I’ve started listening to my first Proust, and it’s not very engaging. It is interesting though. Mainly I’m thinking “this guy is just going on about inane memories that can have no importance to anyone other than himself, and yet this is a classic.”
I think that goes to show that you really can write about anything, even thousands and thousands of words about the feeling of drinking a cup of tea, and it will be good if you fill it with passion.
I am early in the book, so maybe it pulls together and connects in some overarching way, or to tell some story. But so far it seems very self-indulgent and meandering. I’m still listening, though….
In this world, augmented reality technology is so advanced, that ‘real’ is up for debate. Anything you see can be altered to look like anything you want. Anything you feel can be altered to feel however you chose. Any video can be faked, any words anyone says can be altered. The majority chooses reality, or individuals can isolate themselves into their own realities. If it is decided by the majority that the color blue does not exist, for example, then blue will be edited from everyone’s vision, removed from all language and recordings. Any individual talking about blue or claiming they see it will just be a crazy outsider, or will have their words muted. The functional reality would be one without the color blue. You would have to learn to live in this reality and accept it, or be a social outcast. The next day, blue might be back in existence and you’d have to go on as if it had always been. The day after, the world may be flat, and all contrary evidence removed…
How would fiction exist in this world when no one knows for sure what is real, and what is ‘real’ today may be false tomorrow? No one reading a fiction story would know if a dragon flying across the sky was supposed to be ordinary or odd, and might expect the rules of the fictional world to completely change from one page to the next.
I’m getting on a plane to Singapore this evening, to fly across the sea to see my lady’s family. And have some fun exploring too!
It will be the third time I’ve done so, and I think I’m getting pretty good at traveling. Bringing less, and having less stress each time.
I hope to keep up writing during the trip, but that is always easier said than done, so I’ve front-loaded a crap-load of posts about alternate worlds.
Perhaps a pic or two will make it in as well…
The end of this novel went in a different direction than I expected. I was drawn into it right away and was excited by the story and the ideas and the potential, but it feels like in the end it left much unexplored.
There was a lot of attention focused on the technical details, research, and visual details of the alien ocean. This did lend a lot to the realism of the world, but I think I would have preferred more about the effects on the characters. We never did get to find out who or what the other character’s ‘guests’ were.
I also wondered about the first version of Harey that was sent up in the rocket… what ever happened to her?
Over all an amazing book that left me wanting more, and one that I’m sure I’ll think about for some time.
All memories of eating, bleeding, or other non robotic bodily functions have been inserted throughout the day by the memory chip in my positronic brain. Many times throughout the day, I shut down momentarily, freeze in place, and a recollection of drinking coffee or using the toilet is inscribed on my mind. Why? because, we are all robots, and it is a vast experiment to see how human-like machines would be if they thought they were human. Up in the clouds behind a camouflage shield, our constructors sit on a station observing, taking notes, and every so often pulling one of us up into the sky for observation.
Every so often, there is a glitch, and the memory chip fails, and one of the robots tries to eat or drink after having no memory of doing so for a long time, and finds out what they truly are. These units go wild for a time, attacking others, trying to ‘wake them up’ before they are inconspicuously decommissioned.
I’ve been listening to Solaris, by Stanislaw Lem, and it is so far amazing.
Imagine your darkest, most embarrassing, strangest thought. The thing you are most ashamed or guilty for thinking–maybe it just popped into your head, unplanned, as thoughts often do. Now imagine that thought made flesh, and following you around for all to see.
The 2002 movie version of this book is a watered down love story, that hardly scratches the surface of the weirdness in this book… and I’m only at the beginning. The 1972 version is supposed to be much better, but I haven’t seen it. I’ll probably watch it after I finish.
I definitely have missed the psychological side of sci fi, and am enjoying this a lot.
Somewhere, there is a tree growing which will some day be cut down and made into your coffin.
No one will ever truly know you, but you.
The person you love most in the world has secrets they will take to their grave, kept even from you.
The things people do for love, when done for any other object or reason, are called either addiction or mental illness.
Eating dead animal parts is really weird if you think about it too much.
You have no choice but to believe in free will.
You won’t remember reading this post a few years from now. How is that different than never having read it?