Further Adventures of Mr. Bluemoon

Some weeks ago, Wah-Ming Chang and I started writing a sentence together. We took turns writing it, one word at a time, in the comments section of this post, and completed it yesterday. Here it is:

Mr. Bluemoon, of that exceptional tribe named for its perpetually growing sense of devotion towards miniature galaxies, never once imagined he himself would stand, with thirteen engines sounding like thirteen ghoulish mourners, aboard the Flying Wastrel, hand flat against the lever that directed heaven’s temperament.

We’ve decided not to abandon Mr. Bluemoon quite yet, so the rest of his story will be written right here, using the same method. I for one am curious to find out what happens to him.

Cyclopedia of Wonders and Curiosities

Among the most treasured works on my reference shelf is the Cyclopedia of Wonders and Curiosities of Nature and Art, Science and Literature, Representing Anatomy, Physiology, Phrenology, Astronomy, Botany, Geology, Natural History, Ichthyology, Mythology, Ornithology, Meteorology, Mineralogy, Chemistry, Zoology, Entomology, Biography, etc.; And Containing A Full and Authentic Description of the Most Remarkable and Astonishing Places, Beings, Animals, Customs, Experiments, Phenomena, etc., of both Ancient and Modern Times, in All Parts of the Globe, Comprising Correct Accounts of the Most Wonderful Freaks of Nature and Arts of Man, by I. Platt, D.D.

I am currently in possession of Volume Two, and my friend Jon Sequeira, who gave me the book, owns Volume One. I think the plan is to switch volumes now and then, so that we can each absorb this mass of wondrousness over the course of many years. (To try it all at once would be foolhardy and daft.)

In that spirit, I’ll be sharing some excerpts from the Cyclopedia here. The following entry is from Chapter LXII, Curiosities Respecting the Customs of Mankind (Continued).

A Curious Practice in North Holland.—To every house, of whatever quality, there is an artificial door, elevated near three feet above the level of the ground, and never opened but upon two occasions. When any part of the family marries, the bride and bridegroom enter the house by this door; and when either of the parties die, the corpse is carried out by the same door. Immediately after the due ceremonies are performed in either of these cases, this door is fastened up, never to turn on its hinges again, till some new event of a similar nature demands its services.

In future installments, we’ll consider such marvels and conundrums as Sand Floods, Androides, Remarkable Lamps, and the tale of an Unfortunate Artificer. In the meantime, you’re probably wondering, as I am, whether it should be “conundrums” or “conundra,” and to settle this matter we’ll have to consult the specialists.

Readercon Schedule

This weekend will find me at Readercon in Burlington, MA. I first attended this conference in 2007, and it’s quickly become one of my favorite annual book events. I’m on two panels this year, and I’ll be participating in a reading to celebrate the publication of Conjunctions 52: Betwixt the Between.

My full schedule is below. I will also spend a lot of time at the Small Beer Press table in the stuff-for-sale room, hoping you will come say hello to me.

Friday 12:00 Noon, Vineyard: Group Reading

ReaderconJunctions: Betwixt the Between Group Reading. Jedediah Berry, Elizabeth Hand, James Morrow

Readings from issue #52 (Spring 2009) of Conjunctions, titled “Betwixt the Between: Impossible Realism” and edited by Brian Evenson and Bradford Morrow. “Postfantasy fictions that begin with the premise that the unfamiliar or liminal really constitutes a solid ground on which to walk.”

Friday 6:00 PM, Salon E: Panel

Reality and Dream in Fiction.  Jedediah Berry, Michael Cisco (L), Caitlin R. Kiernan, Yves Meynard, Patrick O’Leary, Gene Wolfe

“It seems almost like a dream that has slowly faded.” “Not to me,” said Frodo. “To me it seems more like falling asleep again.” Some books create a world so engaging and convincing it seems more real than reality. Others (e.g., Gene Wolfe’s There are Doors) seem like dreams from which we awaken. What elements in fiction create these disparate effects? Are they mutually exclusive?

Sunday 1:00 PM, ME/ CT: Panel

The Readercon Book Club: China Miéville’s The City & The City.  Jedediah Berry, John Clute, Jim Freund (M), Glenn Grant, Graham Sleight

At the center of former Readercon GoH China Miéville’s new novel is a stunning, beautiful conceit that is revealed, in its basic dimensions, over the first six or so chapters. Reading these was about the most fun we’ve had with speculative fiction in years—and the book then gets even better. The reader gets a taste of the lived experience of a world existentially very peculiar, in prose much sparer than Miéville usually writes. That the conceit is revealed early makes the novel difficult to discuss without spoilers, so we urge you to read it before reading any reviews. And then come to this panel!

How to Talk to Trains

I’m currently doing research for a new project—research into trains, specifically—and my friendly local librarian has dug up a real treasure: a book for children called Train Talk: An Illustrated Guide to Lights, Hand Signals, Whistles, and other Languages of Railroading by Roger Yepsen. I would have loved this book when I was eight years old; I love it now.

It opens with the story of an Indiana farmer who is struck and killed by a train in 1920. The man turns out to be the author’s great-grandfather. “In spite of its air horns and bells and lights,” Yepsen writes, “a train ghosting down a hill can approach you as quietly as a cat.”

Though the story is intended to caution young readers, I can’t help but imagine Mr. Yepsen setting out to learn the language of locomotives with the story of his ancestor’s death in mind. He refers to the railroad as “a country that stretches from Atlantic to Pacific, from Central American jungle to Canadian tundra.” Catastrophe visited his family from that country, so he felt compelled to go there and learn its native tongue.

As for me, I’m just taking notes on color-light signals and semaphores. When I hear a train, it’s usually from a distance, or I’m riding in it.

Mr. Yepsen, are you out there? We grew up in the same part of the world and I like your map of the Lake Shore Limited.