The Woolamaloo Gazette
Edinburgh, Scotland, literature, photographs, movies, beer, cats and satire
Anniversary
Aug 28th
Today should be mum and dad’s anniversary. It’s peculiar and quite depressing how a date once wrapped in happier memories becomes a slow, heavy weight on your heart as time goes on. Switched on the TV to try and distract myself a bit and what’s on but a Buffy repeat and it just happens to be the one where she is coping with the sudden death of her mother. Oh thank you, universe, that’s really what I needed to see this morning. Couple of things I can do later so I think I will take myself out to do something. I love you both so much, mum and dad, always.
Fuck me, Ray Bradbury
Aug 27th
Love this very rude but very funny (and very NSFW) pop video by Rachel Bloom paying rather sexy homage to the great Ray Bradbury and a bit of book humping. Very naughty, but then what do you expect from a song by a huge-chested singer with a title like “Fuck Me, Ray Bradbury”? Some good use of Ray’s book titles in the lyrics, bet he never expected them to be used in quite this manner, although I daresay the late Philip Jose Farmer would have loved someone to do this with his books. (via Christopher Cooksey on Facebook):
Bell, Trudeau and Rowson at the Edinburgh Book Festival
Aug 25th
(Garry Trudeau being supplied with beer by Steve Bell at the signing after an extremely well attended talk at the Edinburgh International Book Festival yesterday evening)
Last night I had the pleasure of seeing Steve Bell in conversation with the celebrated cartoonist and Doonesbury creator Garry Trudeau at the Edinburgh International Book Festival. Despite irregular outbursts of rain (yes the wee rubber ducks were floating in a puddle in Charlotte Square gardens once more, they enjoy our unpredictable Scottish weather) the venue was totally packed with a pretty broad range of readers and I have to say Trudeau was fascinating to listen to,starting with talking about his early days as an undergrad at college doing cartoons for the student paper (also involving running a cartoon about a scandal involving bizarre fraternity house initiation ceremonies for a frat house where one George W Bush was one of the big cheeses. As Garry said, it’s almost like fate…).
The conversation ranged over a number of subjects, from the rapid changes the traditional newspaper (and so paper cartoonists) are trying to deal with (or sadly often failing to deal with) to Trudeau’s earliest days, as a young 20 something trying to secure syndication (when some older editors refused to take the strip his syndication contacts said don’t worry, these guys all die. And guess what, they did and the younger editors who replaced them took the strip) to developing his unique style – Bell was particularly interested in the way Trudeau can depict major political figures without actually depicting them. As Bell pointed out his form of political cartooning relies on him studying those characters then trying to recreate a recognisable caricature of them, but Trudeau often uses something far more abstract to represent someone, such as a floating feather for Dan Quayle back when he was vice president (which I seem to recall was more than Bush Snr got in the same era!). Apparently with Quayle junior now running for office in the US and having his father’s same unique command of the English language he’s going for a smaller feather – the family franchise is renewed! Such characters appearing on the political scene are, as Trudeau said to Bell, a gift for people in their line of work.
The most powerful part of the evening, however, came when Trudeau talked about his depiction of the soldier’s point of view in strips dealing with the War On Terror in Doonesbury, most notably with long-time character DB losing a leg during the Iraq war. I didn’t know Doonesbury had been carried in the American military paper Stars and Stripes for years and this gave Trudeau some serious fans in the forces. He recounted how when he pondered killing BD off in the line of duty he decided that giving him this terrible injury was the better course – the injury and the huge implications it had for the character and those around him when he came home were a good way of showing readers the human cost of conflict and just what dreadful cost young men and women are paying for the decisions of their political masters. Trudeau talked about being invited to meet some of the badly injured and maimed troops (‘to make sure he got it right’ as he put it) and when he recounted meeting a young woman soldier who had lost an arm you could have heard a pin drop. It was disturbing, emotional stuff and he was obviously affected hugely by it and trying his best to do justice to the suffering of the soldiers while still maintaining his own personal anti-war stance.
Earlier yesterday I was also lucky enough to attend another of Steve Bell’s events (the Guardian cartoonist was given his own mini strand at the Book Fest this year and has several guests), this time with his fellow Guardian cartoonist Martin Rowson. Again a very interesting event, with Rowson wryly noting that this particular event was made possible in part by sponsorship from the Times, which amused him hugely given that several years before the Times had fired him. While he spoke he had some of his work being projected on a screen, including one cartoon depicting Rupert Murdoch leaning over a toilet bowl with the tagline “I’m just watching Fox News”. Discussing the Times, though, did give a good excuse to show some of the very Hogarth style, incredibly detailed drawings Rowson did during that time and he took much delight in walking us through one densely populated cartoon of a political get together of politicians and various journalists. After he had pointed out various figures he then started to explain that if we looked at this person (a depiction of Steve Bell, as it happened) you could see the arms made a shape, and the person next along made a rough shape of a letter also and so on. Until, he explained, you could see that hidden in this mass of figures carefully arranged you could discern a message saying ‘fuck’ to the then Times editor. It had to be visible after looking for a while but obviously not aparrent at first glance otherwise it would never have been allowed to run (their fault for giving him a couple of weeks notice, he said). Once it had run safely in the Times he gleefully informed Francise Wheen and Private Eye, Lord Gnome doubtless chortling to himself, happily ran the story of the hidden fuck you message so all the world knew. It rarely pays to be mean to satirists…
Bell was also fascinated by Rowson’s ‘other’ professional life as a creator of graphic novels, from his version of The Wasteland (more an interpretation/pastiche than literary adaptation as he was denied the right to use the original text) to his version of Sterne’s classic Tristram Shandy, which was just recently reprinted by SelfMadeHero (talking briefly to him later he said he thought the new SMH edition was a lovely edition and seemed very pleased with how they had done it, considering it to be nicer than the original version). He also revealed that he is working on a new graphic novel literary adaptation, this time of Swift’s immortal classic Gulliver’s Travels, a very appropriate choice for Rowson given that it is one of the greatest satires of human nature, politics, beliefs and morals every penned. I think he said that work would be coming from Grove Atlantic at some point (he’s still working to a deadline which has already had to be pushed back). One to watch for, methinks.
The pair also discussed issues such as censorship and editorial interference, although both seemed to share the opinion that although they did sometimes get questioned by their editor they were also quite often allowed to get away with a lot too (and in the case of Rowson who also provides cartoons to the Morning Star free of charge he has no editorial problems there since that’s part of the unspoken rule of him supplying them his work gratis). Asked about what some of the politicians thought about the way both depicted them, they seemed generally unfazed – Rowson talked about then chancellor Brown bumping into him at a function, he took him to task for how he could run the policies he espoused yet still claim to be a Labour politician. Brown in return just grumpily asked him why he was always drawn so fat. Naturally Rowson told him because he was. But the general consensus was that they were drawing on a centuries old tradition going back to Gilray and beyond whereby the great British cartoonist had a duty to satirise and lampoon the great and the powerful, to help keep them in their place and remind them that they’re being watched. Amen to that. (pics from my Flickr, click for the larger versions)
Historic Facebook
Aug 21st
I don’t know who made this mocked up Facebook page for historical and mythological events (link came via twitter direct to the image rather than a site or blog, so don’t have the right person’s name to credit for it), but it’s brilliant:
Goodbye to a Scots Makar
Aug 19th
I was very sad today to hear from Ian Rankin’s Twitter that the man who had been my favourite living Scots poet, Edwin Morgan, had passed away at the age of 90. He was writing to the end, a new collection published just this year to mark his 90th birthday, a bard who could shape verse in diverse ways and style, across many different subjects from everyday life to love to the creation of the universe, that important kiss, science fiction and of course his beloved Glasgow and Scotland. Poet Laureate of Glasgow then the first National Makar of Scotland, respected in dozens of countries and translated into many languages, one of the great figures of 20th century Scottish writing.
There were never strawberries
like the ones we had
that sultry afternoon
sitting on the step
of the open french window
facing each other
your knees held in mine
the blue plates in our laps
the strawberries glistening
in the hot sunlight
we dipped them in sugar
looking at each other
not hurrying the feast
for one to come
the empty plates
laid on the stone together
with the two forks crossed
and I bent towards you
sweet in that air
in my arms
abandoned like a child
from your eager mouth
the taste of strawberries
in my memory
lean back again
let me love you
let the sun beat
on our forgetfulness
one hour of all
the heat intense
and summer lightning
on the Kilpatrick hills
let the storm wash the plates
The Broken House
Aug 15th
Just how buggered is the United States Senate? George Packer in the New Yorker offers up some depressing reading on an institution utterly ruined by its own labyrinthian structures – both the physical building and the arcane rules and customs – and the increasing ways Senators, rather than doing their actual job of representing the interest of the citizens, spend little time on actual legislation and more on fund raising, publicity or goodness knows what else in their various cubby holes secreted around the building. And when they do troop into the chamber they spend inordinate amounts of time and effort to utilise obscure rules to ruin their opponents’ bills. Democratic choice said your party doesn’t have the majority? No problem, just use arcane old rules to wreck possible legislation by procedural means. Meanwhile important matters simply do not get discussed and dealt with. And they wonder why so many people don’t bother to vote?
And before you think hey, you’re not American, what does it matter to you that they can’t actually deliver the Great Democracy that they like to tell us all they do better than everyone else? Because some of those possible acts that get screwed up affect other nations – financial reform, foreign policy and aide, environmental protection. And because this sort of nonsense goes on in pretty much every parliament and senate in the democratic world to a lesser extent – and there’s that old worry that it will only get worse both here and there. And it doesn’t help anyone who believe in democracy if the institutions meant to serve it turn out to be full of self serving arseholes with no interest in representing the people and doing a good job. And you thought Mr Smith had a hard time when he went to Washington? (via Nick Smale)
Reviews from the past: Comix – the Underground Revolution
Aug 14th
This review was originally written for The Alien Online back in May of 2004 for a non fiction book by Dez Skinn, a very well known and respected name in the British comics industry (the man behind Comics International and Warrior – where V For Vendetta began life – among many others), on the underground comics – or comix as that field is normally spelt – scene which produced some incredible work and, as underground scenes often do, reflected the grassroots changes going on in segements of society at the time that would be reflected a bit later in mainstream society (as Dick Hebdige once put it with subcultures, they start off as unusual and transgressive, against the mainstream norm, eventually accepted more then elements of them will be subsumed into the mainstream culture).
Comix – the Underground Revolution by Dez Skinn
Drugs, free love, womens’ lib, free speech and great, great art
At first glance this may appear to be a simple history of underground and Indy comics. In lesser hands it may well have been, but Dez Skinn has decades of experience working in comics and has clocked up even more hours as a fan. He brings both to bear here, describing not only the evolution of underground Comix – the ‘x’ spelling singled them out from the mainstream comic books with their ‘approved’ labels to reassure parents nervous of their children’s reading – but skilfully relating this to the myriad of social and cultural changes which society has undergone in the last few decades.
In my opinion this approach is what elevates Comix from being an interesting genre history to a truly fascinating book. Any artist worth their salt knows that no medium exists in isolation to other media or to cultural changes in society. Skinn doesn’t just give us a chronological overview of unusual and challenging new comic strips which were written by disaffected – or often stoned, or even disaffected and stoned – writers and artists. Instead he takes us through the periods which spawned them and the people who were shaped by – and indeed went on to influence – the events of the period.
The psychedelic sixties with rock’n'roll, mind-altering drugs and sexual experimentation obviously had a profound effect on the first wave of comix and their creators. However, the actual infrastructure of the sub-culture not only inspired the likes of Crumb, it supported them. Hippie ‘head’ shops offered an alternative to hawking your comic on the street when regular comic stores and news-stand vendors wouldn’t touch them. Many of the cartoonists were also creating poster and album art for the music groups of the time; the music, the stores, the comix, all feeding from and into each other. Crumb was asked to do the cover for a Janis Joplin album and agrees on the proviso that he got to squeeze her breasts. Rick Griffin’s psychedelic poster and comic book art was embraced by the emerging surfer scene (and vice versa).
By the 1970s Comix were opening up in a way that the mainstream comic books – principally superhero strips or ‘funnies’ like Sad Sack – could never hope to (although Stan Lee had a bash, with some stories clearly refencing real world concerns), reacting to the changing face of society, driven by the fact they were being written and drawn by the generation who were doing the changing. The 1970s saw some Comix embracing the rapidly expanding Women’s Lib movement and also Gay Liberation. Female writers and artists, tired of the male domination even of the supposedly progressive underground scene set up their own Comix.
Tits’n'Clits and Wet Satin explored women’s issues, including the oft-covered Comix subject of sexual liberation, but from and for a woman’s perspective. Some, such as Abortion Eve covered sensitive moral subjects, offering differing viewpoints, opening up discussion and dispensing advice which was not, let’s be honest, widely available to young women in general society. While celebrating this, Skinn also makes no effort to hide the fact that the new ‘Wimmins Comix’ faced even more trouble with censorship and a lack of understanding than the male-dominated strips. Actually, sometimes from them – one female title had trouble being printed because the printer, who happily produced the like of Crumb’s giant orgy strip, deemed these ‘obscene’. I guess what they say about some men being scared of a woman in control of her own life can often be true. Fortunately the sisters did it for themselves, long before the Riot Grrrrrl generation thought they were something new and unique.
Space doesn’t permit me to cover everything contained in Comix, alas. Suffice to say that this is an engrossing read for anyone interested in the history of comics and of socio-cultural changes in the last forty years. Sexual freedom, women’s liberation, Gay emancipation, freedom of speech (the amount of court cases, often purely driven by conservative reactionary authorities and not real legal cause, is astonishing), anti-war protests – these comix were very much a part of the changing face of post-’60s society. Indeed they both reflected the changes and were also themselves a part of this history.
However, this volume is not simply a nostalgic look back a few decades to a ‘golden era’ of underground Comix. Nor is it all dominated by the US talent. The British scene is well catered for (only knowHunt Emerson for his Firkin the Cat strip for naughty adult mags? Think again) from little-known, short-lived strips to Punk-era icons who became – and remain – huge, like Judge Dredd (2000 AD may have come from a mainstream publisher, but Dez argues for the punk roots of the comic & many of the strips and I tend to agree). The book brings us right up to the modern day ‘children of the revolution’ in the shape of the work of Dan Clowes, Joe Sacco, Alan Moore and titles like Milligan and McCarthy’s powerful, hammer-in-the-face Skin (one of my personal favourites and long overdue a reprint), Deadline and the birth of Tank Girl. Would they exist, at least in their current form without those Comix of the ’60s and ’70s?
Despite years of legal harassment by ’square’ authorities in the UK and US (the notorious Oz trial is a standout example) independent, groundbreaking Comix are still going strong today. As long as there are issues to be dealt with that mainstream society can’t, or won’t face there will always be a market for these and writers and artists who will cover them. And like most subcultures, if they stay around long enough they start to leak into the mainstream society which originally was hostile to them – witness the Pulitzer prize for Spiegelman’s magnificent Maus, Chris Ware’s Jimmy Corrigan winning the Guardian First Novel prize, or Joe Sacco being feted for his international political coverage in Palestine and Safe Area Gorazde in mainstream, broadsheet newspapers. Hell, even the original material is still popular – I still sell Fabulous Furry Freak Brothers from my bookstore on a regular basis thanks to champion publishers like Knockabout keeping the flame alive.
With all that’s going on in the world today there is still a huge need for these types of publications. Jesus Meets the Armed Services may have spoken to the Vietnam generation but it could be just as pertinent to the War on Terror generation. Bush’s right wing Christian friends, trying to restric family planning and a woman’s right to choose, are exactly the sort the ‘Wimmins Comix’ fought against in the ’70s. In a nice example of the ongoing cultural war Skinn tells of Gilbert Shelton moving out of modern America and away from Bush and his cronies to live in France. Where, in a fine example of how these societal attitudes differ in Europe, the French government approach him to use his Fat Freddy’s Cat characters for a national Aids awareness programme. Who says you can’t change the world, at least a little bit?
This is a totally absorbing history. Illustrated throughout with fabulous artwork, from Crumb’s scratchy, heavy inked drawing to Rick Griffin’s glowing colours, it is also a visual feast. It’s often terribly funny, sometimes sad (so many drug overdoses or motorbike crashes) and will on occasion raise your ire at the injustice of the treatment meted out by frightened authority figures who are terrified that freedom of speech does indeed give power to the people. Keep on truckin’, brothers and sisters.
Publisher: Collins & Brown (UK)
Date: April 2004
The runaway train
Aug 13th
The runaway train came over the hill and she blew, she blew,
the runaway train came over the hill and she, er,
well ran on through the London Underground as they desperately cleared passenger trains out of the way till it ground to a halt at Warren Street.
Phew.
Fringe time
Aug 13th
The Edinburgh Festival moves into full swing with the International Festival and Book Festival joining the Fringe which has been going for a week already. The city centre is bursting at the seams between tourists (which we have all the year round, more in the summer, of course) and and Festival goers – the city’s population practically doubles during August. Just trying to walk home from work of an evening is a nightmare, the streets are jam packed and most of the folks are moving slowly so it can be quite frustrating when you are trying to get around your normal working day, it’s not so bad when you are off and can relax and enjoy the vibe. That said it does give ma some good opportunities for some street shots on the way home, walking up the Royal Mile where a section of kept for performers to big up their shows, from handing out flyers to actually performing segments of their shows on the street or on tiny stages, to attract audiences, and with thousands of shows running the month you have to work to get your show noticed and get those bums on seats.
Performers range from unicyclers and jugglers to singers, musicians, comedy acts, plays, magic, dancing, it’s pretty much all there and you can get a great taster of it walking the Mile.
These guys were walking in super slow motion up the Mile (still pic, so you will have to take my word for it!), which did mean for a change with street shots I had time to get in position and get off a few shots. I’ve mentally named the guy on the rear left here ‘Igor’. I think he looks like an Igor from some mad scientist lab.
I passed the stilt-walking puppet master with his human marionette again last night, love their act – the girl is very expressive – and when I put some shekels in their collection box she blew me a kiss! I’m in there 
We even have saucy space vixens in fab retro futuristic silver space garb and sexy silver space boots!
Sometimes wardrobe accidents happen – this poor woman’s braces have clearly become caught on something:
We even have Batman, presumably over on a Scottish motorbiking holiday:
You’re never too old to bike!
Electra Glide in (Saltire) Blue?
We even saw a greener alternative to the hideously expensive, over budget, over time and disruptive tram system they are (failing) to build in Edinburgh – we shall all commute in giant hamster wheels! Although one friend suggested actually this made the guy looked like he was a character on a tarot card.
We even have zombies!
and very sexy Little Mermaids with the Princesses show:
Like a puppet on a string
Aug 11th
“I wonder if one day that, you’ll say that, you care
If you say you love me madly, I’ll gladly, be there
Like a puppet on a string
Love is just like a merry-go-round
With all the fun in the air
One day I’m feeling down on the ground
Then I’m up in the air
Are you leading me on?
Tomorrow will you be gone?
I wonder if one day that, you’ll say that, you care
If you love me madly, I’ll gladly, be there
Like a puppet on a string
I may win on the roundabout
Then I’ll lose on the swings
In or out, there is never a doubt
Just who’s pulling the strings
I’m all tied up to you
But where’s it leading me to?
I wonder if one day that, you’ll say that, you care
If you say you love me madly, I’ll gladly, be there
Like a puppet on a string
I wonder if one day that, you’ll say that, you care
If you say you love me madly, I’ll gladly, be there
Like a puppet on a string
Like a puppet on a….. string“
I loved these Fringe performers on the Royal Mile, snapped on the way home from work:
The woman playing the puppet pulled some fabulous expressions:
Reviews from the past: The Backroom Boys
Aug 10th
Britain: one of the great intellectual powerhouses of science and engineering advances, from the days of Newcommen, Brunel, Stevenson and Newton on and yet since the end of the Second World War haven’t those glory days where we lead the world slipped away? No, says Francis Spufford, who takes several fascinating post war British inventions by the great British Boffin that have lead the world, including the brilliant triumph where, for a change, the Blighty Boffins took on the wealth of American privatised research and made vital genetic research work in a way that could then be shared with the world to further medical advances (take that, Craig Venter!). This review first appeared on The Alien Online back in January of 2004, where in addition to science fiction, fantasy, horror and graphic novel reviews I also contributed a number of popular science lit reviews:
The Backroom Boys by Francis Spufford
Ladies and gentlemen, let us celebrate the Great British Boffin!
Boffins. It’s a peculiarly British word for a very British kind of eccentric scientist. We’ve all got a mental image conjured by that word; cardigan-wearing, pipe-smoking types working on Heath-Robinson contraptions which look ludicrous yet become the prototype of inventions such as radar, supersonic aircraft or genetic sequencers. Spufford, author of the lovely The Child that Books Built, has taken several post-war episodes of invention to highlight the fact that the British Boffin is still around.
Backroom Boys begins with the ill-starred British space programme. Yes, we did have one once upon a time, although you can be forgiven for not knowing. In a typically British fashion it was run piecemeal on a shoestring. Not quite a garden shed moon rocket but pretty close, as a converted flying boat manufacturer designed and started to build rockets.
Where NASA had billions of dollars and tens of thousands of specialists in many fields the British had a small team doing it all – and pretty well too. The aims were limited and the technology too, constrained by the lack of investment. By the time the rocket finally took off successfully and put a tiny satellite into orbit the project had already been cancelled. Again the typical British way of doing things: spend time and on something then cancel it just as it begins to show some hint of success.
The chapter on the magnificent technological folly of Concorde is similar in tone; backbreaking research into an unexplored field of science and engineering which ultimately was thrown away. Spufford takes us through the design and the political problems which dogged the Anglo-French project right through to the world economic and fuel crisis which effectively stymied it as it began to fly and the limited legacy bequeathed to British Airways.
It’s not all doom and gloom and heroic failures though. Rarefied theorists come out of their ivory towers to map Britain in unprecedented scale in order to design transmitters for the new-fangled mobile phones, innovating in many realms: computer modelling, multiple frequency transmissions, cellular structure for broadcasts. We all use – or are annoyed by – these (now) tiny, bleeping devices of mass communication today, but most of us probably only have a vague idea of how they came into existence and just how it is that millions of them can be used each day so easily. British know-how strikes again.
The Universe in a Bottle is a chapter which I suspect will warm the heart of many a geek of a certain age. A new generation of backroom boys (don’t titter, it doesn’t mean anything dirty you naughty lot) arises, working in their bedrooms on a device which is new to the home: the personal computer. Tinkering with Acorn Atoms and ZX81s… who else recalls those early days? And then the mighty BBC model B gave a couple of boys at university the ability to design something no-one else had thought of: a truly three dimensional space on the two dimensional screen.
Those of you old enough to remember the days of keying in long programmes by hand or buying a cassette (yes, cassettes you young whippersnappers!) of a “100% pure machine code” home-made Space Invaders game from some bloke advertising in the back of Computer Shopper will guess what this revolutionary software was: Elite. One of the first enormously successful games and technologically innovative, too: the routine the boys re-wrote to make the BBC perform the graphic they wanted amazed even the people at Acorn who built it. It may look tame to day but it was the first of its type back in the dim days of the early 1980s, and it was a bloody good game too.
The book wraps up with very modern technological innovations: extra-planetary exploration and the unravelling of the human genome. The multi-national attempt to decode the human genome, to read the book of life itself is one of the biggest scientific projects in human history. It is a project which holds promises of great changes for all of humanity and is as breath-taking in its scope as the Apollo programme was in the 1960s. And it nearly foundered on the rocks of American capitalism.
Craig Venter announces that his private genetics company intends to do most of the work over the top of the public research bodies. In the US government agencies are forbidden from competing against private industry, so that appeared to be the death of the public programme. Needless to say Venter wasn’t doing this for high-minded philanthropy; he wanted to make money from the information he decoded. Step forward the British Boffins. Funded by the biggest charity in the world, the Wellcome Trust, they decide that the book of life will not be privatised on their watch. They want every scientist in the world to be able to access this information freely so that even doctors in poorer countries can use the data to help treat diseases. They announce at a conference that they will if necessary, do the entire project themselves. The dispirited US scientists go back re-invigorated to their public projects. The rest is history. This is science for the finest reasons – completed purely for the betterment of humanity.
The final chapter deals with the not so well-funded boffins who are the brains behind the Beagle II Mars explorer. Struggling with the ever-decreasing British commitment to space endemic since the project in the first chapter. Trying to pack in as much technological sophistication as possible into a tiny probe to ride a larger ESA vessel is difficult. Trying to get the funding to make even this modest device is even harder. But, as we all know by now, they succeeded against the odds (the favourite type of British success). The British boffin strikes again.
This is a book which is as unusual and quirky as the kind of people it is describing. It is part a history of science and partially a celebration of British eccentricity and genius – and we do like our geniuses to be eccentric in this country. It is an extremely affectionate look at the Great British Boffins who have quietly helped to shape the world we live in which never becomes to maudlin or overly nostalgic, despite re-creating the Dan Dare atmosphere of the ’50s rocket ships so well. It celebrates triumph and disaster equally buy still comes out with an uplifting message of optimism. This will delight and fascinate anyone interested in the history of science and, with the chapters on Concorde and Beagle II and new racketeers re-appraising the old British rocket it is as contemporary as it is historical.
Publisher: Faber & Faber (UK)
Date: November 2003
Reviews from the past: Two Sides of the Moon
Aug 9th
This review was first posted on The Alien Online back in July of 2004 and tells the story of the Space Race from the point of view of both an American astronaut and a Soviet cosmonaut. By a stroke of enormous luck one of the two space explorers, Commander David Scott, was in Edinburgh to meet the media in a hotel near my then bookstore and his PA brought him over to sign some copies of the book afterwards, so I got to meet him. Suddenly an ordinary working day was transformed as I got to shake the hand of a man who walked on the Moon. A man who even drove on the Moon! A man who got to live a childhood dream of mine…
Two Sides of the Moon by David Scott & Alexei Leonov
Two of the pioneers of space flight show how to have the Right Stuff
David Scott and Alexei Leonov. Respectively an all-American fighter jock turned astronaut, and a Soviet test pilot then cosmonaut. Both men trained by their respective air forces during the chilliest periods of the Cold War, both part of the vast war machine both superpowers employed in their most dangerous games. Had history unfolded a little differently these men may well have ended up facing each other in aerial battle. As it was, they and their nations would compete in a new arena: space flight.
Two Sides of the Moon flips regularly from Leonov to Scott and back again as both tell us a little about their early lives and the decisions which would eventually lead them into space. Both men are fascinating characters. Leonov, struggling in the inadequacies of the Soviet system where even obtaining a pair of shoes could be a struggle, still manages to become well-enough educated to become a pilot. Scott works hard to put himself through education and training to also become a pilot. Having achieved this goal though, neither man loses any edge to their ambition or determination. Studying even harder, working and flying, they both excel at both theory and practise of aviation, becoming test pilots. This was the pool from which both superpowers would select the original astronaut crews, although at this point neither man really suspected that this was where their futures lay.
Both men were right in there in the earliest days of manned space flight, undergoing trials and training that make their previous travails seem comparatively straightforward. Both men work with and are friends to explorers who have become legend since those heady days: Leonov with Yuri Gagarin and Scott with Neil Armstrong (who provides the introduction). The physical, emotional and psychological pressure the prospective space crews come under is astonishing – way beyond what is demanded today of those undergoing space flight. It had to be demanding however, these men had to have what Tom Wolfe called ‘the Right Stuff’ because they were not only the pioneers of a new frontier; they were entering a wild frontier. New technology and engineering designed to do something never achieved before in the entire history of human civilisation. Men about to be subjected to who-knows-what kind of dangers? Could a man even live in space? Would his ship survive the environment of chilled vacuum and hot radiation? Could the man? Would a ship make it back to Earth safely? Even if it did, would the man be alright? What totally unknown effects could space flight have on a human body?
When you realise just how little was known about space – and this is only 40 years ago – it becomes apparent that the determination and quiet bravery of these early cosmonauts and astronauts must have been exceptional. If you were a test pilot – as both men had been – trying out a revolutionary new aircraft and it goes wrong, you have a chance to eject and escape. This was not really much of an option in an early rocket vessel and indeed lives were lost on both sides, while more were imperilled but saved, by a mixture of ad-hoc engineering genius, skilful flying and steady nerves. This really was a dangerous time – Leonov elicits great sympathy for lost comrades who gave their lives in pursuit of this bold, new human exploration. Scott, in an incredibly touching display, places a small statue and plaque on the lunar surface honouring the names of both Soviet and American astronauts who had given their lives to the new frontier.
This sense of brotherhood between the rival space explorers is a constant theme throughout the book. Neither man is naïve enough to dismiss the Cold War rivalry and the politics of that period which lead to the huge investment in space exploration for reasons of scientific and military dominance as well as for national prestige. But brotherhood there most certainly is, between these explorers isolated by geography and politics by united by a common pursuit into the unknown. Both groups feel sympathy and pain for the others’ losses and both, while also aspiring to lead, applaud the other’s achievements. This would contribute directly to the mid-’70s brief period of détente when Soyuz and Apollo craft would meet in orbit around our world and dock together. Two Cold War rivals united many miles above the glowing surface of the Earth.
For most readers who are familiar with the history of space flight, this may not be a major revelation. What this book does do however, is give that epic period a human face, to personalise it. Leonov’s love of art leading him to take crayons and paper into orbit to sketch what he sees (Scott, incidentally, echoing Carl Sagan’s heroine in Contact by saying that what we need in space is an artist or poet to really describe it to the rest of us). Scott spending several days on the Moon, realising that if he raised just this thumb he could obscure the entire Earth from the horizon. More Earthly camaraderie as the joint Soyuz-Apollo teams play host to each other during their training, the US astronauts struggling to keep up with the hospitable Soviets who insist – of course – on drinking a vodka toast to their health on each visit. Leonov and his crew taking a quick pee against the wheel of the bus which takes them to the launch area. These small, personal events give a very human shape to men who achieved astonishing feats – Scott driving on the Moon in a Lunar Rover, bouncing along the lunar surface, Leonov the first man to float freely in space, ‘walking’ outside his tiny craft, hanging by a thread above the world. Leonov’s delight at Arthur C. Clarke naming the spaceship in 2010 after him.
Space exploration today has often become a pale shadow it’s former self. Safety and simple economics have both reduced the manned exploration to a rump and the general public pays scant attention for the most part, unlike the ’60s and ’70s when the deeds of astronauts were front page news around the world. Occasionally people pay attention when spectacular images from the recent Cassini probe come in or when lives are lost in a disaster like Challenger. This book speaks to those of us who remember the sheer wonder and excitement of the early space missions, when millions of little boys and girls dreamed of becoming astronauts when they grew up. It’s about the magnificent feats humans can accomplish, the achievements we can make through hard work, ingenuity and bravery.
In a way it is a little sad that this great, heroic period is already just a part of history. These men actually lived what many of us dreamed of; now it looks like the dream is fading away. And yet one of the lessons that can be learned from this book is that the dream never leaves us entirely; the human urge for exploration is simply too strongly ingrained. Those pioneering days of triumph and tragedy may be gone, but they left a route for us to follow. The Apollo and Soyuz project was more than a brief flowering of Cold War détente – it proved that different space craft could rendezvous in space and successfully dock with one another. Without this mid-70s flight the dream of today’s multi-national space station Freedom would have been stillborn. The early days are gone and the men who took giant steps are growing older, but the deeds they accomplished remain as both testament to human endurance in the past and as a beacon for future explorers.
Publisher: Simon & Schuster (UK)
Date: May 2004
