The Phantom Scientist

 
 
The Phantom Scientist

by Robert Cousin

translated by Edward Gauvin

MIT Press

2023

 

 

The Phantom Scientist is a French graphic novel set at a mysterious, isolated institute, where scientists from a variety of fields are invited to advance their research. The institute itself is a kind of experimental project. The idea is that incidental interactions with peers from other fields will produce novel, serendipitous discoveries ... but it also produces a rising tide of chaos that will eventually force the institute's current director (a sociologist!) to call in the army to evacuate everyone for their own safety. This is the fourth iteration of the institute, and when it inevitably collapses, it'll be restarted with new researchers and a new director.
 
Our viewpoint character is professor Stephane Douasy, a physicist who studies fractals and spirals, who is interested in applying those ideas to understand plant growth. Based on the acknowledgments, it seems he's closely based on a real person, Stephane Douady, so I suspect that the discovery he eventually makes about leaf shapes is a real finding from the actual Dr Douady's research. The fictional Stephane is the last of the 24 scientists to arrive at the institute. A new one comes at regular intervals to dampen the chaos. Now that Stephane has arrived, the institute should function at maximum capacity for the final 6 months of its 7-year cycle before collapsing. But there's a problem - there's already way too much chaos, and it doesn't seem to calm, so the institute may not survive its full span...
 
Stephane is an outgoing fellow, and he quickly befriends two other scientists in his building - Louise, a linguist who was working on teaching computers speech but has given up since the appearance of chat-bots, and Villhelm, who's written a computer program that accurately predicts his own future actions, but that works so slowly that they always arrive late. (Ominously, each set of predictions includes his percent chance of death.) Their building also has the office of the never-seen Dr Paniany, the 'phantom scientist' of the title.
 
Stephane is basically doing what the institute is supposed to - he gets his introverted colleagues to leave their labs and talk to each other for the first time in forever, he insists on checking inside Paniany's office (the other two had been assuming he'd either never or arrived or left before they got there), and gaining new insights from seeing his research. Vilhelm figures out how to make his program run faster, and Louise gets reinvigorated out of her torpor, and decides to find where inside the institute Paniany is camped out.
 
Dr Paniany was researching the P vs NP problem. In math and computing, some problems just don't have a single right answer. Among those that do, there are problems that are 'easy to solve' called P, and problems that are hard to solve but 'easy to check' called NP. Easy to solve here means you have a set of instructions, an algorithm, you can follow that lets you find a solution without needing to guess or use trial-and-error. Easy to check means you can tell that a right answer is right. The NP example author Robin Cousin gives is a jigsaw puzzle - hard to solve, but very easy to tell if it's put together correctly or not. (Complex as they look, Rubik's cubes are P. If you know the steps, you can solve one, from any starting arrangement, in seconds.) There's a longstanding debate about whether or not P = NP, if every problem we can easily check has some algorithm that would let us solve it easily too, even if we haven't found it yet, or if there are some problems that can only be solved by trial-and-error.
 
In reality, we don't have an answer either way. In the comic, Paniany has proved that P = NP, and written an algorithm using his proof that helps every other researcher who encounters it do their own research much better and faster. He, and his proof, are the source of the rising chaos that overtakes the institute during the second half of the comic.
 
Cousin's art style reminds me a bit of Jason Shiga. His figures are cartoony, with relatively little detail, fairly thick outlines, and bright colors.
 
It's pretty rare to see a sociologist show up in contemporary scifi! The other example I can think of is Connie Willis's Bellwether, which was also about how the 'chaos' of interactions between people who might not otherwise meet can produce unexpected creativity or start trends and fads. This is, in fact, a real sociological finding, although both Cousin and Willis play it up for effect, in the same way scifi authors have been doing with ideas from physics forever. But one of the earliest findings in the sociology of networks is about how you can get more new information from acquaintances rather than close friends and family, a phenomenon called 'the strength of weak ties.' That name comes from Mark Granovetter, although if you've heard the idea before, it's probably because of Malcolm Gladwell, who's done the most to popularize it. It's too bad the seismograph-style Organizational Chaos Index the institute director keeps consulting isn't a real measure; it'd be awfully useful!

Glass Town

 
 
Glass Town

The Imaginative World of the Brontes
by Isabel Greenberg

Harry Abrams

2020

 

 

Glass Town is a graphic novel that presents a lightly fictionalized telling of the life of Charlotte Bronte that centers on the game of make-believe she used to play with her siblings Branwell, Emily, and Anne.
 
The book opens near its ending, with Charlotte visiting the grave site of her recently dead siblings, and being visited by a vision of Charles Wellesley, one of her imaginary characters, the one most like herself in Greenberg's telling. In conversation with Charles, Charlotte remembers her siblings and their make-believe game, and the rest of the book appears as an extended flashback from this 'present day' moment that we return to again at the end.
 
The earliest time we return to is also a funeral. The two eldest Bronte sisters have just died of illness they caught at boarding school. Charlotte is now the oldest, and with Branwell, Emily, and Anne, she starts a game they can play together, imagining the city of Glass Town, on a British-colonized African island called Angria. Greenberg portrays Charlotte as a natural leader, but one who defers to Branwell because she believes that, as the only brother, he ought to be in charge of the girls.
 
Throughout the book, the invented character Charlotte is most interested in is the womanizing poet Zamorna. She clearly loves him, gets jealous of the fictional women she pairs him with, and even changes the narrative to punish them for getting the attention she wants for herself but can't have. Greenberg depicts Charlotte as kind of romantically obsessed with cruel, patriarchal men; she wants someone who can boss her around, but she's so strong-willed that she keeps creating tyrants in an attempt to find someone to rule her. Charlotte seems to try to mold Branwell into this same kind of man, but he crumbles beneath the pressure she puts on him.
 
The siblings build up Glass Town in the stories they write for each other, especially Branwell who wants war and adventure stories, and Charlotte who wants romance and domestic drama. They spend all day every day playing. Eventually Emily and Anne get tired of always getting overrun and invent their own island, Gondal, to tell their own stories their own way, without their older siblings taking over.
 
Eventually, their father sends Charlotte to boarding school again. She and Branwell write each other letters to keep the game going initially, but when he stops writing, Charlotte carries on by herself. Things come to a head when the various ongoing plots in Glass Town come to a climax - overlapping love triangles intersecting with a revolution for African independence - and Charlotte worries that she's becoming unhealthily obsessed. She turns away from her fantasy world, she and her sisters publish their novels, and then all the siblings but Charlotte fall sick and die within a year. This brings us to the 'present' when she has the chance to choose again, to return to her fantasy and get lost in it, or to stay grounded in reality.
 
Greenberg's art is noteworthy. The proportions of the people and the perspective of the buildings resemble's children's art, an impression that's reinforced by the rough linework, which looks more like charcoal than ink. The color scheme of the entire book is autumnal, with reds and pinks, oranges and browns, splashes of yellow and purple, but no blue or green at all. Scenes and characters from Glass Town are in full color, while the living Brontes are monotone. Grey in the present day when Charlotte is in mourning, brown before the game starts, red at the height of the excitement, pink and orange when Charlotte is at school. You really feel that the fantasy world is more lively than reality, both brighter and more saturated with emotion.
 
Greenberg published in 2020, Catherynne Valente write a YA novel about the Brontes a couple years earlier called Glass Town Game. I'm not quite sure why a 200 year-old kids' game made it into the zeitgeist just then, though I'd guess that it helps that Oxford published a collection of the Brontes' Glass Town writings in 2010.
 
Lots of kids play let's pretend, but the Bronte siblings wrote their imaginary world down instead of only describing it verbally to each other. And because they became famous, various people had reasons to collect, preserve, and transcribe these childhood writings, which is why we're able to know or care about them. Whereas if you or I did something similar when we were kids, we would each likely be our own stories' only reader, if we kept them at all, instead of boxing them up in the attic or tossing them in the trash, the usual fate of kids' art, even the stuff that once got displayed on the fridge.
 
I've actually seen essays claiming that the Brontes invented roleplaying games 150 years before Gary Gygax wrote Dungeons & Dragons, or that one or the other of the sisters were the world's first Dungeon Master, but I don't really think that's true, any more so than I think HG Wells invented wargaming when he wrote Little Wars. At most, I think these might be the earliest examples of someone documenting in writing (that survived, and could become part of the historical record) the sort of games that many people played in their heads as kids and young adults, without usually leaving any record behind. And actually, I doubt they're even the earliest, probably just the best known, because these game-players became world famous, and their records got reprinted, rather than being anonymous writings that remain confined to an archive.
 
Which is not to say there's nothing of value here! Glass Town has kind of caught my imagination, and I'll probably read Valente's book about it at some point too. Lots of kids probably had their own make-believe world, but it's not so surprising to think that the future authors of Jane Eyre and Wuthering Heights might've had fantasy worlds that were more interesting than most, just as Wells and his opponent Robert Lewis Stevenson probably described their battles between toy soldiers more entertainingly than your average wargamer.

Wuhan Diary

 
 
Wuhan Diary

Dispatches from a Quarantined City

by Fang Fang

translated by Michael Berry

Harper Collins

2020

 

 

Wuhan Diary is a book that collects a series of 60 daily social media posts by the Chinese author Fang Fang that she made from her apartment in Wuhan, starting at the beginning of a strict mandatory city-wide lockdown in late January 2020, and lasting until late March when the re-opening date was announced.
 
Last year, I read Deadly Quiet City by Murong Xuecun, a journalist who entered Wuhan just after the lockdown lifted, and who interviewed people from a variety of stations in life about what they did and how they survived. If you were only going to read one account of the Wuhan quarantine, I would recommend Murong's. Fang Fang's diary has value as a direct account at the time things were happening, and Murong notes that she inspired him to do his project, but she's also just one person, a fairly affluent older woman with a lot of friends and family members able to deliver food to her doorstep. Her experiences in isolation were not too different from mine! But Murong was able to interview a doctor, a delivery person, an unlicensed cab driver - people who had a much more direct experience with the coronavirus outbreak.
 
Each day, Fang Fang notes how long the outbreak has been going on, talks about the weather, discusses whatever news about the coronavirus has been making the rounds that day (often the death of a doctor or another public figure), she shares updates about how she's getting food and how her family members are doing, she comments on the latest specific rules of the lockdown, she reports on conversations she's had with friends who are doctors or who know other important information, she calls on her readers to follow the quarantine procedures and help each other as best they can.
 
And, as time goes on, her diary comes to be dominated by a few other topics - questioning the government's early inaction on the coronavirus, calling on government officials and hospital administrators who made mistakes to admit them and resign, talking about the lengths she has to go to publish each new day of her diary when her social media accounts have been suspended and each new post is often taken down by the time the next day's goes up (due to her large audience resharing her words, they stay in circulation, but corporate or government censors try to limit her reach), and responding to the nationalist 'ultra-leftist' trolls (who sound a lot like America's alt-right) who denounce her, threaten her, slander and lie about her, and who generally attack anyone who shares negative information or who criticizes the government.
 
Especially early on, when the lockdown has just started, and the diary itself has not become a topic of discussion, Fang Fang's experiences in quarantine remind me a lot of my own early isolation in mid-March 2020. Like me, she started off fairly optimistic - a two-week shutdown that will stop person-to-person transmission and reveal all the people who are already infected but haven't shown symptoms yet, allowing them to get treatment. Like me, like a lot of us, I think, she quickly realized it wouldn't be that easy, and that the quarantine period would need to be longer, and was forced to stare into the blank space where the future used to be and wonder what would happen next.
 
Early on especially, but kind of throughout her diary, Fang Fang remains pretty optimistic that the quarantine will work, the coronavirus will be brought under control if not defeated, and she mostly has a very vocal, positive faith that people are trying their hardest, doing their best, and that people cooperating with government regulations would be the cause of an eventual return to normalcy. Honestly, this annoyed me, and at times made me feel sick. I don't want to be unfair to her, especially how much she got pilloried by Chinese readers for the opposite reason, but her positivity was sometimes upsetting to me.
 
It's also hard to square with her acknowledgment that the city government of Wuhan and the national government of China both did everything in their power to hide the existence of the virus, to deny that it was contagious, to conceal how many patients were coming into the hospitals and how many doctors and nurses were getting sick and dying while treating them. They knew, for sure, by the end of December 2019, and should've know weeks sooner, and instead of announcing the existence of the virus and trying to keep it contained, they attempted to keep it secret and allowed it to spread around China and across the world. For at least 20 days, the Chinese government allowed mass events and huge movements of people associated with New Years festivities, and during those 20 days, any chances of preventing a pandemic were lost.
 
Arguably the American government, and our largest agricultural businesses, are doing the same thing, right now, with the bird flu. If H5N1 becomes another pandemic, it won't be because it evolved too fast for anyone to stop, it will be because everyone chose to prioritize secrecy and quarterly profits over making any real attempt to prevent another plague. (Incidentally, this is the actual reason for the much-vaunted high price of American eggs right now, even if none of our politicians will say that out loud.)
 
There's a sick dramatic irony to reading Wuhan Diary, because by mid-March, just as America was going into a panic, the new coronavirus cases in Wuhan were finally (and only temporarily) going down to zero. By the end of the diary, Fang Fang's city is about to reopen and she thinks her life will go back to normal. And meanwhile, the worst was still yet to come, not just for Wuhan or China, but for the whole world.
 
Fang Fang also thinks the ultra-leftists and the people within the government who pushed for secrecy will be discredited, that they still might be forced to resign, and that the public will turn away from them and demand something better. Staring down the gun barrel of my own dark future, I admire her hope and optimism. But again, there is terrible dramatic irony in knowing that the censors and authoritarians were actually empowered, that Xi Jinping was about to start a massive consolidation of power, making China less free and less democratic, and probably more like what the ultra-leftists want it to be. I fear similar changes are coming to America, and I can't muster any optimism of my own right now.

Imelda and the Goblin King

 
 
Imelda and the Goblin King

by Briony May Smith

Flying Eye Books

2015

 

 

Imelda and the Goblin King is a children's picture book that retells an older fairy tale in a way that seems an awful lot like a modern political allegory. I didn't really care for this one! The reasons for that probably have more to do with me, and with when I read it, than they do with what Briony Smith has written and drawn. But so be it; right now I don't know how to give Imelda a fair reading.
 
Imelda is a human girl. She lives in a house on the edge of the forest, and spends all day every day in the forest playing with the fairies and the Fairy Queen. One day, the Goblin King comes stomping into the woods with all his little goblins, declares that he owns everything, kicks some fairies, and generally makes an un-ignorable nuisance of himself. The Fairy Queen invites him to a shared banquet to smooth tensions. He eats everything, then kidnaps her and locks her in a cage.
 
The fairies go to Imelda and beg her for help. She bakes a magic pie that's half safe and half poison, and offers to share a (safe) slice with him if he'll release the Fairy Queen. Predictably, the Goblin King steals the pie from Imelda, eats the whole thing, and turns into a worm. Without the king, all the little goblins become friends with the fairies, and everyone lives happily ever after, except for the very angry, bossy worm.
 
Like I said, this feels like a parable. You've got a woman politician going up against a shouting megalomaniac who wants everyone to pay attention to him, who wants to own everything, control everyone, who wants to lock up women in cages. Smith published this in 2015, thus probably wrote it in 2014, and also probably wasn't making the overt parallels to American politics that seem so obvious now.
 
As a political fable, I hate it. It's too simplistic - which, I know, is laughable criticism of a kids' book, but still. Everyone is happy and gets along until the Goblin King arrives. The moment he's gone, they do again, with absolutely no conflict between the fairies and the goblins. And how do you get rid of an opposing politician you don't like? Imelda's answer is, effectively, assassination.
 
But even as a kids' book with no larger implications, I don't like this. The message that it's important to stand up to bullies instead of appeasing them is sound, but I kind of don't think you should encourage kids to poison their enemies - a real thing it is actually possible for them to do! 'But if he hadn't stolen the poisoned food, he wouldn't have gotten sick' is typical kid logic, and may even appeal to some adult sense of fairness, but I assure you our legal system doesn't see it that way.
 

I had the same complaint about the movie Brave. Merida is justified in not wanting an arranged marriage. But her solution is to find a witch, buy poison from her, and then use that poison on her mother. For all she knows, the poison will kill her! That's usually what it does! And, she leaves the leftover poison out, where her three little brothers can find it, eat it, and, again, as far as Merida knows, be killed by it. And she is the hero of the picture! The film treats her actions as totally appropriate!
 
Look, I know that what to do about a bully politician who runs on a platform of hurting everyone who doesn't vote for him is a complex question, and that as an adult, I shouldn't be looking to a picture book for answers. But a kid might! And while I don't expect any children's book to avoid simplification, I'd hope for one whose answers aren't quite so insipid. 'Just kill him, and then he won't be around anymore' isn't a good answer for a number of reasons, among them, it's not really practical or actionable.
 
Two of my favorite superheroes are Word Girl and Squirrel Girl, because they both address the question, what do you do about a bad guy, besides just be stronger than him and beat him up?
 
Squirrel Girl is probably better known. She had an ongoing Marvel comic series for awhile. About half the time, she uses her strength to simply stop the villain from whatever they're doing so she can talk with them, find out why they're rampaging, and see if they could be redirected to some more constructive activity instead. The rest of the time, talking doesn't work, but neither does simply being super strong and having the powers of a squirrel. To win, she needs a coalition, both other superhero allies, and reformed supervillains she previously talked to and made friends with.
 
Word Girl is probably less well known. She has a PBS kids' show that I used to watch all the time in grad school when I couldn't fall asleep. She's super strong, flies, and officially, her shtick is that she teaches you several vocabulary words every episode. And sometimes her villains are just wacky guys like The Butcher, who buries you under a pile of lunchmeat so you're immobilized while he robs you. But sometimes, she faces off against an evil businessman who uses mass hypnosis in his advertising to get people to buy his worthless products and/or revere him. Sometimes she faces an elderly woman who uses a 'sweet old grandmother' routine to trick people into helping her with her crimes. And in those cases, Word Girl can't win just by flying fast or punching hard. She has to convince the public that a crime has been committed at all, show them how they've been fooled, persuade them to turn against the villain. So she's not just teaching vocabulary, she's teaching critical thinking.

 

These stories are still simplified, but they're not simplistic. They model, at an interpersonal level, what you need to do when you can't win just by being physically strong. And one benefit to this, is that this kind of organizing is fractal - the same actions need to be repeated at several scales. Because a mass movement isn't just a gathering of millions of unaffiliated individuals. It's not even an organization made up of organizations - it's a coalition of coalitions. 

 

Organizing a mass protest is a lot like putting together a holiday parade. Yes, you invite everyone you can to show up and join the audience (and the audience absolutely is a part of the event) but the core of the event is made up of pre-existing groups, which normally meet separately and each do their own thing, cooperating on a shared goal. The bridge work connecting group to group and collection-of-groups to collection-of-groups is important, but so is the work of building and maintaining each of the individual teams and clubs. And practicing at the interpersonal level is how you learn to make connections between groups. Cooperating with friends is both an excellent first step, and a guide to what you should do next.

 
Is it fair to hold Imelda and the Goblin King to this standard? No, absolutely not. I ought to engage with it on its own terms, rather than imposing judgment based on American politics a decade after it was written and my own idiosyncratic test for the 'right' way to teach kids how to handle conflict. But that's where I'm at. Right now, I don't know how to be fair.

Building Stories

 
 

Building Stories

by Chris Ware

Pantheon

2012 

 

 

Building Stories is cartoonist Chris Ware's masterwork, a collection of 14 smaller comics that together make up one larger graphic novel. Each of the smaller comics is a different size and shape, and they're all collected in a large box. There's one like a Little Golden Book, one hardcover, one the size of a daily newspaper, a trio of comic-book sized comics, a 4 panel board that unfolds like a boardgame, and several others. Supposedly you can read these in any order, although there's a suggested order on the back that I followed, and that felt satisfying.
 
The majority of Building Stories follows one woman across a decade or so of her adult life. She has dark hair, a prosthetic leg from a below-the-knee amputation after a childhood accident; she aspires to be a writer or an artist, and her sections are narrated by her in a stream-of-consciousness style, like we're listening to her internal monologue, or reading her diary. Throughout her life, she's self-conscious about her weight and wants to be thinner and prettier, she worries a lot about the current state of the world, she ruminates a lot on her past choices, she's lonely but has trouble connecting with others, even her husband, and once their daughter is born, she worries a lot that she will never have an important accomplishment apart from being a mother.
 
The other recurring characters, whose stories are more minor and seem to complement the main woman's, are an unhappily married couple who live downstairs from her for awhile, the old woman who owns the apartment building, and Branford the Bee, who is a fictional character the main woman reads stories about to her daughter, and also a real bee who intersects with other characters' stories at various points, and also also, I think maybe Branford's perspective might be pretty similar to the main woman's husband's viewpoint.
 
The unhappy couple fight constantly - he finds her ugly since she's gained weight, she is sick of his lack of affection, critical comments, and his attempts to control what she wears and where she goes. The old woman lives alone. She never had a steady boyfriend or got married, which she blames on needing to take care of her sick mother. They both kind of seem like alternate lives - things that could've happened to the main woman but didn't.
 
The Little Golden Book, which was my starting point, shows all three - the main woman, the unhappy couple, the old lady - over the course of a single 24-hour day. It's narrated by the apartment building itself. At this time, the main woman has graduated art school, lives alone, and works at a florist's shop. This is the day she'll meet her future husband for the first time and hook up with him at a party.
 
In the graphic novel, the woman remembers art school, her first boyfriend who got her pregnant, her abortion, and her time working as a live-in nanny for a couple of working professionals.
 
In the newspaper, the woman and her husband move from Chicago to the suburbs. She worries a lot about her identity - she doesn't want to be a suburbanite mother - and she deals with a couple of major losses, including her best friend who dies at 40.
 
The trio of comics revisits each of the main three and brings some resolution to their stories. And then the game board shows kind of a narrative diagram that maybe summarizes and maps out everything else in the box, including points of intersection you might otherwise have missed.
 
What Ware has produced here, despite its formal experimentation, feels very much like a very classic novel. It's a book about the ordinary lives of ordinary people, told through close observation of their thoughts and behavior. We see a few big moments, but also a lot of little ones. We range across time to cover entire lives, but also focus closely on specific days or periods.
 
Ware is very frank and unsentimental about sexuality. Characters are shown naked or undressed as the situation calls for. Everyone wants sex, but they all have a terrible time trying to fulfill them, and each person's own feelings of self-doubt or self-loathing end up being bigger obstacles than the presence or absence of someone else wanting them.
 
A recurring theme, especially for the main character, but also for her sort-of doppelgangers, is passivity and regret. She continuously feels like she's not living the way she wants to, including being unhappy as a wife and mother; she continuously wishes she'd made different choices, and also keeps doing things she'll regret later, in part because she keeps fixating on the past. But this is true of all the characters. You might ask, why can't they be happy? But they literally don't know how.
 
The main woman feels overwhelmed by the twin burdens of keeping up with what's going on in the world, and being a mother. Over and over, we see her not paying attention to her husband or daughter who are trying to engage with her, because she's thinking about the news, or housing prices, or oil, or she's stuck in the past regretting a previous time she ignored someone who needed her. She ignores the moments she has now in favor of regretting not treasuring the moments she could've had in the past. It's infuriating and very human.
 
I think Ware has captured something that's true for a lot of us, where you might feel a bit dissatisfied with your daily routine, but you don't know how to change it, don't even know how to set aside some time out of it to plan or prepare or act in a different way. It's very easy to make resolutions, and very hard to change habits. But the alternative is spending decades saying 'any day now, I'm going to do something different...'
 
Ware's art is famously very controlled and precise. In some of the smaller formats, I struggled to make out what was being shown in a tiny panel, or to read some miniature text. In a few of the larger ones, it wasn't always clear how to follow the panels in the correct narrative order. In terms of scale and scope, artistic consistency, experimentation, in terms of telling an ordinary human story from multiple allied perspectives, Ware has done something truly impressive here.

A Half-Built Garden

 
 
A Half-Built Garden

by Ruthanna Emrys

Tor

2022

 

 

A Half-Built Garden is a recent scifi novel that, like the Star Trek film First Contact, imagines an encounter between near-future humans living after the apocalyptic collapse of our contemporary civilization, and a far-future, multi-species, apparently-utopian alien society.
 
Ruthanna Emrys imagines an Earth ravaged by greenhouse heat and extreme weather, primarily governed by a new form of human network - the Watersheds, technologically-enhanced direct democracies organized around protecting and rehabilitating regional water sources. The aliens, known as Ringers, are two species from neighboring planets who've formed a joint society they call Symbiosis, located on habitats forming a Dyson swarm around their star that's lasted a millennium so far. The Rings are home to 5 trillion alien people, and they want us to leave Earth before it's too late and we go extinct. But the Watersheds have done so much good work to repair the world; they're not eager to abandon it.
 

Garden is narrated by Judy, who by chance becomes humanity's first and primary representative to the Ringers. In the Watersheds, gender is a matter of personal choice. Most people identify with their birth gender - but kids are usually raises as nonbinary until they can express a preference, and trans health is as advanced and comprehensive as anyone else's. Judy has a trans wife and a newborn they both breastfeed. They live and co-parent with another couple (a recently transitioned trans guy and his wife) who have a toddler. Judy is on call for unusual sensor readings the night the aliens arrive, and brings her infant with her to investigate. Throughout the book, Judy breastfeeds in a rhythm that matches her child's needs, at times that are often inconvenient to the circumstances. But the Rings are matriarchal, and all diplomatic relations are conducted between nursing mothers, whose kids are present to keep both sides on their best behavior. So by accident, Judy makes a good first impression and becomes the Ringer's chosen human ambassador.
 
The Rings are home to two species. The first are green and look like pill bugs or anklyosaurs. The leader of the delegation, Cytosine, is from this group, as are half her crew / family. Her cross-species brother, Rhamentin, is from the second group, are red and furry and ten-legged, with no heads, but eyes and mouths on their knee joints. The Rings have encountered radio signals from three other industrial species, but always arrived too late, after they'd driven themselves extinct. They're thrilled to find humans alive, and also feel like 'saving' us by evacuating the planet is urgent.
 
The Watersheds use a network that's like 50% Reddit - with users' comments and votes weighted by their expertise in the subject at hand, allowing for quick and informed democratic / consensus decisions - and like 50% Internet of Things - with the natural world covered in sensors for environmental monitoring, and all manufactured objects tagged so their supply chain and carbon footprint can be tracked and minimized. The network algorithms are also supposed to give weight to values that the Watersheds agree on, but might not always act on without automated reminders. In addition there's vestigial nation states, whose governments don't seem to do much or have much power, and the remaining corporations.
 
What are called corporations in Garden's time are like, the descendants of the old billionaires and their entourages who fled to private, artificial islands when society collapsed. They do still manufacture some goods, and plot to get capitalism up and running again, but they're more like aristocratic estates than like companies of today.
 
Eventually we learn that for corporate citizens, one's actual gender identity is a wholly private matter. Gender as it is performed in public is truly a performance, a move in a status game meant to advance one's rank. They have six binary genders - prince and princess to demonstrate wealth, butch and femme for romance and seduction, and obre and tania (I'd guess named for Oberon and Titania) for asserting power and dominance. They have one nonbinary gender for people not adopting any of those roles, and another used to talk about a person whose current public gender is unknown. Like in the Watersheds, corporate citizens seem to use polycules for child-rearing, but only people at a certain level in the hierarchy are allowed to form households and have children.
 

Garden is as much about the future of gender and sexuality as it is about the future of political and economic organization, with the Watersheds resembling the success of leftist, communitarian ideals, and the corporations looking more libertarian, with self as private, public life as competition, diversity without equality, culture as costume. The Ringers believe in female power, and don't really think about gender separately from biological sex until they encounter the idea on Earth. Cytosine is annoyed that Judy won't tell her exactly who birthed her family's two children, and is scandalized when another Ringer picks up a they/them pronoun badge at the neighborhood party.
 
So, the Ringers arrive and make their offer to 'rescue' humanity, and are kind of shocked when Judy and her Watershed are less than enthusiastic. But what I like about Judy as a character is that she wants to find common ground and cooperate, not to 'win.' She also fully believes in networked decision-making, and is extremely reluctant to elevate herself or trust her sole judgment.
 
Unfortunately for her, the network crashes very early on, and remains in partial disrepair thereafter. The Watersheds suspect corporate sabotage, while the corporations suggest they should buy better equipment. The ways the network struggles closely mirror contemporary problems with social media. Like Arkady Martine did in A Memory Called Empire, Emrys makes the curious decision to introduce us to a character who starts the book with other voices in her head, then, before the reader has really had a chance to understand that, suddenly deprives the character of their internal support and forces her to become more of an individual - and sets us up to spend the rest of the book dealing with that loss.
 
After their initial meeting the Ringers visit Judy's house and neighborhood. NASA shows up to represent the US, and representatives from the corporations show up too. Cytosine wants to build an antenna to call for backup. There's a diplomatic mission to one of the corporate artificial islands. The antenna is built. A hurricane strikes. Passover is celebrated. All throughout, the characters wrestle with each others' philosophies, and with how to persuade people who have competing material interests to find a way to compromise instead of seizing everything they want. The beginning is a bit awkward somehow, but things really get cooking when we visit the corporate island, and Emrys keeps ratcheting up the social tension until we finally reach a resolution at the end. A lot of this book is characters talking in increasingly interesting locations. There's not just conflict, but also surprising alliances, friendships, even romance.
 

A Half-Built Garden was recommended to me by a friend at Underground Books, and I'm happy to recommend it in turn.

Heroes Reborn

 
 
Heroes Reborn

America's Mightiest Heroes

Marvel Comics

2021

 

 

Heroes Reborn is a Marvel Comics miniseries in which something is wrong with reality, in the tradition of Marvel's Age of Apocalypse and Age of Ultron, or DC's  Flashpoint or The Nail.
 
This time around, someone has changed history to prevent the Avengers from ever forming, and meanwhile, the world, or at least America, is being protected by Marvel's equivalent of the Justice League - Hyperion, Nighthawk, The Blur, Dr Spectrum, and Power Princess.
 
We get one issue of introduction, one issue each for the ersatz DC heroes, and then a couple more issues for Marvel's Avengers to re-form, save the day, and restore the reality where they normally exist. Blade is the first person to realize what's wrong, and he spends a few pages at the end of each issue re-assembling - unthawing Captain America, sobering up Thor, locating the hidden Black Panther, etc.
 
Hyperion spends his issue chasing down and recapturing super criminals who escaped the Negative Zone prison, including a Bizarro-like Hulk. He also rescues Peter Parker, who's like his Jimmy Olsen. Nighthawk investigates a breakout at the asylum, fighting mostly Spider-Man villains, plus Bullseye, led by a Green Goblin who acts like the Joker. The Blur goes on a Dr Strange-esque speendrun through the Dark Dimension while fighting a Scarlet Witch who inherited her brother Quicksilver's super speed. Dr Spectrum and his Rainbow Prism go into space and fight a very Lobo-esque Rocket Raccoon. And Power Princess fights a Thor villain while reminiscing about all the other Thor villain's she's killed.
 
For the most part, these heroes are more disturbing than their DC counterparts, in a way that's probably familiar to anyone who's read or watched an of the dozens of dark, gritty, postmodern superhero deconstructions that've come out over the years. Blur is hyperactive, impatient, and has the memory of a goldfish - his superspeed is like a permanent cocaine high. Hyperion is a Christian nationalist. Dr Spectrum projects amoral American supremacy not only internationally, but into space. Power Princess is just relentlessly bloodthirsty. Nighthawk seems basically okay by comparison.
 
Anyway, it turns out that the world is like this because someone made a deal with Mephisto to change history this way, but fortunately simply re-assembling a group called The Avengers significantly weakens the artificial construct, which is fortunate. To win, the Avengers just have to beat their counterparts in a fight, and even though we've seen a half-dozen issues of Hyperion's crew making mince-meat out of ultra villains who combine the powers of several ordinary Marvel foes, the new, untrained, hastily gathered Avengers win easily due to being the publisher's favorites.
 
As far as Justice League pastiches go, this one is decently fun. It was interesting seeing Marvel characters recast into supporting roles for DC. Reimagining Spider-Man foes as Batman villains was probably the best version of this. Blur's alienation simply due to the nature of his power, rather than because he's an authoritarian, was probably the most interesting critical take. Each issue had its own writers and artists, and James Stokoe's visuals in the Dr Spectrum issue stood out as interesting and unique among the others.