California is great. It's the rest of the world that's going crazy.
First, my contribution to the whole EPA thing: What a load of bunk. This really ticks me off. The decision as a whole bothers me, but what I find infuriating is the EPA director's obfuscated and misleading justification that he needed to prevent a "patchwork" of state solutions. This is the standard industry-backed talking point, and is simply false... it implies that every state could set its own standards, which would indeed be hard to follow. That is not the case, though. Ever since the EPA was first created in the '70's, California has had the right to set its own pollution standards. Other states can choose to follow either the more strict California rules, or the lax federal ones. Regardless of what the EPA had chosen, there would be exactly two standards, and never any more or less.
Random bit of history: California has very good reasons for special controls. The geography of the state means that pollution's effects are felt much more severely here. For example, the majority of the population lives in valleys that trap smog, so air quality is generally poor. In the specific case of global warming, San Francisco and San Diego will be among the first cities affected by rising sea levels, so people here are highly motivated to try and fix (or at least mitigate) the problem.
And, really, the whole thing bothers me because it makes clear that the administration is really driven by greed more than ideology. I thought conservatives were supposed to be federalists who supported states' rights, as opposed to letting the federal government dictate policy. And yet, given the chance to let a state take a daring approach to a problem, the Bush administration bows to industry pressure and denies that state its rights.
I think that this sort of thing is one of the best possible examples of federalism. Admittedly, California is pretty out there, coming up with some weird stuff that doesn't quite work out. And yet, the populist/progressive heritage of the state also means that it's brave enough to try things that are eventually proven to be right, and eventually do spread throughout the country. Think of things like the seat belt law, mandatory catalytic converters, and emergency statewide communication systems. I think the country as a whole would gain enormously by letting California try its regulatory plan. If it succeeds, it can be adopted nationally with more confidence; if it fails, well, only California and a few other states will have suffered. (Oh, and fewer high-polluting SUVs will have been sold. Boo-hoo!)
I wasn't that big a fan of Schwarzenegger when I moved here, but he increasingly endears himself. I love the latest threat to "sue, sue, and sue again." My state's cause is just, and I have faith that we will eventually prevail... if not under this political hack, then in the next administration.
Secondly, and on a more positive note: Hooray! We are moving closer towards getting high-speed rail! After my trip to Japan, I've wanted more than ever before to get this system in the U.S. Now, as a whole, U.S. rail is way behind that in other countries, primarily due to the way we subsidize the automobile/highway system. But I think this particular plan could be a huge success. The distance is perfect - it's too far to comfortably drive, yet short enough that flying feels like a waste - you spend almost as much time in the airport as you do on the plane.
Anyways. The idea has been kicking around for a while, and unfortunately, the state's finances are in poor enough shape that we may not be able to kick it off soon. Even the $10 billion in upcoming ballot referendums would only start the process. Still, I think we need to do what we can to allow the railway to be built in the future: secure rights of way, work out zoning issues, figure out how to placate the environmentalists. After construction starts, it will take more than a decade to finish. Well, unless we hire C. C. Myers again.
And when it's done? Expect to see less traffic on the 5, which can only be a good thing. I think this would be a big boost for tourism as well, much in the same way the J-Rail pass really opened up that country for me; visitors would no longer need to choose between Hollywood and the Golden Gate. The more people we get off the roads and onto mass transit, the better everyone will be.... well, except for Detroit.
I apologize for my crankiness. Hope everyone has a happy holiday!
Update 12/21: Whoa, I really should have read more before posting. Check out this Washington Post article on the story. Two other wrinkles in this: first, the EPA administrator ignored the UNANIMOUS recommendation of his technical and legal staff in issuing this denial. Second, he was specifically advised that if California sues, it will win. This is even deeper hackery than I had originally thought. Argh.
Thursday, December 20, 2007
Tuesday, December 04, 2007
Aftermath
(Nerdy note: if I was counting my blog posts using an 8-bit integer, this would be the last post before I rolled over to 0.)
After my recent post, I feel the need to tell people, "Hey, I don't just care about television, movies, and video games! I like culture, too!" Fortunately, I have a good excuse on hand: last weekend, I had the privilege of seeing Frank Galati's adaptation of "After the Quake," a Haruki Murakami novel. As you may know, I am a big fan of Murakami, and I was determined to see the play as soon as I heard that it was coming to Berkeley. For a while it seemed like fate was determined to thwart me, as my plans for making the trip were repeatedly postponed. It was worth the wait, though: I got to see it on its closing weekend, along with a couple of friends who appreciated it as well.
As the brother of a theater major, I'm well aware of my limited exposure to the world of drama. For what it's worth, though, I thought the play was amazing. It succeeded on each technical aspect. The acting was wonderful, without any weak spots, but I thought that Paul Juhn, who played Katagiri and Takatsuki, was just phenomenal. The music was another stand-out strength: there are only two instruments, a cello and a koto, but they are both played live, and their effect on the play was incredible... some scenes that would have felt moving anyways became heart-clenching under their inspired music. The music led the action, commenting on it, or accenting certain visual beats. There was a lot that shouldn't have worked, but somehow did, like when they melted into an eerily sparse and beautiful cover of "Norwegian Wood."
Beyond the artists' technical mastery, the play succeeds wonderfully as an artwork. I am not familiar with Frank Galati's other work, but I'm so impressed by what he's done here that I want to seek it out. He has taken two short stories from "After the Quake" and intertwined them. I had initially assumed that he would do this in a Hollywood type of way, by combining characters and events, but he didn't go down that road. Instead, he keeps the stories' plots separate while uniting their storyTELLING. The play lives in a fluid space where the narrators of one story become characters in the next, with indirect comments and themes shared between the two but never quite lining up. It is a fascinating structure, at once complex and beautiful, engaging without being deliberately obtuse. The transitions themselves seem to melt as the play goes on. Early in the play, characters walk offstage to change costumes, but as the stories reach towards their climax, they begin to shed identities in full view of the audience. It's a beautiful and moving metaphor.
In combination with all this, the two stories are themselves about stories: Frog, the protagonist of one, is a great lover of literature who uses examples from classics like Anna Karenina to explain his strange life. Junpei, the protagonist of another, is a struggling young author who writes fiction to come to grips with the real world and bring people together. So there are scenes where you have the Frog actor narrating Junpei's narration of a bedtime story to Sala. It is an intricate structure, one that comments on the creative power of fiction, how each of us can be creators of our own worlds. Thinking about this afterwards, it seems like one of those profound truths which is so simple I have not thought of it before. We live our lives as characters in other people's plays, but at the same time, each of us is the author of our own narrative in which we seek to make sense of the world and our place in it, and the roles of everyone we meet, who are in turn writing us as characters... I think that Murakami may have been getting at this idea in "Honey Pie," but Galati has exploded that idea out of the text and made it a part of the performance.
Speaking of which, after watching the play, I'm more motivated than ever to go and read "After the Quake." Murakami wrote this upon his return to Japan following the 1995 Kobe earthquake. Although sometimes described as a novel, it is actually a collection of short stories that, in one way or another, are meditations on the earthquake and, more importantly the reactions and fears it stoked in the Japanese psyche. Although my favorite Murakami pieces to date have been his long-form novels, I love his short fiction as well, and look forward to going through a unified collection such as this. Besides which, the idea of living with the threat of earthquakes has a particular (please pardon the pun) resonance among people in Northern California. There was a point during the play which flashes back to the 1995 earthquake, and as lights flash and characters scream, the audience could FEEL the rumbling and shaking of the earth. This brought back immediate memories of my first experience with an earthquake. At that time, it was a new and strange enough sensation that I did not have time to feel scared. Oddly enough, I felt more frightened sitting in a theater experiencing a simulated quake than I did on the second floor of a building while a real one was going on. I think this is another thing Murakami is getting at: the damage an earthquake (or any disaster - think of the September 11th attacks) deals goes beyond the initial toll in buildings, dollars, and lives. Such disasters can creep into our psyche, making us frightened, and diminishing our hopes and our ambitions. In the play, Sala has a dream where she is put into a box by the Earthquake Man. Murakami wants to show us that box, recognize that we put ourselves inside it, and tell us that we have the freedom to leave.
After my recent post, I feel the need to tell people, "Hey, I don't just care about television, movies, and video games! I like culture, too!" Fortunately, I have a good excuse on hand: last weekend, I had the privilege of seeing Frank Galati's adaptation of "After the Quake," a Haruki Murakami novel. As you may know, I am a big fan of Murakami, and I was determined to see the play as soon as I heard that it was coming to Berkeley. For a while it seemed like fate was determined to thwart me, as my plans for making the trip were repeatedly postponed. It was worth the wait, though: I got to see it on its closing weekend, along with a couple of friends who appreciated it as well.
As the brother of a theater major, I'm well aware of my limited exposure to the world of drama. For what it's worth, though, I thought the play was amazing. It succeeded on each technical aspect. The acting was wonderful, without any weak spots, but I thought that Paul Juhn, who played Katagiri and Takatsuki, was just phenomenal. The music was another stand-out strength: there are only two instruments, a cello and a koto, but they are both played live, and their effect on the play was incredible... some scenes that would have felt moving anyways became heart-clenching under their inspired music. The music led the action, commenting on it, or accenting certain visual beats. There was a lot that shouldn't have worked, but somehow did, like when they melted into an eerily sparse and beautiful cover of "Norwegian Wood."
Beyond the artists' technical mastery, the play succeeds wonderfully as an artwork. I am not familiar with Frank Galati's other work, but I'm so impressed by what he's done here that I want to seek it out. He has taken two short stories from "After the Quake" and intertwined them. I had initially assumed that he would do this in a Hollywood type of way, by combining characters and events, but he didn't go down that road. Instead, he keeps the stories' plots separate while uniting their storyTELLING. The play lives in a fluid space where the narrators of one story become characters in the next, with indirect comments and themes shared between the two but never quite lining up. It is a fascinating structure, at once complex and beautiful, engaging without being deliberately obtuse. The transitions themselves seem to melt as the play goes on. Early in the play, characters walk offstage to change costumes, but as the stories reach towards their climax, they begin to shed identities in full view of the audience. It's a beautiful and moving metaphor.
In combination with all this, the two stories are themselves about stories: Frog, the protagonist of one, is a great lover of literature who uses examples from classics like Anna Karenina to explain his strange life. Junpei, the protagonist of another, is a struggling young author who writes fiction to come to grips with the real world and bring people together. So there are scenes where you have the Frog actor narrating Junpei's narration of a bedtime story to Sala. It is an intricate structure, one that comments on the creative power of fiction, how each of us can be creators of our own worlds. Thinking about this afterwards, it seems like one of those profound truths which is so simple I have not thought of it before. We live our lives as characters in other people's plays, but at the same time, each of us is the author of our own narrative in which we seek to make sense of the world and our place in it, and the roles of everyone we meet, who are in turn writing us as characters... I think that Murakami may have been getting at this idea in "Honey Pie," but Galati has exploded that idea out of the text and made it a part of the performance.
Speaking of which, after watching the play, I'm more motivated than ever to go and read "After the Quake." Murakami wrote this upon his return to Japan following the 1995 Kobe earthquake. Although sometimes described as a novel, it is actually a collection of short stories that, in one way or another, are meditations on the earthquake and, more importantly the reactions and fears it stoked in the Japanese psyche. Although my favorite Murakami pieces to date have been his long-form novels, I love his short fiction as well, and look forward to going through a unified collection such as this. Besides which, the idea of living with the threat of earthquakes has a particular (please pardon the pun) resonance among people in Northern California. There was a point during the play which flashes back to the 1995 earthquake, and as lights flash and characters scream, the audience could FEEL the rumbling and shaking of the earth. This brought back immediate memories of my first experience with an earthquake. At that time, it was a new and strange enough sensation that I did not have time to feel scared. Oddly enough, I felt more frightened sitting in a theater experiencing a simulated quake than I did on the second floor of a building while a real one was going on. I think this is another thing Murakami is getting at: the damage an earthquake (or any disaster - think of the September 11th attacks) deals goes beyond the initial toll in buildings, dollars, and lives. Such disasters can creep into our psyche, making us frightened, and diminishing our hopes and our ambitions. In the play, Sala has a dream where she is put into a box by the Earthquake Man. Murakami wants to show us that box, recognize that we put ourselves inside it, and tell us that we have the freedom to leave.
Monday, December 03, 2007
How reading shaped my programming
Inspired by my dad's recent blog post, Pat and I figured we'd take a swing at the same topic. It would be fascinating to see this done for every profession: a codification of which works have been particularly influential in a person's development.
To be honest, books are just a component of my development. I've arguably learned more from professors, mentors, and co-workers than from books, and in my day-to-day struggles, I'll more often turn to online sources. Still, books do form a crucial foundation for software development. I can break the good ones down into two categories. First, there are books that teach a technology. These are valuable because they can take you from 0 to 60: by focusing on a single source, you can methodically learn the syntax, structure, and best practices for a new language or technique. A good book won't be impatient or have the blind spots that a more experienced in-person mentor might exhibit. The second class of books are those that teach a way of thinking. These become increasingly important as you grapple with larger projects and organizations. In programming, doing development by yourself is orders of magnitude easier than working in a team, but all of the interesting projects left are sufficiently complex to be beyond any individual's reach. And so, we need to learn how to design and structure our code and our work practices such that someone other than us can interact with the code. This has been, and remains, one of the industry's greatest challenges.
To this, I should probably add the third category of cultural books. I'll never be able to point to a line of code and say, "This book is what inspired me to write that," but there's a definite body of literature out there that has helped me define what it means to be a software developer, helped clarify my sense of mission, and helped me to enjoy my career even more.
Anyways! Without further ado, let's take a look.
Hackers, Heroes of the Computer Revolution, by Stephen Levy. I checked this book out from the Burnhaven Library in Burnsville, Minnesota, and it had an enormous influence on my understanding of programming. No longer was it just a fun thing that one did in front of a computer; for the first time, I started to see myself as part of a long tradition of innovation that started long before I was born and was spread throughout the world. This book also helped steep me in the myth and folklore of computing; I can chat with old hands about the PDP-1, the Game of Life, the TMRC, and the Altair. The book was divided into rough thirds, and the middle section was grounded in the birth of the consumer computing industry in Silicon Valley, and so has a particular resonance for me today.
Core Java, volumes I and II. These tomes were crucial tools in my Computer Science 101 class, which was single-handedly responsible for my transformation from a procedural, self-taught, idiosyncratic, not-very-good programmer into the object-oriented, thoughtful developer I am today. These books did a great job at the very difficult task of teaching both Java syntax and the more abstract concepts behind object-oriented programming. The way I approach programming underwent a sea-change as a result, and I've never looked back. (Some day I need to pick up one of the more recent incarnations of these books - Java has changed a lot since I was a freshman.)
The Cathedral and the Bazaar. This is the seminal tome on the ethos behind the Open Source Software movement. If you're reading this post on Firefox, you should thank Erik Raymond; this essay planted the seeds that led to the open-sourcing of Netscape and the eventually rebirth of Firefox. For me, it helped me understand the moral and ethical dimensions involved in distributing software. At the same time, the book diverges from the purely ethical foundation of the earlier Free Software movement, and is instead based on empirical considerations. Raymond examined real-live cases, and convinced me that open source not only felt good, it also produced superior software. The conditions of corporate employment keep me from honoring this book as much as I would like, but it has given me a strong position from which to make my case.
Programming Perl, 3rd Edition. Also known as The Camel Book, this is the authoritative book on Perl development, and may be the best-written programming book ever. Larry Wall, the creator of Perl and one of the most interesting characters in a pantheon of interesting people, is also a linguist, and his his particular skill with words elevates this book far above the competition. It may be the only book out there that can be all things to all people: it is a useful primer on the language, an exhaustive reference book, an overview of Perl culture and history, a guide to design, and more. This book taught me how to write Perl, and makes me a better programmer every time I crack it open. His rich use of interesting examples and clever language make it a pleasure to read.
Effective C++ by Scott Meyers. Another entry from the disturbingly small class of well-written programming guides. I first "learned" C++ back around 1998, but didn't really grok it until after I picked up Java. Scott Meyers' book, which I picked up on the advice of Raviant people from my wonderful summer internship, helped me take my skills to the next level. Meyers breaks out of the convention of describing how things work, and instead focuses on specific solutions to particular problems. This book is to coding what Design Patterns is to architecture. As with Larry Wall, I can gladly read chapters of this book at a time for the pure pleasure of his authorial voice, even if I'm not immediately facing the problems he describes.
Design Patterns by the Gang of Four. I think this is the book that separates the programmers from the software engineers. The former class can make something work; the latter class will make something that will work for twenty years, under a variety of maintenance programmers, as it responds to evolving requirements. This was the one book I read in academia that most impressed on me the need to future-proof my designs. As soon as I reached the real world, I realized that this may be the most important skill of all.
Tag, you're it! If you are a professional and have a blog, I hope you'll take some time to think about the books which have shaped your understanding of your chosen career. Please shoot me a link, I'd love to read about it.
To be honest, books are just a component of my development. I've arguably learned more from professors, mentors, and co-workers than from books, and in my day-to-day struggles, I'll more often turn to online sources. Still, books do form a crucial foundation for software development. I can break the good ones down into two categories. First, there are books that teach a technology. These are valuable because they can take you from 0 to 60: by focusing on a single source, you can methodically learn the syntax, structure, and best practices for a new language or technique. A good book won't be impatient or have the blind spots that a more experienced in-person mentor might exhibit. The second class of books are those that teach a way of thinking. These become increasingly important as you grapple with larger projects and organizations. In programming, doing development by yourself is orders of magnitude easier than working in a team, but all of the interesting projects left are sufficiently complex to be beyond any individual's reach. And so, we need to learn how to design and structure our code and our work practices such that someone other than us can interact with the code. This has been, and remains, one of the industry's greatest challenges.
To this, I should probably add the third category of cultural books. I'll never be able to point to a line of code and say, "This book is what inspired me to write that," but there's a definite body of literature out there that has helped me define what it means to be a software developer, helped clarify my sense of mission, and helped me to enjoy my career even more.
Anyways! Without further ado, let's take a look.
Hackers, Heroes of the Computer Revolution, by Stephen Levy. I checked this book out from the Burnhaven Library in Burnsville, Minnesota, and it had an enormous influence on my understanding of programming. No longer was it just a fun thing that one did in front of a computer; for the first time, I started to see myself as part of a long tradition of innovation that started long before I was born and was spread throughout the world. This book also helped steep me in the myth and folklore of computing; I can chat with old hands about the PDP-1, the Game of Life, the TMRC, and the Altair. The book was divided into rough thirds, and the middle section was grounded in the birth of the consumer computing industry in Silicon Valley, and so has a particular resonance for me today.
Core Java, volumes I and II. These tomes were crucial tools in my Computer Science 101 class, which was single-handedly responsible for my transformation from a procedural, self-taught, idiosyncratic, not-very-good programmer into the object-oriented, thoughtful developer I am today. These books did a great job at the very difficult task of teaching both Java syntax and the more abstract concepts behind object-oriented programming. The way I approach programming underwent a sea-change as a result, and I've never looked back. (Some day I need to pick up one of the more recent incarnations of these books - Java has changed a lot since I was a freshman.)
The Cathedral and the Bazaar. This is the seminal tome on the ethos behind the Open Source Software movement. If you're reading this post on Firefox, you should thank Erik Raymond; this essay planted the seeds that led to the open-sourcing of Netscape and the eventually rebirth of Firefox. For me, it helped me understand the moral and ethical dimensions involved in distributing software. At the same time, the book diverges from the purely ethical foundation of the earlier Free Software movement, and is instead based on empirical considerations. Raymond examined real-live cases, and convinced me that open source not only felt good, it also produced superior software. The conditions of corporate employment keep me from honoring this book as much as I would like, but it has given me a strong position from which to make my case.
Programming Perl, 3rd Edition. Also known as The Camel Book, this is the authoritative book on Perl development, and may be the best-written programming book ever. Larry Wall, the creator of Perl and one of the most interesting characters in a pantheon of interesting people, is also a linguist, and his his particular skill with words elevates this book far above the competition. It may be the only book out there that can be all things to all people: it is a useful primer on the language, an exhaustive reference book, an overview of Perl culture and history, a guide to design, and more. This book taught me how to write Perl, and makes me a better programmer every time I crack it open. His rich use of interesting examples and clever language make it a pleasure to read.
Effective C++ by Scott Meyers. Another entry from the disturbingly small class of well-written programming guides. I first "learned" C++ back around 1998, but didn't really grok it until after I picked up Java. Scott Meyers' book, which I picked up on the advice of Raviant people from my wonderful summer internship, helped me take my skills to the next level. Meyers breaks out of the convention of describing how things work, and instead focuses on specific solutions to particular problems. This book is to coding what Design Patterns is to architecture. As with Larry Wall, I can gladly read chapters of this book at a time for the pure pleasure of his authorial voice, even if I'm not immediately facing the problems he describes.
Design Patterns by the Gang of Four. I think this is the book that separates the programmers from the software engineers. The former class can make something work; the latter class will make something that will work for twenty years, under a variety of maintenance programmers, as it responds to evolving requirements. This was the one book I read in academia that most impressed on me the need to future-proof my designs. As soon as I reached the real world, I realized that this may be the most important skill of all.
Tag, you're it! If you are a professional and have a blog, I hope you'll take some time to think about the books which have shaped your understanding of your chosen career. Please shoot me a link, I'd love to read about it.
More Obama
I've been trying to avoid putting much political stuff on this blog - I'm fairly passionate about politics, but don't feel that I'm very articulate at expressing my beliefs. Plus, if 2004 is any indication, I'm going to be unbearably involved in the election the closer it gets, so for my own sake and yours I don't want to front-load a lot of political content.
That being said, I want to weight in real quick on the Obama campaign. I've been very encouraged by the recent news out of Iowa, and while it's far from a sure thing, I'm feeling more hopeful than I have in months that he can actually win this thing. I don't seem to be alone in this, either, judging from the increasing mudslinging from the Hillary campaign.
There are some great clips of Obama making an appearance at the Apollo Theater in Harlem out there. The first one I saw was a crowd-perspective video taken with a handheld camera; there are better quality shots on YouTube, but I kind of like the DIY aspect of this one, partly because it reproduces what the San Francisco rally felt like. One of the coolest things about this video is that it confirms my suspicions about Obama's consistent message. His audience is different - the one at the Apollo seems more African-American, while that at Bill Graham was mainly white and Asian - and the issue leanings seem to be a bit different, but while the reactions are different his message is the same. Talking about the environment doesn't give him as big of applause as it did out here, but he still stresses it. The lines about civil rights that cause the Apollo to thunder received only polite clapping in California, but I don't doubt his heartfelt devotion to that cause.
Anyways, that's encouraging. Granted, New York City and San Francisco are both pretty liberal, and I suppose the true acid test would compare those speeches to ones he gives in Iowa and Nevada. But, you know what? I'm increasingly confident that he really is saying what he believes. That has actually become one of the cornerstones of his campaign. In an odd way, he is differentiating himself from Hillary by saying that she will say anything to get elected, while he will take positions even if they may hurt his chances. That may not be good strategy, but it is great policy.
That being said, I want to weight in real quick on the Obama campaign. I've been very encouraged by the recent news out of Iowa, and while it's far from a sure thing, I'm feeling more hopeful than I have in months that he can actually win this thing. I don't seem to be alone in this, either, judging from the increasing mudslinging from the Hillary campaign.
There are some great clips of Obama making an appearance at the Apollo Theater in Harlem out there. The first one I saw was a crowd-perspective video taken with a handheld camera; there are better quality shots on YouTube, but I kind of like the DIY aspect of this one, partly because it reproduces what the San Francisco rally felt like. One of the coolest things about this video is that it confirms my suspicions about Obama's consistent message. His audience is different - the one at the Apollo seems more African-American, while that at Bill Graham was mainly white and Asian - and the issue leanings seem to be a bit different, but while the reactions are different his message is the same. Talking about the environment doesn't give him as big of applause as it did out here, but he still stresses it. The lines about civil rights that cause the Apollo to thunder received only polite clapping in California, but I don't doubt his heartfelt devotion to that cause.
Anyways, that's encouraging. Granted, New York City and San Francisco are both pretty liberal, and I suppose the true acid test would compare those speeches to ones he gives in Iowa and Nevada. But, you know what? I'm increasingly confident that he really is saying what he believes. That has actually become one of the cornerstones of his campaign. In an odd way, he is differentiating himself from Hillary by saying that she will say anything to get elected, while he will take positions even if they may hurt his chances. That may not be good strategy, but it is great policy.
Saturday, December 01, 2007
Literary (And Other) Review
I've been woefully deficient in reporting on my reading. Here's hoping that late and inadequate is better than never.
Watchmen by Alan Moore. This title seems to pop up on all the lists with titles like "Comic books for people who don't read comics" or "Best comic books of all time." I'm not a big comics guy myself, but ever since reading, and being blown away by, Neil Gaiman's Sandman, I've been on the lookout for similarly impressive work. Watchmen has been recommended by several people, and nearly a year ago I requested it from the San Jose library. It seems to be in high demand - two of the three issues are missing, and I joined a patient queue of people waiting for the last copy. It arrived shortly before Thanksgiving, and I tore through it before and after my trip to Chicago.
I wasn't disappointed. The quality of Watchmen is every bit as strong as Sandman, but the tone and thrust is very different. Sandman soared in its fantasy, becoming stronger the further it embraced myth, dream and legend. In contrast, Watchmen is firmly grounded in the world, and is most poignant in its depictions of the struggles and limitations of human beings. I don't say "the real world" - Watchmen is set in a slightly alternate reality, one where "costumed heroes", inspired by early comic books, became a crime-fighting force in the 1940's. The US won the Vietnam War, Richard Nixon is still President in 1985, and the US holds a decided military advantage over the USSR. Nonetheless, I keep returning to the word "reality" when I think about this book. Even the "superheroes" have limitations and crushed dreams that make them feel like us.
I think of Sandman and Watchmen as being "adult" comic books. I don't mean "adult" in the sense of having sex or violence; from what I can tell, most comic books have those quantities in spades. Rather, they are adult in their worldview: they embrace complexity and messy relationships, refusing to neatly divide individuals into good or evil, heroes or villains. Watchmen is additionally adult in its characters: most of the protagonists are middle-aged, semi-retired "superheroes." Although we can admire some of them, they certainly don't fit the stylized image of comic book heroes: the man have slight paunches, the women's looks are fading, and much of their skills have fallen into disuse. The few heroes who have stayed active are the more disturbing ones.
Early on, I found myself thinking of "The Incredibles," specifically the early scenes with Mr. Incredible working in an insurance office. I'm a little curious if Brad Bird was aware of this book, as it seems to have had a big influence on comics over the last 20 years. The ultimate aims of these two works differ, though. The Incredibles, while excellent, ultimately has a very Disney-ish moral, one about believing in yourself and fulfilling your potential. Watchmen, on the other hand, ends on a very morally ambiguous note. It suggests that compromise is sometimes necessary, that one must occasionally choose between different bad choices, and that pursuing a small good may result in a large harm.
I'm far from an expert, but I thought the art in this book was really good. Unlike Sandman, which rotated through a large number of artists, Watchmen was a collaboration between Alan Moore and Dave Gibbons, and so it has a very consistent look throughout. As I noted above, the characters are realistically portrayed, and I'm especially impressed with the grimy vision of New York City that is delivered.
This isn't meant to be a full review, but before I cut off, I need to give a particular shout-out to the wonderful literary aspects of this book. It is far from a straight-up adventure story, and I think the depths of the writing can only be fully explored on subsequent readings. One especially wonderful technique Moore uses is that of layered narratives. A young black man reads a comic book; the words of that comic book comment on the action taking place around him on the streets of New York; and those streets, in turn, are filled with people trying to come to grips with the results of the actions taken by the main protagonists. You can read through one page multiple times, interpreting the words different ways, and come up with wholly distinct, yet complementary, story lines. It's a wonderful achievement.
In other news:
I continue to tear through Terry Pratchett's Discworld books. I recently finished "Jingo". It is a Guards book, which means it is great. I think this book has some good similarities to Thud!, especially in the subtext; the treatment of nationality in Jingo is similar to that of race in Thud! I really enjoy pulling through these books; it does feel like reuniting with old friends.
On the television front:
"The War" was well-done. It's the first Ken Burns documentary I've seen, and I was pretty impressed. To be honest, I was a little leery of the "through the eyes of four American towns" angle, thinking that it would lose the larger scope of the war. I was wrong, though... in an immediate sense, because there were plenty of tools Burns used (propaganda films, stock footage, etc.) that showed both the war action and the larger political movements; and also because the device helped me better absorb the sheer enormity of the war effort. When I saw the transformation of a city like Birmingham, I was stunned. Then, I realized that Birmingham really is not that big of a city, and that events of similar scope were happening all across the nation... that's when the nation-changing aspect of the war really became real to me. Or, when you learn of a young soldier's death, and hear his family's grief, you are at first touched by that one loss. Then, you multiple that by the hundreds of thousands of dead Americans, or the sixteen million who wore the uniform, and you can get some hint of the psychological and social stress the war had.
I kind of doubt I'll watch it again, just because I can think of better things to do with ten hours of my time, but I have absolutely no regrets about seeing it.
Oh, and one final note: I really appreciate the distinction a person in the documentary makes between a "good" war and a "necessary" war. It very eloquently said much of what I've thought about World War 2.
The first half of "House" wrapped up last week. I think it may be the strongest section yet of the series. They've pulled off a great balance between an overarching narrative and an episodic mystery-of-the-week. I won't say any more lest I spoil the fun, but it's been very enjoyable.
House has an advantage over Lost and other serials in that new viewers can approach it without having previously viewed every other episode in the series. That being said, if you're thinking of starting on House, I'd recommend starting a few episodes before the end of the third season. Well, or halfway through the first, depending on how much you want to see.
For the first time since "Ratatoille," I got to see an actual movie! In a theater! It was "No Country for Old Men," and while I love the Coen brothers, I have to admit that this one stays below the level of masterworks like "Fargo". That being said, it's still heads and shoulders above most movies out there. There's a quiet bleakness in the movie that permeates everything, from the landscape to the dialog to the deaths to the sets. It's far from an "up" movie, and it continues the Coen brothers' allergic reaction to complete endings, but is well worth checking out.
If you haven't hacked your iPhone yet, do it now. The apps out there are good and getting better. For my recent cross-country trip, I left my PSP at home and spent a good chunk of my plane ride playing Dragon Warrior 2 on the NES emulator. It was a fun blast from the past; I played the first game way back in the day, but never did any of the sequels, and am enjoying the old-school gameplay. That being said, I have to take it in chunks. One nice thing about modern RPGs is that they no longer require you to battle hundreds of random monsters to level-up before doing something fun.
Man... how long HAS it been since I wrote about books? I was just checking to see if I had reviewed "What is the What," and it doesn't look like I have. Shame on me. It's an amazing, powerful book. I'm ashamed to admit that I've gotten pretty desensitized to the horrors of far-away conflicts; after you read enough stories about child warriors, mass famine, and religiously motivated slaughter, you start getting pretty numb. Dave Eggers has done a great job of slapping us across the face with this engaging book that reveals and humanizes some of the awful things happening in Africa now. It isn't a pleasant topic, but the method he uses makes this a very readable and often gripping story, one that keeps you reading for pleasure while letting grim reality sink in.
I recently bought my first-ever artbook, Lain Illustration by Yoshitoshi Abe. It includes concept and character art from Serial Experiments Lain, which the more I think about it is probably my favorite anime. The book is absolutely gorgeous, and is evocative of the surreal, slightly sinister tone that characterizes the anime.
My massive Civilization IV scenario game is currently on hiatus. One of the fan-submitted scenarios for Beyond the Sword was a World War II scenario. It comes in three versions: Europe 1936, Asia 1936, and Europe 1939. I decided to play the last version, taking on the role of Germany. In what is no doubt a very smart move, Firaxis removed all references to Hitler and Nazi paraphernalia from the game; I am playing as "Vice-Chancellor Papen" (or something like that). It's a little odd and not totally accurate, but at the same time, I actually appreciate it a little bit... I can enjoy playing as Germany a bit more if I'm not under that banner.
The map is huge and detailed, and so is the scenario itself. I loved the old Civ II WW2 scenario, which was also centered around Europe. That one had just 6 civilizations: Allies (UK+US), France, Axis (Germany+Italy), Russia, Spain, and the Neutrals. The scenario started on the eve of the invasion of France: on its very first turn, Germany would send bombers pouring into French cities, paratrooping in and capturing a lot of territory before France had its first chance to move. As with most WW2 games, Germany's strategy is to roll up as much territory as it can before resistance gets too strong. There were several things I enjoyed about this scenario. First, the scope was broad: you started the game with a ton of units to play with, and would operate in multiple theaters; U-Boats would hunt down Allied transports in the Atlantic, while Panzers roar across northern Africa and bombers pound London. Second, the scenario lent itself well to alternate history. The designers recommended you play as the Allies, Axis, or Russia, but some of the most fun I ever had was playing a game as Spain: you can't hope to win, but you can seriously mess up the historical flow of events if you play at it hard enough.
The Civ IV incarnation is quite different. The map is much larger and more detailed; I'd estimate there are at least four times as many cities as in the old one. And the civilization count blows the stack: it uses the full 16 allowed by the engine, which means that it can disentangle the alliances: Germany and Italy are separate nations, and so are American and Great Britain. Also, seemingly ever minor civilization has its own leader, all of whom seem to be minor modifications of FDR. There are three cities in the Netherlands, there is Poland, both West Balkans and East Balkans. Norway, Sweden, and Finland are each their own nation.
The realism becomes almost maddening when it comes to units. Each civilization has its own separate military tree, with historical abilities reflected: German Infantry is top-notch, while that of Poland is a joke. Science also plays a key role in the game. The far-out goal is Nuclear Fission, of course, but there are a ton of intermediate technologies that allow you to make incremental upgrades of your units. I've managed to upgrade my fighters and bombers to the second generation, and have reaped the benefits thereof.
So, why did I play as Germany? It's just a lot of fun, frankly. Leaving aside actual history, from a gameplay perspective, you start out with a relatively small geographical area, but an impressive industrial base and the most powerful units in the world. You are surrounded by weak targets. So you are constantly on the attack, always taking territory, and whenever you need to rest and heal a unit, you'll have three more rolling in behind them.
You have three options in this game: historical events, random events, and free play. In the first, you have no control over diplomacy: Germany will always declare war on France on a certain day, the UK and the US will sign a military alliance on a certain day, and so on. This style probably puts the strongest emphasis on tactics, as your job is to do the best you can with the cards you have been dealt. Random events will follow the same sequence as in history, but events occur within a window rather than on a specific data. Thus, while you know that Germany will declare war on France early, you can't know which turn it will happen on. This style demands greater flexibility from the player, and probably is a more accurate representation of how history FELT, where some actions seemed inevitable but nobody was sure when they would happen.
The final mode, which I chose, leaves diplomacy entirely up to you, which leads well to alternate historical situations. I've been having a lot of fun with this. I'll declare war on my neighbors, one at a time, usually with one active campaign and two mopping-up ones active at any time. Initial attitudes seem fairly accurate, and are achieved by replacing religion with economic philosophy: Stalin is Communist; Papen, Mussolini, and Franco are Fascist; and everyone else follows the Free Market. One interesting, probably accurate side-effect of this is that Stalin and Germany are far from friends; in fact, their antagonism is greater than that initially felt between Germany and France. Again, this is probably accurate, but it also means that a secret Polish pact was not in the offing. I'd initially thought that my alternate history would be to turn back Hitler's greatest blunder, and not invade Russia until the western front was secure. Breaking a treaty would not even be an option if I did not have a treaty to begin with, and he was clearly not interested in signing one. So, as my panzers swept through eastern Europe and into Scandinavia, I came up with another, arguably better vision: postpone the conquest of France until my empire reached Asia. There was certain risk in this - the allies' industrial output is mighty, and will only grow the longer I delay - but that still seemed a better option than fighting a two-front war - and the eastern front would be opened by Stalin eventually, whether I wanted one or not.
I bided my time, however. Russia was inferior to me, but everyone in between us was more inferior still, and Russia at least had a nominal air force and decent infantry. Plus, Russia is a vast territory, and I was nervous about getting bogged down in that conquest. One cool thing about this scenario is that it simulates the bitter winters of 1939-1941. When winter falls, tiles in eastern and northern Europe are transformed by frost. The movement cost increases dramatically, slowing your advancement to a crawl. Russian and Finnish troops start with free "winter" promotions that allow them to ignore bitter winter, but anyone else will need to plan their campaigns with an eye on the calendar.
So, I did not invade Russia in 1939; instead, I fully (albeit slowly) took Poland, Norway, Sweden, the Low Countries, the East Balkans, the West Balkans, and Finland... basically, all the minor players except for Turkey, which lay on the other side of Russia's southern expanse. However, I was getting antsy. Because this was a Beyond the Sword scenario, it includes the new Espionage system. I had dumped all my spy points against Russia, France, and the UK (that is, my most immediate threats), and had a big enough advantage that I had infiltrated the USSR's science labs. I could see that Russia was a few turns away from discovering an advanced aerospace technology that, while it would not bring their planes up to par with mine, would make bombing their cities more difficult. So, even though the bitter winter still held, in early March 1940 I struck at Russia.
It was one of the most enjoyable campaigns I've played in any version of Civ. The sheer scope of the offense was vast: the troops that had spent months fighting up Scandinavia were now pushing south through the permafrost; a landing craft dumped veteran soldiers onto the shores of St. Petersburg; and all up and down the eastern front, my highly-promoted Panzers, many of them led by Great Generals, struck. It wasn't exactly a blitzkrieg, because the front did not advance all that quickly. The front was the breadth of a continent, though, and so every mile advanced brought vast new territories into the German sphere.
Stalin did discover his new technology, but had foolishly kept the bulk of his air force stationed in St. Petersburg (or Leningrad, whatever it was called then). I fought hard to take it before he could upgrade, making the first major sacrifices of my war, but secure in the decision. A few fortnights later, the winter ended, and my units raced southward to meet the firmly established German occupation. From then on it was a mopping up operation in Asia as my tanks rumbled through desert, seeking out the sparse, desperate last cities.
And that's where I am now. It's where I've been for over a month - I'm enjoying the game, but at the same time, every since turn I take now takes about twenty minutes.
I still need to decide on my short-term and long-term strategies. It seems logical to take Turkey next, but where do I go from there? Entering the Middle East will butt me up against French and British interests there, but if there is a way to go after France while somehow sidelining the UK for now, I'd prefer to go that route. A more worrying question is what to do about Italy. They're friendly with me, but have politely refused all requests of alliance, and I don't think you can "win" the scenario if there is a non-ally left standing. I don't relish attacking Italy - their holdings are spread on both sides of the Mediterranean, and all jokes to the contrary, they actually have a decent army - but if it needs to happen, it seems to make sense to hit them as I stab westward.
Over the long haul, the picture becomes clearer: finish taking Europe and northern Africa, then direct all my might against England. The game will end in a massive naval battle in the Atlantic that culminates in marine landings along the eastern seaboard of the US. It's that naval battle that currently worries me. Unlike that old Civ II scenario, Germany starts this game with a miniscule navy: I had only a single submarine at the start of the game, and my naval facilities have been slow in coming online. Right now I have nothing at all in the Mediterranean, nothing in the North Sea, and nothing in the Atlantic; just a small pack that was containing minor threats in the Baltic Sea. That will need to change, and I just hope it will grow in time.
Don't you love it when a game hijacks everything? I'd better stop typing before I get off on a tangent about the proper role of air support when conducting a far-flung campaign. I'm out of here!
Watchmen by Alan Moore. This title seems to pop up on all the lists with titles like "Comic books for people who don't read comics" or "Best comic books of all time." I'm not a big comics guy myself, but ever since reading, and being blown away by, Neil Gaiman's Sandman, I've been on the lookout for similarly impressive work. Watchmen has been recommended by several people, and nearly a year ago I requested it from the San Jose library. It seems to be in high demand - two of the three issues are missing, and I joined a patient queue of people waiting for the last copy. It arrived shortly before Thanksgiving, and I tore through it before and after my trip to Chicago.
I wasn't disappointed. The quality of Watchmen is every bit as strong as Sandman, but the tone and thrust is very different. Sandman soared in its fantasy, becoming stronger the further it embraced myth, dream and legend. In contrast, Watchmen is firmly grounded in the world, and is most poignant in its depictions of the struggles and limitations of human beings. I don't say "the real world" - Watchmen is set in a slightly alternate reality, one where "costumed heroes", inspired by early comic books, became a crime-fighting force in the 1940's. The US won the Vietnam War, Richard Nixon is still President in 1985, and the US holds a decided military advantage over the USSR. Nonetheless, I keep returning to the word "reality" when I think about this book. Even the "superheroes" have limitations and crushed dreams that make them feel like us.
I think of Sandman and Watchmen as being "adult" comic books. I don't mean "adult" in the sense of having sex or violence; from what I can tell, most comic books have those quantities in spades. Rather, they are adult in their worldview: they embrace complexity and messy relationships, refusing to neatly divide individuals into good or evil, heroes or villains. Watchmen is additionally adult in its characters: most of the protagonists are middle-aged, semi-retired "superheroes." Although we can admire some of them, they certainly don't fit the stylized image of comic book heroes: the man have slight paunches, the women's looks are fading, and much of their skills have fallen into disuse. The few heroes who have stayed active are the more disturbing ones.
Early on, I found myself thinking of "The Incredibles," specifically the early scenes with Mr. Incredible working in an insurance office. I'm a little curious if Brad Bird was aware of this book, as it seems to have had a big influence on comics over the last 20 years. The ultimate aims of these two works differ, though. The Incredibles, while excellent, ultimately has a very Disney-ish moral, one about believing in yourself and fulfilling your potential. Watchmen, on the other hand, ends on a very morally ambiguous note. It suggests that compromise is sometimes necessary, that one must occasionally choose between different bad choices, and that pursuing a small good may result in a large harm.
I'm far from an expert, but I thought the art in this book was really good. Unlike Sandman, which rotated through a large number of artists, Watchmen was a collaboration between Alan Moore and Dave Gibbons, and so it has a very consistent look throughout. As I noted above, the characters are realistically portrayed, and I'm especially impressed with the grimy vision of New York City that is delivered.
This isn't meant to be a full review, but before I cut off, I need to give a particular shout-out to the wonderful literary aspects of this book. It is far from a straight-up adventure story, and I think the depths of the writing can only be fully explored on subsequent readings. One especially wonderful technique Moore uses is that of layered narratives. A young black man reads a comic book; the words of that comic book comment on the action taking place around him on the streets of New York; and those streets, in turn, are filled with people trying to come to grips with the results of the actions taken by the main protagonists. You can read through one page multiple times, interpreting the words different ways, and come up with wholly distinct, yet complementary, story lines. It's a wonderful achievement.
In other news:
I continue to tear through Terry Pratchett's Discworld books. I recently finished "Jingo". It is a Guards book, which means it is great. I think this book has some good similarities to Thud!, especially in the subtext; the treatment of nationality in Jingo is similar to that of race in Thud! I really enjoy pulling through these books; it does feel like reuniting with old friends.
On the television front:
"The War" was well-done. It's the first Ken Burns documentary I've seen, and I was pretty impressed. To be honest, I was a little leery of the "through the eyes of four American towns" angle, thinking that it would lose the larger scope of the war. I was wrong, though... in an immediate sense, because there were plenty of tools Burns used (propaganda films, stock footage, etc.) that showed both the war action and the larger political movements; and also because the device helped me better absorb the sheer enormity of the war effort. When I saw the transformation of a city like Birmingham, I was stunned. Then, I realized that Birmingham really is not that big of a city, and that events of similar scope were happening all across the nation... that's when the nation-changing aspect of the war really became real to me. Or, when you learn of a young soldier's death, and hear his family's grief, you are at first touched by that one loss. Then, you multiple that by the hundreds of thousands of dead Americans, or the sixteen million who wore the uniform, and you can get some hint of the psychological and social stress the war had.
I kind of doubt I'll watch it again, just because I can think of better things to do with ten hours of my time, but I have absolutely no regrets about seeing it.
Oh, and one final note: I really appreciate the distinction a person in the documentary makes between a "good" war and a "necessary" war. It very eloquently said much of what I've thought about World War 2.
The first half of "House" wrapped up last week. I think it may be the strongest section yet of the series. They've pulled off a great balance between an overarching narrative and an episodic mystery-of-the-week. I won't say any more lest I spoil the fun, but it's been very enjoyable.
House has an advantage over Lost and other serials in that new viewers can approach it without having previously viewed every other episode in the series. That being said, if you're thinking of starting on House, I'd recommend starting a few episodes before the end of the third season. Well, or halfway through the first, depending on how much you want to see.
For the first time since "Ratatoille," I got to see an actual movie! In a theater! It was "No Country for Old Men," and while I love the Coen brothers, I have to admit that this one stays below the level of masterworks like "Fargo". That being said, it's still heads and shoulders above most movies out there. There's a quiet bleakness in the movie that permeates everything, from the landscape to the dialog to the deaths to the sets. It's far from an "up" movie, and it continues the Coen brothers' allergic reaction to complete endings, but is well worth checking out.
If you haven't hacked your iPhone yet, do it now. The apps out there are good and getting better. For my recent cross-country trip, I left my PSP at home and spent a good chunk of my plane ride playing Dragon Warrior 2 on the NES emulator. It was a fun blast from the past; I played the first game way back in the day, but never did any of the sequels, and am enjoying the old-school gameplay. That being said, I have to take it in chunks. One nice thing about modern RPGs is that they no longer require you to battle hundreds of random monsters to level-up before doing something fun.
Man... how long HAS it been since I wrote about books? I was just checking to see if I had reviewed "What is the What," and it doesn't look like I have. Shame on me. It's an amazing, powerful book. I'm ashamed to admit that I've gotten pretty desensitized to the horrors of far-away conflicts; after you read enough stories about child warriors, mass famine, and religiously motivated slaughter, you start getting pretty numb. Dave Eggers has done a great job of slapping us across the face with this engaging book that reveals and humanizes some of the awful things happening in Africa now. It isn't a pleasant topic, but the method he uses makes this a very readable and often gripping story, one that keeps you reading for pleasure while letting grim reality sink in.
I recently bought my first-ever artbook, Lain Illustration by Yoshitoshi Abe. It includes concept and character art from Serial Experiments Lain, which the more I think about it is probably my favorite anime. The book is absolutely gorgeous, and is evocative of the surreal, slightly sinister tone that characterizes the anime.
My massive Civilization IV scenario game is currently on hiatus. One of the fan-submitted scenarios for Beyond the Sword was a World War II scenario. It comes in three versions: Europe 1936, Asia 1936, and Europe 1939. I decided to play the last version, taking on the role of Germany. In what is no doubt a very smart move, Firaxis removed all references to Hitler and Nazi paraphernalia from the game; I am playing as "Vice-Chancellor Papen" (or something like that). It's a little odd and not totally accurate, but at the same time, I actually appreciate it a little bit... I can enjoy playing as Germany a bit more if I'm not under that banner.
The map is huge and detailed, and so is the scenario itself. I loved the old Civ II WW2 scenario, which was also centered around Europe. That one had just 6 civilizations: Allies (UK+US), France, Axis (Germany+Italy), Russia, Spain, and the Neutrals. The scenario started on the eve of the invasion of France: on its very first turn, Germany would send bombers pouring into French cities, paratrooping in and capturing a lot of territory before France had its first chance to move. As with most WW2 games, Germany's strategy is to roll up as much territory as it can before resistance gets too strong. There were several things I enjoyed about this scenario. First, the scope was broad: you started the game with a ton of units to play with, and would operate in multiple theaters; U-Boats would hunt down Allied transports in the Atlantic, while Panzers roar across northern Africa and bombers pound London. Second, the scenario lent itself well to alternate history. The designers recommended you play as the Allies, Axis, or Russia, but some of the most fun I ever had was playing a game as Spain: you can't hope to win, but you can seriously mess up the historical flow of events if you play at it hard enough.
The Civ IV incarnation is quite different. The map is much larger and more detailed; I'd estimate there are at least four times as many cities as in the old one. And the civilization count blows the stack: it uses the full 16 allowed by the engine, which means that it can disentangle the alliances: Germany and Italy are separate nations, and so are American and Great Britain. Also, seemingly ever minor civilization has its own leader, all of whom seem to be minor modifications of FDR. There are three cities in the Netherlands, there is Poland, both West Balkans and East Balkans. Norway, Sweden, and Finland are each their own nation.
The realism becomes almost maddening when it comes to units. Each civilization has its own separate military tree, with historical abilities reflected: German Infantry is top-notch, while that of Poland is a joke. Science also plays a key role in the game. The far-out goal is Nuclear Fission, of course, but there are a ton of intermediate technologies that allow you to make incremental upgrades of your units. I've managed to upgrade my fighters and bombers to the second generation, and have reaped the benefits thereof.
So, why did I play as Germany? It's just a lot of fun, frankly. Leaving aside actual history, from a gameplay perspective, you start out with a relatively small geographical area, but an impressive industrial base and the most powerful units in the world. You are surrounded by weak targets. So you are constantly on the attack, always taking territory, and whenever you need to rest and heal a unit, you'll have three more rolling in behind them.
You have three options in this game: historical events, random events, and free play. In the first, you have no control over diplomacy: Germany will always declare war on France on a certain day, the UK and the US will sign a military alliance on a certain day, and so on. This style probably puts the strongest emphasis on tactics, as your job is to do the best you can with the cards you have been dealt. Random events will follow the same sequence as in history, but events occur within a window rather than on a specific data. Thus, while you know that Germany will declare war on France early, you can't know which turn it will happen on. This style demands greater flexibility from the player, and probably is a more accurate representation of how history FELT, where some actions seemed inevitable but nobody was sure when they would happen.
The final mode, which I chose, leaves diplomacy entirely up to you, which leads well to alternate historical situations. I've been having a lot of fun with this. I'll declare war on my neighbors, one at a time, usually with one active campaign and two mopping-up ones active at any time. Initial attitudes seem fairly accurate, and are achieved by replacing religion with economic philosophy: Stalin is Communist; Papen, Mussolini, and Franco are Fascist; and everyone else follows the Free Market. One interesting, probably accurate side-effect of this is that Stalin and Germany are far from friends; in fact, their antagonism is greater than that initially felt between Germany and France. Again, this is probably accurate, but it also means that a secret Polish pact was not in the offing. I'd initially thought that my alternate history would be to turn back Hitler's greatest blunder, and not invade Russia until the western front was secure. Breaking a treaty would not even be an option if I did not have a treaty to begin with, and he was clearly not interested in signing one. So, as my panzers swept through eastern Europe and into Scandinavia, I came up with another, arguably better vision: postpone the conquest of France until my empire reached Asia. There was certain risk in this - the allies' industrial output is mighty, and will only grow the longer I delay - but that still seemed a better option than fighting a two-front war - and the eastern front would be opened by Stalin eventually, whether I wanted one or not.
I bided my time, however. Russia was inferior to me, but everyone in between us was more inferior still, and Russia at least had a nominal air force and decent infantry. Plus, Russia is a vast territory, and I was nervous about getting bogged down in that conquest. One cool thing about this scenario is that it simulates the bitter winters of 1939-1941. When winter falls, tiles in eastern and northern Europe are transformed by frost. The movement cost increases dramatically, slowing your advancement to a crawl. Russian and Finnish troops start with free "winter" promotions that allow them to ignore bitter winter, but anyone else will need to plan their campaigns with an eye on the calendar.
So, I did not invade Russia in 1939; instead, I fully (albeit slowly) took Poland, Norway, Sweden, the Low Countries, the East Balkans, the West Balkans, and Finland... basically, all the minor players except for Turkey, which lay on the other side of Russia's southern expanse. However, I was getting antsy. Because this was a Beyond the Sword scenario, it includes the new Espionage system. I had dumped all my spy points against Russia, France, and the UK (that is, my most immediate threats), and had a big enough advantage that I had infiltrated the USSR's science labs. I could see that Russia was a few turns away from discovering an advanced aerospace technology that, while it would not bring their planes up to par with mine, would make bombing their cities more difficult. So, even though the bitter winter still held, in early March 1940 I struck at Russia.
It was one of the most enjoyable campaigns I've played in any version of Civ. The sheer scope of the offense was vast: the troops that had spent months fighting up Scandinavia were now pushing south through the permafrost; a landing craft dumped veteran soldiers onto the shores of St. Petersburg; and all up and down the eastern front, my highly-promoted Panzers, many of them led by Great Generals, struck. It wasn't exactly a blitzkrieg, because the front did not advance all that quickly. The front was the breadth of a continent, though, and so every mile advanced brought vast new territories into the German sphere.
Stalin did discover his new technology, but had foolishly kept the bulk of his air force stationed in St. Petersburg (or Leningrad, whatever it was called then). I fought hard to take it before he could upgrade, making the first major sacrifices of my war, but secure in the decision. A few fortnights later, the winter ended, and my units raced southward to meet the firmly established German occupation. From then on it was a mopping up operation in Asia as my tanks rumbled through desert, seeking out the sparse, desperate last cities.
And that's where I am now. It's where I've been for over a month - I'm enjoying the game, but at the same time, every since turn I take now takes about twenty minutes.
I still need to decide on my short-term and long-term strategies. It seems logical to take Turkey next, but where do I go from there? Entering the Middle East will butt me up against French and British interests there, but if there is a way to go after France while somehow sidelining the UK for now, I'd prefer to go that route. A more worrying question is what to do about Italy. They're friendly with me, but have politely refused all requests of alliance, and I don't think you can "win" the scenario if there is a non-ally left standing. I don't relish attacking Italy - their holdings are spread on both sides of the Mediterranean, and all jokes to the contrary, they actually have a decent army - but if it needs to happen, it seems to make sense to hit them as I stab westward.
Over the long haul, the picture becomes clearer: finish taking Europe and northern Africa, then direct all my might against England. The game will end in a massive naval battle in the Atlantic that culminates in marine landings along the eastern seaboard of the US. It's that naval battle that currently worries me. Unlike that old Civ II scenario, Germany starts this game with a miniscule navy: I had only a single submarine at the start of the game, and my naval facilities have been slow in coming online. Right now I have nothing at all in the Mediterranean, nothing in the North Sea, and nothing in the Atlantic; just a small pack that was containing minor threats in the Baltic Sea. That will need to change, and I just hope it will grow in time.
Don't you love it when a game hijacks everything? I'd better stop typing before I get off on a tangent about the proper role of air support when conducting a far-flung campaign. I'm out of here!
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