Hello, friends and neighbors. My name is James Palmer, and I have a number of things to share with you, so let's get started.
This is Random Musings. It will be a forum for me; a sounding board, and I hope it will be informative and entertaining for you. In this space, I will talk about books I have read, movies I have seen, and other stuff that I think are worth your attention. All of it will not be SF-related, but interesting nonetheless.
I'd like to take the time to talk about a short story that appeared in the January issue of F&SF called Night Of The Fireflies. In it, Dale Bailey returns us to the world made memorable by Ray Bradbury in his masterpiece Fahrenheit 451 (sorry, I can't help calling it a masterpiece, it's my favorite novel). While I think that Bailey copied from Bradbury's work enough ideas to be considered a thief, he uses this story to tell us something about our Web-dominated present. In this world, a world full of Bradbury's famous liquid crystal walls, a man named Raymond Hollis has just completed a novel. He calls his friend Blake, the only other man whom Hollis had met who still read, to come see it. Unfortunately, Blake didn't come alone. He brought a man with him, one of Them, one of the Authority.
In this world, as in Fahrenheit, there is no more need for books. Instead, according to Bailey, the people spend countless hours in front of liquid crystal walls surfing the web. It was the job of Hollis to create countless lines of code for the web, keeping it going in a neverending stream. The mysterious stranger had been spying on him using tiny mechanical fireflies, and didn't like the fact that he had written a novel. The reason, he says, is because it takes away people's right to choose. The web surfers get to decide how the story ends. Hollis made up his own story and ended it himself. The stranger asks: "In that story-that novel-who decides what happens, Mr. Hollis? Who decides how things come out?". Hollis: "I do. It's what I do, I'm a writer." "A content provider, Mr. Hollis." The stranger corrects him.
And that, kids, is what brings me to my point. When Hollis set words to paper, using characters and situations he created in his own mind, he was a writer. But when he was typing lines of code for the electronic medium, he was a content provider. So too, are every person who has a home page or website. I am no different. On this page, I am trying to display something with some semblance of meaning, but if you look closer, if you go under View and click on Document Source, you will see that there is something between the lines. Strange symbols that make up the language of the Internet.
We must be careful not to get too involved in the Info Superhighway. It has wonderful lights and gizmos, it can tutor us in practically every subject, but there is a time when we must turn it off, when the flickering glow starts to hurt our eyes and make them heavy. I hope everyone gets a chance to read Night Of The Fireflies. It is a wonderful short story, full of meaning and ornate, descriptive prose. It borrows from Bradbury only the cosmetic, mechanical beetles, the mundane housing, the crystal walls, and adds something to that vision, the Internet of today. It, like all good science fiction, teaches us something; gives us a cautionary tale by which to live.
I am a writer (and hopefully one day a payed one). The hat of content provider I wear only when I am working on these pages. You know, when I don't have anything else to do.
For all you introverts and code hacks, a message: turn your machines off, and go read a book.
Thank you.