksiders, I was left wanting more, which is promised by the final moments, and I can only imagine what will happen once the creators are further able to spread their demonic wings into new territory. Darksiders is a beautiful game, filled with exhilarating moments, and the best parts of familiar titles. A year from now I'm sure to pick it up again for another play through, just like any good Zelda title.