I visited your site on the service of African-Americans in the US Army. I must admit to being extremely disturbed by the section on the Civil War, which opens with the line “When Federal troops invaded Southern states…”

Federal troops did not “invade” the South. Federal troops are free to move throughout the nation, subject only to concerns of Posse Commitatus. Federal troops redeployed to areas of the nation engaged in active insurrection, which to me seems the appropriate use of them. Secession by the Southern states was illegal and thus void, and carries no weight. Surely the official record of the Army of the United States should reflect this reality.

Likewise, without belittling those slaves impressed into frontline war service, it was not possible for them to serve “with honor” the Confederate cause — not through failings of their character, but because the South stripped them of their honor and forced them to support a rebellion dedicated to suppressing them.

I know that it’s becoming popular to sympathize with the Confederate cause, to focus on their “honor” and “chivalry” while downplaying or ignoring the brutal reality of four million people in chains for no better reason than the color of their skin. I am, however, shocked and dismayed to find such a pernicious lens deployed by the historians of the Army who fought to break those chains.

With respect,
-=-Bernard HP Gilroy

Pro-Confederate revisionism is on the rise and it really ticks me off.

Short form: 4 out of 5.
Long form: spoilers after the fold.

The plot is relatively straightforward, as I suppose an abbreviated, three mini-act play requires. There are a few nice twists on the old superhero routine. Dr. Horrible is a well-drawn conflicted character who seems honestly upset at the terrible shape of the world but who decides upon exactly the wrong way to effect change. It being a Joss Whedon piece, it’s a given that before the end (SPOILER WARNING) a beloved character must die. Seriously, I love Whedon but he’s got to work out the issues that keep dragging him and us through that patch of ground. We get it, OK, Joss? The work is Serious.

Character development is minimal. Captain Hammer starts off as a luggish jock of a superhero, and stays that way pretty much until after the Big Moment. Penny is likewise a little cardboard. There’s a hint, right at the Big Moment, that she’s seeing things more clearly but by the end that’s back in doubt. Dr. Horrible, on the other hand, is well fleshed-out and is an interesting character. He’s pathetic as a supervillain but at the same time is a lovable loser. It’s clear he hasn’t done any actual big-time Evil; he’s mostly a geek hanging out in his basement and recording a video blog. At least, he is at first. But as he watches his archnemesis waltz off with his One True Love, Dr. Horrible darkens. Likewise, his confused justification for his evil — the world is a bad place, so it might as well kneel to him — transmutes into a deeper, truer cause. If there is a purpose to this musical, it’s to examine the fall of a mostly-normal person.

It’s not clear to me if there’s any chance of a sequel or if we’re expected to make our peace with the Downer Ending. I suppose there’s room for more adventures of the conflict between Dr. Horrible and Capt. Hammer, though that would betray the original a little.

All in all, this was pretty good. Whedon et al are attempting an unusual method of distribution, putting it all out there for free and adding paying options only later. I’ll probably bite and get the DVD version.

What can I say? Meh. Another collection of essays (following the superior Finding Serenity) discoursing on the deep meanings to be found in the universe of Firefly, a short-lived TV series as well as Serenity, its major-picture followup.

Let me preface by saying: I “get” Firefly; I’d be a Browncoat if I were any sort of joiner. I loved the show, which I discovered post-mortem like most people; and I think that Serenity is the best-made science fiction movie of at least the past decade. Its technical execution is mind-blowingly awesome. I’ve bought Those Left Behind (the limited-run comic series), and the RPG, and, and the soundtrack for the TV show and the one for the movie, and both versions of the Serenity DVDs. I get Firefly; I’m a fan.

After which, all I can say is: Meh.

More below the fold.

Another excellent piece is “Firefly and Story Structure, Advanced” by Geoff Klock. I usually have no patience for lit crit or its bastard offspring, film crit. But Mr. Klock’s essay makes clear why that’s a limiting viewpoint. He walks the reader through the convoluted structure of the episode “Out of Gas”. While I’ve always been amazed by the complexity of the plot, Mr. Klock brings it to a whole new level, focusing on the transitions between scenes and how the writer and director used these to further the message of the episode. I learned a lot from the essay and enjoyed every moment.

Unfortunately, on the other side of the sheet, there are the people who love Firefly so much that they’re convinced it must be about whatever their own little bugaboo is about. They so want to have their important totems validated by a revered authority (Joss Whedon) that they manhandle and force the material to eke out a glimmer of that. “River Tam and the Weaponized Women of the Whedonverse” (Michael Morano) and “Freedom in an Unfree World” (P. Gardner Goldsmith) commit this sin the most egregiously by attempting to make the show little more than a rant on feminist issues or on libertarian philosophy, respectively. They boil the complexity and nuance out of this rich show and leave us with an unappetizing paste. “The Good Book” (Eric Greene) falls prey to this syndrome, too, but manages not to succumb entirely, as do “The Bonnie Brown Flag” (Evelyn Vaughn and the idealized South) and “Signal to Noise” (Jacob Clifton and the triumph/threat of media).

These authors go astray because they mistake one theme for the theme. Firefly was deep and nuanced, and hit many different levels of meaning. Indeed, one of the themes running through the show — through all of Joss Whedon’s show, I believe — is that there isn’t just one theme — that life is rich and complex and anyone pruning away that is doing you a disservice.

To wrap, I’d be remiss if I didn’t talk about “I, Malcolm”, by Nathan Fillion, the actor who portrayed Captain Malcolm Reynolds. This essay was worth the price of the book. It’s insightful and revealing and touching. For me, it reminded me why the show resonated so much with so many people and why, even six years later, people aren’t willing to give up on an experiment that — by all the usual standards of TV — failed. People talk about “life-changing roles”; clearly, Mr. Fillion has had his and he lets the reader into a private space in exploring it.

So, final conclusion: Would I recommend this book? Just barely, if you’re already a Browncoat. For me, it turned out to be thoroughly zemu.

So far in July:

• Public Enemies: The True Story of America’s Greatest Crime Wave by Bryan Burrough (552 p)
• Semantic Antics: How and Why Words Change Meaning by Sol Steinmetz (258 p)
• The Prodigal Tongue: Dispatches from the Future of English by Mark Abley (233 p)
• Steampunk edited by Ann & Jeff Vandermeer (347 p)

Of these, the two etymology books were oddly disappointing, most especially because they in fact gave no model for how or why language evolves. Each was just a litany of words and trends in English. *Sigh*

But Senator Obama and the Senate Democrats blew this call. Somehow they believe there is a huge constituency for enhanced domestic spying, for rewarding lawbreakers, and for undermining the Constitution. I understand the political calculus, I think, but I’m pretty sure it’s flat-out wrong and it’s disturbing to see the “change” candidate get stuck in worn-out thinking. Usually, Sen. Obama treats Americans as smart and engaged. He is never better than when an issues is nuanced and charged. This time, he just surrendered to the “We must sacrifice liberty to survive the Evil Terrorists” meme.

I’m still going to vote for him and I’ll probably even continue to donate money. After all, the only hope of addressing the ills of this bill lie with a Democratic President and Congress — you can be sure McCain won’t do anything to rein it in. But something has gone out of my enthusiasm. The public finance thing and the slow withdrawal thing didn’t really faze me. But this was important.

It was a chance to lead, and he blew it — and we don’t have all that many chances left.

This put me in an odd position. As anyone who’s suffered through the Hun Talent Shows can tell you, I am every bit not a singer as I am not a songwriter. The only thing musical that I can play is an iPod. Thus I didn’t really have much to offer. (Only later did I come across Ian, who tells stories rather than sings. I thought, maybe I can do that, with enough prep work.) Indeed, the primary talent I brought to these sessions is my ability to clap loudly, honed at many a high school play. I could also join on the chorus — filk songs tend to have very crowd-friendly choruses — if there were enough other people to render my mangling anonymous.

More below the fold.

And it has to be admitted — there was a huge disparity in talent among the singers. Many people were carried more by enthusiasm than by ability. I don’t want to be cruel but the fact remains. On the other hand, there were as many people who demonstrated real, honest talent — somewhat unpolished, often, which reflects the fact that for almost everyone, this is a hobby not a life. And finally, the guest of honor was Heather Dale, for whom performance is her life. More on Heather in a different post. And don’t get me wrong — enthusiasm carries the filkers pretty far. Almost no moment was truly cringe-worthy and none were nails-on-chalkboard bad. People did get wrapped up in their songs and they brought the rest of us along. In many ways it was more poignant hearing someone unskilled sing from the heart. It worked especially on the bittersweet songs of remembrance that seem common to the genre.

About halfway through the first session on Friday night, I suddenly understood why it felt so familiar. My insight is going to sound snide but I don’t mean it that way: It sounded like hymns at a church meeting. It really had that vibe. The faith that draws these people together is certainly not conventional and it’s more than a little nebulous. But it was clear this was a community united by faith in something. I think it’s a quixotic wonderful mix of the tacitly progressive belief in “the future” as promised in sci fi and a yearning for a past known never to have occurred. It’s a faith that the world is bigger than the everyday, that there’s meaning somewhere in the Universe. Maybe it’s really just a faith in themselves, in their own community. I could see where people take strength from that.

As an example: One of the guests-of-honor was to be Tom Smith, who is apparently a long-living legend in the filk community. A couple of weeks back he had a mishap coming off a stage and did real damage to his leg — so bad that he had to miss Contata because he was in for a second round of surgery. Now, Tom does filking professionally and so he is not covered under anyone’s health plan. (And the absurdity of that is a rant for a different day….) Anyway, at the last moment, Contata was restructured as a sort of impromptu Tom-Aid, a benefit for him to help offset the medical bills. People dug deep to buy merchandise or even just to donate, even though the demographic at a filk con doesn’t slew any more toward the well-off than any other random sample of people. Artists donated tracks to a commemorative CD offered in return for a donation; people donating money seemed honestly surprised to receive anything in return. It was a lot like how people tell us it worked in the good old days of small town America. It was uplifting to see.

Stuff like that happened all weekend. It was like a giant extended-family reunion. And to be brutally honest, science fiction attracts a disproportionate share of people who are socially awkward, for whom the social graces are more theoretical than observed, who have gone through life labeled “Does not play well with others”. But here, everyone jelled. People more than put with each other’s quirks; they celebrated them. Everyone had a spot in which to excel, and everyone gave of their excellence without stint.

What’s more, I doubt anyone else even noticed it. It was just How Things Are Done. As an outsider I could see the entirety in a way probably not available to those steeped in the community. I’ve seen plenty of functional but sterile events, and more than many simply dysfunctional ones. Without taking away anything from the con organizers and their whirlwind of effort to keep things moving, I was struck by how smoothly things seemed to flow. People put aside their egos because they all wanted the con to succeed — everyone felt a greater investment in the larger event than in their own small concerns. Again, from a group the larger culture derides and harries, this was nothing short of transcendent.

Although I’d heard of the phenomenon, my first exposure to filk was at Lunacon this past March. Filking was a distinct thread woven through Lunacon — a chain of panels and sessions scattered among the calendar of events, at which more or less the same people showed up. I attended one late-night filking session to see what the buzz was about. To be honest, it was a little intimidating. This truly is an organized oral culture with multiple decades of backstory. Everyone knew the words and the anecdotes and the in-jokes — everyone but me, that is. My temptation was to high-tail it out of the room and write it off as a failed exercise.

The story doesn’t end there though — more below the fold.

Happily, though, I lingered just long enough to discover the contradiction of filking. Due to the steep curve and the shared history, filkers are naturally a little separated from other con goers. The richness of the culture can be overwhelming. But the filkers aren’t a closed or exclusive community. To the contrary, the filkers at Lunacon reached out to me as a newbie, Even though most of them have known each other for a decade or more, they went out of their way to include me and make me welcome. They shared songbooks; they shared jokes; they shared stories.

By the time the “open filk” was winding down, it seemed entirely natural to join them at the traditional midnight chocolate tasting. I’m still not clear on whether the chocolate tasting is a general filk tradition, or a Contata one, or a NEFilk one — or just the particular habit of that particular band of filkers. It was a good excuse to get together and socialize and basically not let the night end with the official closing time. Merav Hoffman was the con chair for Contata and she found the chocolate tasting an opportune time to strike and make a pitch for new members. In particular, she told me about the upcoming con in June and invited me to it. Largely because it would be in New Jersey and I could easily get to it, I decided to take her up on it.

So a few days after Lunacon, I booked a hotel room and registered myself for Contata, wondering what would be unique to a filking con. More to come.

I have contributed over $500 to the Senator’s campaign, more than all my previous contributions in my life. I had intended to donate all the way to the $2300 limit. No more. I am finding it hard to even type the words that express my disappointment and my revulsion at the Senator’s craven position on the amended FISA bill that was just passed by the House. His words are disingenuous and misleading, and indicate either that he does not understand this issue or that — cynically — he assumes ordinary Americans won’t understand it.

As a senator he has taken an oath — the same oath he hopes to take on Inauguration Day — to defend the Constitution against all enemies, foreign or domestic. A law that circumvents the Fourth Amendment, hands the executive unfettered powers of surveillance, and grants immunity to those who have flagrantly broken the law to date — that sort of law is the death knell of a free republic.

The Senator claims to offer change. I had hoped that the change would be Democrats standing up for what is right, stepping up to defend the Constitution. I had hoped the Senator would know to put principle before politics. I am no rosy-eyed daydreamer. I understand that taking the right stand would entail risks and would expose the Senator to the vacuous accusations of unpatriotism that is the forte of the rabid Right. I even concede that, with so many of his colleagues abandoning their own duties, there is a good chance that he would expend political capital only to be defeated.

I don’t care.

There are times to play the cards you’re dealt, and there are times to kick over the table and refuse to play the game. True leaders understand the difference. When fundamental protections that have been hallowed by centuries face erosion and destruction, I think the line is pretty bright. Senator Obama should have known that this is an issue on which there should be no compromise. This is the issue to take to the American people, who are smart enough to understand the threat. This is the issue to take to the wall, to the very edge, because if we tolerate the destruction of our Constitution, there will be no America in which to raise our children.

I am surprised and shocked and saddened that apparently the Senator does not see this. And until I see evidence that he does in fact have both the savvy and the character I thought he did, I will not contribute another penny. I will route that money, instead, to groups like ActBlue and the ACLU, who have their eyes on the ball.

The final irony here is that — literally at the moment I heard the news — I was clicking over to this site to donate another $100 as my show of support for his decision to reject public financing. From what I know of his supporters, he might come to regret that decision… a lot of us will be holding back.