→ March 21, 2018
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Forever Peace.

I wasn’t a huge fan of Joe Haldeman’s Hugo-winning novel The Forever War, which described the history of a soldier involved in a war that takes place across several millennia due to the relativistic events of time travel. The science aspects of the story worked fairly well, but his depiction of the declining society on earth seemed homophobic and beyond mere dystopian thinking. Haldeman won the Hugo a second time (and the Nebula) for his 1997 novel Forever Peace, which isn’t a sequel or even truly connected to the first book other than in name, and takes an entirely different tack on the question of what causes wars and who really stands to benefit from them.

In Forever Peace, scientists have built the largest ever supercollider out within the moons of Jupiter, but it turns out that there’s a hitch in the system – if the experiment is allowed to proceed to its conclusion, it will result in the end of the universe, much as real-world opponents of the Large Hadron Collider claimed would happen once that came on line. (We are, at the moment, still here.) This would seem like a fairly straightforward story – the folks who discover what’s amiss in the collider have to convince the authorities to stop it – but in Forever Peace they are opposed by a fundamentalist Christian group, the Hammer of God, that has infiltrated the top levels of government, the military, and academia. Known colloquially as “Enders,” they *want* the end of the world to occur for religious reasons.

The main character, Julian Class, is a soldier who never sees the battlefield, working from a central command center and controlling ‘soldierboy’ mech units hundreds of miles away in what seems like a fairly clear precursor to Avatar’s main conceit. (I haven’t seen the latter movie, so I’m somewhat guessing here.) That disconnection between the actor and the violence s/he causes is a core idea in the book, and also foreshadows our increasingly indirect methods of waging war, like drone attacks in the Middle East that allow us to kill enemies real and imagined without risk to any American lives. When Julian has to take a life, it has a stronger, more profound effect on him than anything he says he’s experienced before, even when piloting the ‘soldierboy’ through Third-World villages and destroying property and crops.

There are also new Neuromancer-esque technologies where people can jack in to a shared network, which can connect your mind to others on the network at the same time, and which, of course, also becomes an interrogation technique. The protagonists discover a way to reprogram people via this technology to convince them of the utter futility of war or violence, by jacking them in with a group of other people for about two weeks, whether of their own free will or under coercion. Accessing the network in this way requires surgery to implant the jack, an operation that is sometimes unsuccessful and leaves the patients permanently offline, occasionally leaving them with brain damage as well. The operations are semi-legal, and Americans cross the border to Mexico to undergo them.

Haldeman’s writing is impersonal by design; none of his characters here or in the preceding book feel terribly real or fleshed-out, and many of his side characters are just props. Doomsday cults are real, of course, but the Enders depicted in this book feel so sharp-edged that I couldn’t take them seriously – it’s satirical, obviously, but the internal inconsistency of these characters, from the top government officials in the cult to the assassin trying to chase down Julian and his girlfriend, Blaze, so they can’t stop the collider, made them feel like cartoon villains.

As with the first novel, Forever Peace left me wondering what exactly the point was. Yes, war is bad, I got that, thanks. Removing the actor from the effects of his actions is also bad. Understanding other people, regardless of background, should reduce conflicts, yep, got that. There’s nothing here you wouldn’t find in a decent YA novel, and the latter character would almost certainly have better female characters than Haldeman could ever create. I know he’s built quite a following for his novels, and certainly his military experience means that his battle scenes are better written than most of what you’ll find elsewhere in sci-fi, but after these two books, Haldeman hasn’t convinced me he has anything interesting to say in his fiction.

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→ March 20, 2018
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Nudge.

Richard Thaler won the 2017 Nobel Prize in Economics – or whatever the longer title is, it’s the one Nobel Prize people don’t seem to take all that seriously – for his work in the burgeoning field of behavioral economics, especially on what is now called “choice architecture.” Thaler’s work focuses on how the way we make decisions is affected by the way in which we are presented with choices. I mentioned one of Thaler’s findings in my most recent stick to baseball roundup – the candidate listed first on a ballot receives an average boost of 3.5% in the voting, with the benefit higher in races where all candidates are equally unknown (e.g., there’s no incumbent). You would probably like to think that voters are more rational than that, or at least just not really that irrational, but the data are clear that the order in which names are listed on ballots affects the outcomes. (It came up in that post because Iowa Republicans are trying to rig election outcomes in that state, with one possible move to list Republican candidates first on nearly every ballot in the state.)

Thaler’s first big book, Nudge: Improving Decisions About Health, Wealth, and Happiness, co-authored with Harvard Law School professor Cass Sunstein came out in 2008, and explains the effects of choice architecture while offering numerous policy prescriptions for various real-world problems where giving consumers or voters different choices, or giving them choices in a different order, or even just flipping the wording of certain questions could dramatically alter outcomes. Thaler describes this approach as “libertarian paternalism,” saying that the goal here is not to mandate or restrict choices, but to use subtle ‘nudges’ to push consumers toward decisions that are better for them and for society as a whole. The audiobook is just $4.49 as I write this.

This approach probably mirrors my own beliefs on how governments should craft economic policies, although it doesn’t appear to be in favor with either major party right now. For example, trans fats are pretty clearly bad for your health, and if Americans consume too many trans fats, national expenditures on health care will likely rise as more Americans succumb to heart disease and possibly cancer as well. However, banning trans fats, as New York City has done, is paternalism without liberty – these jurisdictions have decided for consumers that they can’t be trusted to consume only small, safer amounts of trans fats. You can certainly have tiny amounts of trans fats without significantly altering your risk of heart disease, and you may decide for yourself that the small increase in health risk is justified by the improved flavor or texture of products containing trans fats. (For example, pie crusts made with traditional shortening have a better texture than those made with new, trans fat-free shortening. And don’t get me started on Oreos.) That’s your choice to make, even if it potentially harms your health in the long run.

Choice architecture theory says that you can deter people from consuming trans fats or reduce such consumption by how you present information to consumers at the point of purchase. Merely putting trans fat content on nutrition labels is one step – if consumers see that broken out as a separate line item, they may be less likely to purchase the product. Warning labels that trans fats are bad for your heart might also help. Some consumers will consume trans fats anyway, but that is their choice as free citizens. The policy goal is to reduce the public expenditure on health care expenses related to such consumption without infringing on individual choice. There are many such debates in the food policy world, especially when it comes to importing food products from outside the U.S. – the USDA has been trying for years to ban or curtail imports of certain cheeses made from raw milk, because of the low risk that they’ll carry dangerous pathogens, even though the fermentation process discourages the growth of such bugs. (I’m not talking about raw milk itself, which has a different risk profile, and has made a lot of people sick as it’s come back into vogue.) I’ve also run into trouble trying to get products imported from Italy like bottarga and neonata, which are completely safe, but for whatever reason run afoul of U.S. laws on bringing animal products into the country.

Thaler and Sunstein fry bigger fish than neonata in Nudge, examining how choice architecture might improve employee participation in and choices within their retirement accounts, increase participation in organ donation programs, or increase energy conservation. (The last one is almost funny: If you tell people their neighbors are better at conserving energy, then it makes those people reduce their own energy use. South Africa has been using this and similar techniques to try to reduce water consumption in drought-stricken Cape Town. Unfortunately, publicizing “Day Zero” has also hurt the city’s tourism industry.) Thaler distinguishes between Econs, the theoretical, entirely rational actors of traditional economic theory; and Humans, the very real, often irrational people who live in this universe and make inefficient or even dumb choices all the time.

Nudge is enlightening, but unlike most books in this niche, like Thinking, Fast and Slow or The Invisible Gorilla, it probably won’t help you make better choices in your own life. You can become more aware of choice architecture, and maybe you’ll overrule your status quo bias, or will look at the top or bottom shelves in the supermarket instead of what’s at eye level (hint: the retailer charges producers more to place their products at eye level), but the people Nudge is most likely to help seem like the ones least likely to read it: Elected and appointed officials. I’ve mentioned many times how disgusted I was with Arizona’s lack of any kind of energy or water conservation policies. They have more sun than almost any place in the country, but have done little to nothing to encourage solar uptake, although the state’s utility commission may have finally forced some change on the renewable energy front this week. Las Vegas actually pays residents to remove grass lawns and replace them with low-water landscaping; Arizona does nothing of the sort, and charges far too little for water given its scarcity and dwindling supply. Improving choice architecture in that state could improve its environmental policies quickly without infringing on Arizonans’ rights to leave the lights on all night.

Speaking of Thinking, Fast and Slow, its author, Daniel Kahneman, was a guest last week on NPR’s Hidden Brain podcast, and it was both entertaining and illuminating.

Next up: Hannah Arendt’s The Origins of Totalitarianism. No reason.

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→ March 19, 2018
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I, Tonya.

The very dark comedy I, Tonya, based somewhat loosely on the memoir by Tonya Harding with many winks and nods to the audience, garnered acting nominations for lead actress Margot Robbie and supporting actress Allison Janney (who won) as well as a nomination for film editing, with some critics anticipating a Best Picture nod as well. It is a perfectly solid film, a B+ or a grade 55, funny in several parts, disturbing in a few others, and benefits from a tremendous performance not by Janney (who’s fine, but one-note) but by Robbie, as well as a story that is itself just really damn good. You can rent or buy it now on iTunes or amazon.

For those of you too young to remember this fiasco, here’s the quick recap: Tonya Harding was one of the best ladies figure skaters in the world in 1991, and only the second woman ever to land the jump known as a triple axel. She went to the 1992 Olympics in Albertville, finishing fourth, and might not have skated again for the U.S. were it not for the IOC’s decision in 1988 to move up the next Winter Games to 1994, awarding them to Lillehammer, Norway. (The film screws with this timeline to make it appear that the IOC decided to move the next Winter Games up after Albertville.) In the lead to those games, someone in Harding’s circle hatched the cockamamie idea to kneecap her primary competition for a spot on the Olympic team, Nancy Kerrigan. That knocked Kerrigan out of the Nationals; Harding won the event and a spot, while the USOC awarded the second spot to Kerrigan. Meanwhile, because the men behind the kneecapping scheme were some of the dumbest hoods imaginable, they were all caught rather quickly, and Harding ended up taking some of the blame even though at the time she claimed she had no knowledge at all of any plan to injure Kerrigan. She had a disastrous performance in Lillehammer; Kerrigan earned a silver medal, as Ukraine’s Oksana Baiul won the gold.

The movie version focuses as much on what came before the 1994 Olympics as it does on what every character in the film resignedly calls “the Incident.” Harding’s mother (played by Janney) gets the Mommie Dearest treatment; she’s depicted as verbally and physically abusive, chain-smoking, day-drinking, and just generally an unlikeable battle-axe who, for all her flaws, will push for her daughter to get the training and opportunities to succeed as a figure skater. Harding, it turns out, was born with great strength and athletic ability, but never had the ‘grace’ that characterized so many figure skaters of the time – and the scoring system prior to the 2002 Salt Lake City Games’ vote-trading scandal was a corrupt, impenetrable joke, so judges could and did play favorites with various skaters. The film makes it clear that judges penalized Harding for being (in the script’s words) white trash, because she wasn’t dressed in expensive costumes and didn’t skate all pretty-like as Kerrigan did. (I always found Kerrigan to be technically skilled but boring to watch; Surya Bonali, who was a contemporary of those two, was by far more entertaining, and would often perform illegal backflips on the ice, which I interpreted as a sort of fuck-you to the judges who seemed to just plain dislike her for being big, or strong, or black.)

Robbie is incredible here as Harding; I’ve said this a few times, but 2017 was an absolute banner year for performances by actresses, with Robbie joining the list of at least five I’d say were worthy of Best Actress in a typical year. The hair and makeup are amusing enough, but Robbie nails a certain tenor to her voice and movements that reflects Harding’s background – or at least the version of Harding’s life that she wants us to hear. Janney was considered a shoo-in for Best Supporting Actress from early on in the process, but I thought the character was monotonous, and I don’t think she faced the challenge that Laurie Metcalf did in playing a more complex character in Lady Bird. (I’d probably also put Janney behind Lesley Manville for Phantom Thread.)

Sebastian Stan plays Jeff Gillooly, Harding’s abusive husband, looking like Rivers Cuomo with a taped-on mustache, and provides a dueling and somewhat differing narrative alongside what Harding tells the camera. Stan is superb, and both he and Robbie make the film’s core gimmick, of having characters break the fourth wall mid-scene, often with a moving camera shot, to explain that what we’re seeing didn’t happen or provide other details, work far better than I would have expected. That fourth-wall bit could go very wrong, but here it makes the film funnier and gives the script some more rope for scenes that seem a little beyond the pale. The movie also benefits from a hilariously spot-on performance by Paul Walter Hauser as Shawn Eckhardt, the fat, nerdy friend of Gillooly’s who hired the doofus hit men, and later gave an interview to Diane Sawyer where he claimed to be an international counterterrorism expert and otherwise showed that he was out of his mind. (He died about ten years ago; Gillooly later changed his name to Jeff Stone and disappeared, although Amy Nelson, writing for Deadspin, tracked him down in 2013.)

Harding’s story may not be true; other participants in it have denied her versions of events, and she even implied in an interview this January that she knew “something” was up, even if she didn’t actually order the hit. What seems beyond dispute, however, is that she was a victim of abuse, likely from both her mother and then Gillooly (which fits, as childhood victims are more likely to end up in abusive relationships as adults). In the script, Harding keeps telling us how various things aren’t her fault, and her mother tells us and tells Harding that she keeps blaming setbacks on everyone but herself. If, however, Harding is a trauma victim, then … well, yeah, that’s something trauma victims do to cope. And sometimes they lie, because dealing with the truth means revisiting aspects of past trauma. And of course they make bad decisions. I, Tonya may not have explicitly set out to make viewers feel sorry for its subject, but I certainly did. Whether she deserved the de facto death penalty she received from U.S. Skating – which I notice hasn’t commented on the film, unsurprising as its judges are made out to be snobbish, elitist asshats – is a bit beside the point, as she wasn’t going to the ‘98 Olympics anyway. The question is how history should view Harding; she says she turned into a punch line, while I think other accounts view her as a villain. If you accept nothing more in this film but the general gist of her life prior to Lillehammer, however, you have to see her as a victim first before she’s anything else.

I was a little uncomfortable with how I, Tonya used that violence for occasional laughs, or would shift its tone mid-scene from abuse to sight gag or fourth-wall-breaking, even when the switch was there to allow viewers to empathize more with Harding. There are many parts of this story that are genuinely funny – anything involving Eckhardt and the two nitwits he ‘hired’ to do the job – but the parts with Harding and her mother are truly horrifying, as is much of Harding’s time with Gillooly. The script also assumes too much on the part of the viewer around Harding’s marriage and why she stayed in that relationship, which risks putting too much blame on Harding (“why didn’t she just leave?”) when the answer isn’t that simple. The secondary theme, about how the U.S. Skating oligarchy wanted no part of a woman skater who came from outside their infrastructure and wasn’t a dainty waif dressed in frills, is also underplayed in the script; it’s less salacious than a dimwitted conspiracy to break Nancy Kerrigan’s knee, but it’s more insidious and wasn’t addressed at all until a global scandal blew up the biased scoring system. Harding’s life plays out for plenty of laughs in I, Tonya, but in the final reckoning it’s just not that funny.

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→ March 17, 2018
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Stick to baseball, 3/17/18.

My biggest news this week is that Smart Baseball is now out in paperback. This edition has a new afterword covering a few new developments from the 2017 season.

For Insiders this week, I had three posts from the Cactus League, covering:
• Hunter Greene & prospects from four orgs (CIN, LAD, CWS, LAA)
• Chris Paddack, Adrian Morejon, and other Padres & Rockies prospects
• Mackenzie Gore and even more Padres prospects.

I also wrote about the Jake Arrieta contract. Due to spring travel, the next chat may not be until April, unless I get a rainout on the road somewhere.

Here on the dish, I wrote up a slew of new restaurants I tried in Arizona this month.

And now, the links…

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→ March 16, 2018
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Arizona eats, 2018 edition.

I’m just heading home now from an eight-night trip to Arizona, briefly interrupted by my trip to San Francisco to Twitter HQ for the release of Smart Baseball in paperback, and since I was solo this trip I tried more new restaurants than I usually do in spring training, with several I can strongly recommend.

Ocotillo has been on my to-do list in Phoenix for probably two years now, but it’s so popular and distant enough from the AFL parks that it had to be a spring training option. It turned out to be well worth the wait, boasting a broad menu that offered plenty of diverse options and still had some excellent, hand-crafted items. I had the duck confit salad as a starter and a pappardelle with chicken ragout, both of which were good enough that I’d like to go eat them again. The salad comes with an entire leg that has been confited and I believe quick-fried to get the skin extremely crispy, and that’s served over baby lettuces, arugula, shaved fennel, candied almonds, and a citrus vinaigrette. The pappardelle – the menu says “duck egg papparedelle,” as if I’d know the difference – was well cooked, maybe a shade past al dente, with a tomato-based ragout that had white and dark chicken in it and a bright flavor like that of a vodka sauce. The only dish that anyone had that wasn’t a hit was the Brussels sprouts starter, as they were totally undercooked. The space is huge, but there was still a wait on Friday night if you didn’t have a reservation.

Taco Chelo just opened officially on March 9th, although I believe they had a soft open prior to that, and the new counter-service taco-and-drinks joint from Aaron Chamberlain (St. Francis, Phoenix Public Market) is both excellent and a good value. They offer five different taco options – vegetable, fried fish, carnitas, barbacoa, and carne asada – plus several starters, including a pinto bean dish I strongly recommend and chicharrones that could feed an army. They also offer little quesadillas for a few bucks each, and even though that’s not really my thing (I don’t eat much cows-milk cheese), this was outstanding, especially because the tortilla was thicker than what you’d normally get, giving the resulting sandwich (yes, a quesadilla is a sandwich, don’t @ me) more tooth. They also offer a few margaritas, a Paloma (tequila and grapefruit soda), and a few beers. You could easily get dinner and one drink for under $20 here.

Eric Longenhagen introduced me to the Arab market and restaurant Haji Baba, not too far east of Tempe Diablo, an unassuming and very reasonably priced restaurant serving Middle Eastern staples, including chicken shawarma, beef kofta, and lamb gyros. I got the shawarma, which came with hummus, basmati rice, tabbouleh salad, and Arabic bread (I would have called it a pita). The chicken was a little lean but very garlicky – that’s a compliment – and the bread and hummus were both plus. Tabbouleh just isn’t my jam, though; that’s a big pile of parsley, and as Thag could tell you, parsley is just for looks.

Pa’la is the new place from Claudio Urciuoli, formerly of Noble Eatery, as he’s taken his love of wood-fired cooking to another small place that serves incredible grain bowls, a flatbread option that changes daily, and a half-dozen or so small plates from cuisines around the Mediterranean. The grain bowl is just fantastic, and I say that as someone who doesn’t necessarily love that particular craze. It has a mixture of five grains, toasted seeds (sesame, pumpkin, sunflower), roasted vegetables (mine had mostly beets, which I love), olive oil, and vinegar, and is topped with grilled shrimp or halibut. Grain bowls often taste kind of flat and cardboardy, but this one was bright, flavorful, and very satisfying even though it seems light. The contents of the bowl will change with the season, as will the rest of the menu. It’s very much worth going out of your way to find this place, especially if you’re traveling and tired of one meal after another centered around heavy meat dishes.

Barrio Café Gran Reserva is a high-end offering from Chef Silvana Salcido Esparza of Barrio Café (and formerly of Barrio Queen, although she’s no longer involved with that project), offering a five-course tasting menu for $49 per person as well as several a la carte items. It just reopened in the fall after closing for a few months for a “retooling,” and I think they might still need to refine their product, which has a lot of great ideas but very inconsistent execution. The duck taco, for example, was both overcooked and lukewarm when it reached the table, while the halibut was perfect on the inside but overcooked at the edges. The chocolate mousse was by far the best part of the meal, only approached by the amuse bouche that started the evening of muscat-macerated watermelon and a dollop of goat cheese mousse.

New Wave Market is a breakfast/lunch café in Old Town Scottsdale, a new offering from the folks behind the Super Chunk bakery, serving, as you might expect, baked goods, along with some egg dishes, a ‘bagel bar,’ and a Hawai’ian bread French toast for breakfast and coffee from Chandler-based Peixoto. Most of my favorite breakfast spots in the Valley are down towards Tempe/Ahwatukee, which is also where I like to stay, so I’ve lacked recommendations for folks staying in Scottsdale. NWM isn’t up to the standard of those other restaurants (listed below), but it’s a better choice than the chain options in Old Town.

A reader of mine is one of the partners in the brand-new Starlite BBQ, located just east of Old Town in a strip mall along Indian School Road. It’s a sit-down Q joint, like Famous Dave’s but with food that’s actually good. (I have eaten in a Famous Dave’s twice, both times over ten years ago, and both times it made me horribly sick.) I went with Eric and Arizona institution Bill Mitchell, a photographer who also writes some prospect lists for BA, and is as food-obsessed as I am. We ordered a lot of food, and a few extras came from the kitchen, but we agreed the biggest hits were the warm cornbread in a cast iron skillet, the hot fried chicken (which was spicy but very tolerable), the crispy potatoes (baked and then flash fried), the braised collard greens with tomatoes, and the “brontosaurus rib,” a full short rib that is smoked and then grilled to crisp up the exterior. The only item I think we didn’t care for was the smoked brisket, which didn’t have a lot of flavor on its own, in part because the slab we got was too lean, but overall it just didn’t have much smoke flavor to it. Eric and Bill both liked the shrimp and cheese grits, but I skipped the latter part of that. The meat portions are large – the chicken, for example, is half a broiler-fryer, and the brontosaurus rib is quite big given how fatty short rib is – so I’d say order conservatively on the meat and then go heavy on sides.

Roland’s Market isn’t quite open yet, but they expect to open their doors officially in mid-April, possibly with a soft open before that. The new collaboration between Chris Bianco of his namesake Pizzeria and Nadia Holguin and Armando Hernandez of Tacos Chiwas (which I still strongly recommend) will be open from breakfast until late night, with a menu during the day that will combine some elements of each side’s cuisines. I had the chance to sample some of their breakfast offerings, which include breakfast sandwiches served on Bianco’s bread, with fillings like a frittata with carne seca or one with red peppers and onions, both served with an arbol sauce; an asparagus frittata (since that’s in season now) served with a salsa roja; a stack of thick house-made corn tortillas with asadero cheese, smothered in chile Colorado, and topped with a sunny egg; and a French toast-like dish with house-made bread sandwiched around Nutella and served with fresh fruit, no syrup needed. They plan to make their own flour tortillas in-house, as Chiwas does, and the late-night menu will feature Chiwas’ tacos. The space, in a building that was first built in 1917, will have seating for patrons who will be dining in, a large bar area, and a quick-service counter at the front with an espresso bar and pastries.

I also hit a number of old standbys, including The Hillside Spot, Crepe Bar (now using local Provisions Coffee for their espresso), Matt’s Big Breakfast, FnB (still the best restaurant in the Valley IMO), Pizzeria Bianco, Frost, Cartel Coffee, Press Coffee (now open on Apache in Tempe/Mesa, serving food as well), and Giant Coffee (which seems to have dropped Four Barrel?). I didn’t get to Gallo Blanco, an old favorite that has reopened after a two-year-plus absence because its old building was torn down, but friends of mine out there say it’s as good as it used to be.

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→ March 15, 2018
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Ethel and Ernest.

Ethel and Ernest is a delicate, loving portrait of the animator-author Raymond Briggs’ parents, from their first courtship until their deaths after 40-odd years of marriage, a relationship which Briggs concedes in the opening was rather unremarkable. There really isn’t much ‘action’ in this movie, and as such it’s probably not going to appeal to viewers who need something to happen. It is so tender and so realistic a depiction of two lives that you should watch it anyway. It was eligible for the 2017 Academy Award for Best Animated Feature but was not nominated even though it is #BetterThanBossBaby. You can currently rent or buy it on amazon or iTunes.

The film opens with a quick look at Briggs in his studio, where he explains the film in an almost dismissive way, after which the remainder is animated, starting with the happenstance meeting between Ernest (voiced by Jim Broadbent, aka Horace Slughorn), riding his bike, and Ethel (Brenda Blethyn, Secrets & Lies), a lady’s maid whom he sees as she leans out a second-floor window to air out some linens. The story follows their courtship to marriage to years of hoping for a child, only to have the doctor tell Ernest after Ethel gives birth with great difficulty that they should not have any more children. They survive the Blitz, with Raymond sent to the country twice in the Evacuation, and then worry over their son becoming an artist and a hippie. Then they grow old and pass away within a few months of each other.

If that sounds thin for a 90-minute movie, it is, yet the film works because of the beautiful flow of the script from minute scenes of domestic life through even crises like the bombing of London. (It also leads to a number of jokes about historical events, including the ever-optimistic Ethel, when told that new German Chancellor Adolf Hitler will be selling his book in the UK, saying, “That’s nice of him.”) The couple’s love for each other is contrasted with tiny cracks in the relationship, like Ernest’s blue-collar roots and concerns over anything that’s too “posh,” while Ethel aspires to higher standards of class and wishes to see Raymond do the same through schooling. Ernest’s consciousness of his modest upbringing drives him to buy a television, a phone, a car, all of which seems to dismay Ethel, who doesn’t see why they need any of these trappings of modern life and often delivers some unintentionally humorous responses.

Broadbent and Blethyn are delightful and both are so thoroughly in character that it was easy to forget the famous names behind the voices. The animation mirrors that of the graphic novel on which the film is based, with a quaint, hand-drawn look to the characters – all of whom have impossibly rosy cheeks – and an idyllic backdrop of interwar London before the Blitz sets in. Briggs may not have set out in any way to make a great movie, but by telling the story of his parents’ lives with such love and affection, he’s done just that. Perhaps that is the key: He didn’t try to do too much, so the result is just right.

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→ March 14, 2018
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Sing, Unburied, Sing.

Jesmyn Ward’s novel Sing, Unburied, Sing won the National Book Award for 2017, and is among the leading contenders for this year’s Pulitzer Prize in Fiction. It’s very much in the long tradition of African-American literature that employs magical realism to tell a story that shows readers the weight of historical racism borne by today’s African-Americans. It feels timely, and it does not shy away from any of the ugly truths of any such story, but it also felt too familiar, as Ward seems to cover ground that Toni Morrison, Alice Walker, and Zora Neale Hurston covered a few decades ago.

Ward unfurls the story through two narrators, with a third joining briefly in the heart of the book, who move together but offer different perspectives on the same events. JoJo is a precocious 13-year-old boy, living in the Deep South with his grandparents, Pappy and Mam, the latter of whom is dying of cancer. JoJo’s mother, Leonie, is a drug addict and inconsistently in the house, so JoJo has learned to take care of himself and his toddler sister, Kayla, short for Michaela. Their father, Michael, starts the novel in prison, and the bulk of the story revolves around a disastrous trip the three of them take to meet Michael when he’s released from prison, joined by Leonie’s addict friend Misty. Leonie is black, and Michael is white, and his father is a good ol’ boy racist who wants no part of his grandchildren. Leonie had a brother, Given, who was shot and killed by a white boy … who happened to be Michael’s cousin. When Leonie gets high, she sees Given.

There’s a second story, told by Pappy to JoJo in pieces over the course of the novel, relating to Pappy’s time in the prison camp known as Parchman (now a regular prison, where Michael has been doing time). Pappy tried to take care of Richie, a young boy about JoJo’s age who was sentenced to time in Parchman for stealing food to feed his many siblings, but it’s clear from the start of the story that something went awry. When JoJo gets to Parchman, he sees Richie as a ghost just as Leonie sees Given, and getting to the bottom of the story becomes crucial to JoJo and to our own understanding of what Ward is trying to say in the book as a whole.

The way that past racism continues to exact a toll on subsequent generations suffuses Sing, Unburied, Sing. JoJo, obviously aware of racism and mature beyond his years, feels like a great secret is being kept from him, while Kayla is too young to care, but has also come to see JoJo as a parent more than Leonie or the father she doesn’t even know. Pappy has never recovered from what happened at Parchman; Mam has never recovered from losing Given. (In a nice touch of realism, the white boy who shot Given doesn’t go to jail.) And Leonie wants to escape, physically and mentally, from just about everything other than Michael, but the superficial escape granted by drugs brings her visions of Given, a past she didn’t ask to inherit.

Ward’s portraits of her core characters and even some of the side ones – Misty and the lawyer Al, at the least – are compelling and well-rounded, although all of the central figures are broken in some fashion. Michael is a bit of a cipher here, but also doesn’t appear in much of the book. But the gimmick of the ghosts is a familiar trope in this genre, and Ward doesn’t seem to say anything particularly new here, or to give readers a new angle on the subject. Yes, historical racism perpetuates the socioeconomic disadvantages most African-Americans face in our society. I don’t think this book does enough to illuminate the problem or give anyone a window on how to address it. There is also way too much vomiting in this book. I’m all puked out, thanks.

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→ March 12, 2018
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The Warmth of Other Suns.

Isabel Wilkerson says she spent 15 years researching the book The Warmth of Other Suns: The Epic Story of America’s Great Migration, which won the National Book Critics Circle Award for General Nonfiction in 2010, and the research shows in the incredible depth of detail in this tripartite narrative about the mass movement of black Americans from the Jim Crow South to the north and west from 1915 to 1970. Wilkerson, who won a Pulitzer Prize for journalism while working for the New York Times, interviewed over 1200 people, and focused this sweeping saga on three African-Americans who fled the south’s limited opportunities and overt, violent racism, fleeing Mississippi, Florida, and Louisiana for Chicago, New York, and Los Angeles. Their stories are interwoven with each other’s and with other related histories of others who followed similar paths, and the tragedies of some of those who chose to stay behind.

Wilkerson gives us three characters who will accompany us through the book’s 600-odd pages (for me, 22-plus hours of audio): Ida Mae Gladney, a sharecropper’s wife from Mississippi who followed her husband, George, to Milwaukee and eventually the south side of Chicago; George Starling, a fruit picker from Eustis, Florida, who tried to organize other fruit pickers to earn better wages but fled from white landowners who set out to lynch him; and Robert Pershing Foster, a doctor from Louisiana who became a successful surgeon in Los Angeles and served many celebrity patients. The three all marry and raise children, and all find greater prosperity in the north than would ever have been possible where they were born, but all face the normal travails of any working-class life, and each carries some of the baggage of their birth and upbringing as outcasts in a racist country well into adulthood.

All three have compelling, often heartbreaking individual stories – although I think Wilkerson’s touch here is so deft that she could make anyone’s life story compelling – but none was more fascinating than the path taken by Dr. Foster, who left Monroe, Louisiana, and found success as a doctor in California both by outworking other doctors and by bringing an intense, precise sort of personal attention to his patients. Shedding his childhood name of Pershing after he moved to go by the more conventional name of Robert, Dr. Foster seems to have achieved the American dream against long odds, earning material wealth, marrying well, raising three daughters who themselves became successful, thus creating an ongoing chain of success and upward mobility from his own struggle. Yet he never seems to be able to escape the scars of a childhood (and possibly a marriage that brought him in-laws who never thought he was good enough) in a way that allows him to enjoy his success. Wilkerson illustrates him as a demanding, controlling husband who was meticulous about his own appearance and that of his wife, while he also was a compulsive gambler who clearly enjoyed how his spending at casinos bought him a form of respect at the casinos he frequented. Later in the book, Wilkerson tells of a gala Foster threw in his own honor, and how he agonized over every detail of the party, and how he couldn´t enjoy it during or afterwards because of perceived imperfections in the result.

At times a brutal, unsparing look at the treatment southern whites doled out to the black underclass as a matter of course, The Warmth of Other Suns is also deeply personal and empathetic. Wilkerson tells several stories of lynchings, including Leander Shaw and Claude Neal, the latter of whom was brutally tortured before he was hanged for a murder he may not have committed. She details the violent, racist reign of Lake County, Florida, Sheriff Willis McCall, accused at least 50 times of abusing or killing black suspects in his custody, once shooting two handcuffed black prisoners in cold blood and finally ousted from office after eight terms when he kicked a black prisoner to death. (McCall’s son, now 64, was arrested in January for molesting a young girl and possessing child pornography. He had stated in the past that his father was innocent of all charges of civil rights violations.) George Starling leaves Florida because a friend tells him local whites are going to take him to a swamp for a ´necktie party,´ racist slang for lynching. Ida Mae and her husband, also George, leave their life as sharecroppers under a benevolent but still manipulative, controlling landowner after a friend of theirs is beaten into senselessness over the theft of some turkeys that, it turns out, had just wandered off. Robert Foster isn’t driven out the same way but realizes that as a black doctor who can’t even receive admitting privileges at the white hospital, he’ll end up as just a ‘country doctor’ if he doesn’t move out of the land of Jim Crow.

The stories of violence and outright suppression are hard enough to fathom today, but the smaller indignities that the three protagonists and other African-American characters in the book faced fill in the gap and have even more impact because they’re easier to ingest today, when lynchings like that of James Byrd Jr. are extremely rare and result in actual convictions of the killers. When Dr. Foster is driving to California and can’t find a hotel room, even though some white proprietors are kind in rejecting him, lying to his face about vacancies, you can see and feel it. When Ida Mae has to take a series of temporary jobs in Chicago, where most employers will still choose only white candidates, she ends up in a situation right out of #MeToo. Even positive stories often come with a bitter reminder of what came before; George Starling, working as a porter on a north-south rail line, is told to direct black passengers to certain cars when the train passes into the south even after Jim Crow has been made illegal, and has to subtly inform these passengers of their right to say no, at risk of his own employment.

Wilkerson’s personal approach to the book does not exclude the academic research on the subject, but she instead sprinkles details and observations of experts on the timing, motive, and extent of the migration – which came in waves, and finally slowed after the Civil Rights Act was passed in 1964 and slowly implemented over the following decade. (And, of course, we now see one party trying to roll it back, along with the Voting Rights Act of 1965.) This is a work of scholarship, yet also a labor of love, as no author could spend so much time and become so invested in a subject unless it were of abiding personal interest to her in the first place. It’s also a potent reminder of why African-Americans today remain at an economic disadvantage relative to whites, and how we are simply repeating the sins of our fathers when we deny black Americans their right to vote, or incarcerate them on nonviolent drug charges, or underfund urban schools as if they were the ‘colored’ schools of the Jim Crow era.

Next up: Margaret Creighton’s The Electrifying Fall of Rainbow City: Spectacle and Assassination at the 1901 Worlds Fair.

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→ March 11, 2018
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They’d Rather Be Right.

Mark Clifton and Frank Riley’s They’d Rather Be Right won the second Hugo Award for Best Novel and is widely regarded today as the worst of all of the 66 winners of that prize. It was later reissued with two related short stories appended to the beginning of it and sold as The Forever Machine, which is the version I read, and the main story is not improved any but the inclusion of those two extra bits. I couldn’t get over what a shame this entire book was, because there’s a germ of an idea at the heart of it that is actually quite relevant today – what might artificial intelligence do for us, and how it might be able to change civilization if we’re willing to let it.

Two professors, with the help of a natural telepath named Joey, build a ‘cybernetic machine’ they name Bossy, which operates quite a bit like today’s backpropagation AI programs do, but with the unstated condition that, in the world of this novel, P is actually equal to NP and thus all problems that can be verified quickly can be solved in polynomial time. Bossy can answer anything and somehow can reverse aging and make people immortal. The media gets stirred up against Bossy at first, so the professors have to dismantle it, take it into hiding, and rebuild it in a flophouse in San Francisco, eventually gaining the help of a local industrialist who controls major media outlets and enlisting some help from the military to protect it. When their first patient reverse-ages about 30 years and starts talking like a Buddhist who’s achieved nirvana, the uproar threatens to engulf the project and potentially end it.

There’s a decent premise in there, and the title comes from a funny exchange about whether people would give up their most cherished beliefs and preconceived notions in exchange for a life of immortality, wisdom, and peace. One of the inventors of Bossy says that given that choice, most people would reject what Bossy was offering, saying “they’d rather be right” than gain everything there possibly is to gain. But my word is the execution here terrible. The three main inventors, all men, are paper-thin and boring; even Joey’s telepathy is just a crutch, not really important to Bossy’s development, but a way for him to control other people the way Second Foundation experts in Isaac Asimov’s series use mentalics. The woman who becomes Bossy’s first success story, Mabel, is the hackneyed hooker with a heart of gold, and about as interesting as paste even before her transformation – and she’s worse afterwards.

It’s also never really clear why the public rages against Bossy early in the book and then clamors for it later. Yes, public opinion often goes against new technologies or scientific progress if a large portion of the population doesn’t understand it – GMOs are the best modern example – but that’s not well set up here at all. If someone invents a Forever Machine, what fool wouldn’t take it? Even if I told you that it wouldn’t extend your lifespan, but would remove any effects of aging and protect you against cancer and autoimmune diseases and more, and also gave you greater intelligence and inner peace, you’re still saying no? People spend billions of dollars on useless supplements to try to get a little healthier. If someone invents Bossy, they’ll need an army to keep people away from it.

I’ve got a few more Hugo winners to review here that I’ve already read, and right now I have just four left: C.J. Cherryh’s Cyteen; Vernor Vinge’s A Deepness in the Sky; and the second and third novels in Kim Stanley Robinson’s Mars trilogy. Vinge’s book I’ll read soon enough – it’s just long, but I do find his books interesting, even if they move a little slow. But those Mars books … given how awful Red Mars is, and yes, it’s a more painful read than even this dreck, I’m in no rush to read them just for the sake of finishing a list.

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→ March 10, 2018
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Stick to baseball, 3/10/18.

I had two posts for Insiders this week, with another one on Shohei Ohtani just posted this morning. One piece looked at potential #1 overall pick Casey Mize, a right-handed pitcher at Auburn who threw a no-hitter last night. I ranked potential impact prospects for the 2018 season, which differs from my top 100 ranking, which looks at prospects’ long-term expected value. I also held a Klawchat on Thursday.

Over at Paste, I reviewed Smile, a new, light card game designed by Michael Schacht, best known for Zooloretto.

The paperback version of Smart Baseball comes out on Tuesday! I’ll be at Twitter HQ that day, and will answer questions from readers via the site’s Q&A app. To submit a question, tweet it with the hashtag #smartbaseball.

And now, the links…

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