Author Archives: Richard Bowker

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About Richard Bowker

Author of the Portal series, the Last P.I. series, and other novels

Have conservatives always been this crazy?

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Senator is in the process of ebookification, so expect some political blogging, alas.

Senator is about a conservative Republican senator from Massachusetts in the middle of a difficult reelection campaign.  Things don’t get any simpler for him when he discovers the body of his mistress, who has been brutally murdered in her Back Bay apartment.  Many interesting complications ensue! And I look forward to recalling what they are when I reread the novel to discover what interesting typos the scanning process introduced into the text.

One of my goals in writing the novel was to make the senator (Jim O’Connor) as sympathetic as possible (so it’s written in the first person, for example).  Who wants to read a novel whose protagonist is a creep?  One of the challenges of meeting that goal is that, as a knee-jerk liberal, I needed to find a way to sympathize with a conservative.  I have to say that I found that easier in the early 90s, when I wrote the novel, than I would find it today.  Because to be a Republican in 2012 is to sign on to the crazy.

I’ll just assert the craziness here; listing the many examples would be too depressing.  But a question of some interest is: what happened to the Republican party?  Is the craziness a recent phenomenon?  Or was it always there?  Rick Perlstein, the author of the infinitely depressing Nixonland,  argues that it has always been there.  The standard response to this (which you can see in the comments to his article) is: hey, some liberals believe crazy things too!  Well, sure.  But the crazy liberals are not running the Democratic party.  George Romney could stand up to the crazies in the 60s; Mitt Romney saw what happened to his father, and apparently decided that the only way to become president was to embrace the craziness.

I don’t have sufficient imaginative powers to sympathize with someone like that.

Should the government sue over ebook prices?

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They’re about to.  Matthew Yglesias recounts the story here.  I’m a big fan of Matthew Yglesias, but I think he’s leaving out a large part of the story here, which is that the collusion between Apple and the major publisher results in higher ebook prices for you and me.

I haven’t been following this very closely, since I’m late to the ebook game, but as I understand it, the original ebook pricing model was based on the traditional hardcopy model.  The publisher sells the book to the retailer (say, Amazon) at a substantial discount off the suggested retail price (say, 40%), and the retailer is then allowed to charge whatever it wants.  If it’s a popular book, the retailer might even want to sell it at a loss to get people to come to its site.  This sets up price competition between sites, which is great for the reading public.

The problem for traditional publishers is that this price war encouraged people to buy ebooks instead of hardcovers.  And when Apple came along and wanted to start its own ebook store for the iPad, it didn’t want to get into a price war with Amazon.  The result of the discussions between Apple and the major publishers was an agreement to implement what is referred to as the agency model.  In this model, the publisher gets to set whatever price it wants for an ebook.  The retailer (Apple or whoever) gets a standard percentage of that price (it turns out to be 30%).  And the publishers can’t use the wholesale model for other sellers.

The result is that there is no price competition among ebook sellers.  And ebook prices are set high enough that they won’t have a significant impact on hardcopy sales.

In the ebook world, I am a publisher with a very limited list of titles.  As you’ve noticed, I get to set the prices for those books.  If I then reduce the price of Summit, say, on Barnes & Noble, according to the standard contract I had to agree to, Amazon is entitled to automatically lower itsprice to match the lower price; and it will.  There are no royalties.  I get 70% of the sales revenue; Amazon (or Barnes & Noble) gets 30%.

This works fine for me as an author/publisher with no hardcopy inventory and pricing to worry about.  The wholesale model would have worked for me just as well.  But in general, I don’t see how the agency model benefits readers.  If the publishers have a problem with ebooks cannibalizing sales of their hardcopy books, the obvious solution for them is to delay the publication of a book in ebook format, in just the way they have always delayed the release of paperbacks, in just the way studios delay the release of movies on DVDs.  Publishers do drop ebook prices as hardcover books are released in cheaper formats, so reader may be able to get a book more cheaply by waiting.  But the reader will never be able to shop around for a better deal.  This is apparently what got the attention of the Justice Department.

I can see one way in which the publishers’ deal with Apple is a good thing: it ensures that Amazon will not be able to use its ebook pricing power to drive all other ebook sellers out of business.  But Amazon already has a huge share of the market without having to cut ebook prices.  Instead of selling ebooks at a loss, they’re selling Kindles at a loss.

From a legal perspective, I have no idea how strong the government’s case is against the publishers and Apple.  Readers can buy a discounted print edition of a book if one is available; no one is forcing them to buy the ebook.  And authors can bypass the major publishers and set their own prices for their ebooks, as I’m doing.  But on the face of it, the publishers’ agreement with Apple just isn’t a good deal for those of us who like to read ebooks.

Florence Welch sings Imelda Marcos

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The inimitable Craig Shaw Gardner (who really should update his website) tells me that, if I like Florence + the Machine, I should love Florence Welch (that would be “Florence”) singing the title song of David Byrne and Fatboy Slim’s disco-based concept album about Imelda Marcos.

WTF?  I’m so out of it, I didn’t even know that David Byrne and Fatboy Slim had released a disco-based concept album about Imelda Marcos.  How did that escape my attention?  Here is Mr. Byrne’s explanation:

The story I am interested in is about asking what drives a powerful person—what makes them tick? How do they make and then remake themselves? I thought to myself, wouldn’t it be great if—as this piece would be principally composed of clubby dance music—one could experience it in a club setting? Could one bring a ‘story’ and a kind of theater to the disco? Was that possible? If so, wouldn’t that be amazing!

How come no one thought of that before?  Anyway, here’s the song:

 

Fantasy Author Worth Reading

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Finally available in ebook, here are some stories by Mary C. Aldridge that I’ve read and enjoyed.  One of them, The Adinkra Cloth, was nominated for a Nebula Award for best short story.  The stories dwell in an interesting corner of the imagination: African fantasy.  Maybe not your first choice of genres for your reading pleasure, but they work really well.  If you’re a cheapskate, you can buy the stories individually for 99 cents each.  Or you can splurge and buy all five for $2.99.  I recommend splurging.

Cushing and Contraception

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Apropos of this post, the Times has an article recounting Cardinal Cushing’s role in the battle to legalize contraception in Massachusetts back in the 1960s. Legalization at that time meant just for married couple over the age of 21, but the battle was basically won (the Supreme Court struck down the restriction on contraception for unmarried couples in 1972, according to the article).  And Cushing’s position seems to me to have been precisely right: in a plurastic democracy, one group shouldn’t seek to impose its moral views on the rest of society.

I came of age in the 1960s, and it seemed for a while back then as if the world was headed in the right direction, with the Vatican Council and the Civil Rights Act and Medicare.  As a knee-jerk liberal even back then, I thought all these things were obvious benefits to humanity.  But, being young and stupid, I saw no reason why things couldn’t continue along the same course.

I’m sure I’m not the only one who thinks that the world (and, in particular, the Catholic Church) has swerved in the wrong direction since then.

Anybody want an encyclopedia?

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The Encyclopedia Britannica is going out of print–the company is just going to concentrate on online services from now on, according to the Times.

Back in the 70s we bought the first of the macropedia/micropedia sets of the Britannica — a big expense for newlyweds.  We still have it, sitting unused in its own special bookcase.

I remember the controversy over the new structure, which seemed unnecessarily complicated to me (and lots of other people).  I used to dip into the encyclopedia a bit, but I haven’t opened a volume in years.  I occasionally think it would be interesting to see what the state of knowledge was in some field back then, but I was never curious enough to actually find out.  I don’t think our kids ever used it.  The Times article mentions that these encyclopedias are widely available on Craigslist and eBay.  We’ve tried to give ours away–surely someone would have a use for it!.  But no success.  The world has passed it by.

Free to a good home…

Update: Some of us were reminiscing about encyclopedias, and we recalled that there was an Encyclopedia Britannica booth at the Harvard Coop way back when, manned by a distinguished silver-haired guy wearing a tweed jacket who patiently answered all the questions from the crowds besieging the booth desperate to purchase the latest edition.  Okay, that last part was a lie.  We never saw him talking to anybody, except maybe one of the clerks in the Coop’s book department.  We figure that the only people who would buy an encyclopedia at the Coop would be rich parents who thought that their kids needed one for their dorm rooms.  Why should Muffy have to trek over to the library and share an encyclopedia with the unwashed masses when she could do her research in the comfort of her well-appointed room?

What was that guy’s story?  How did he end up sitting by himself on a stool, waiting in vain for someone to ask him about the difference between the macropedia and the micropedia?  There’s a depressing novel in there waiting to be written.

The Swerve

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Last time we checked in with The Swerve, we were complaining about typos.  I’ve now finished the book, and I enjoyed it (maybe because I didn’t encounter any more typos).  The plot is straightforward: a 15th-century Italian humanist named Poggio went in search of ancient manuscripts, and in an old monastery he came across De Rerum Natura by the ancient Roman poet Lucretius.  The poem celebrates the philosophy of the Greek philosopher Epicurus, which was not a good fit (to say the least) with Christianity.  The rediscovered poem then plays a role in the Renaissance and the Enlightenment: it helps Montaigne write his essays; it helps Jefferson write the Declaration of Independence.  (It also helps Giordano Bruno get burned at the stake.)  The Western world swerved from its accustomed course, and the poem was part of the reason why.

The book could have been shorter–I started skimming when Greenblatt went into the details of Poggio’s employment history at the Vatican and elsewhere.  But he could also have brought the story forward to the present.  Here is Greenblatt’s summary of what Epicurus and Lucretius believed:

Everything is made of invisible particles.

The elementary particles of matter are eternal, infinite in number but limited in shape and size. All particles are in motion in an infinite void.

The universe has no creator or designer.

Everything comes into being as a result of a “swerve”–a random, indeterminate change in motion that changes everything.

The swerve is the source of free will.

Nature ceaselessly experiments.

The universe was not created for or about humans.

Humans are not unique.

Human society began not in a Golden Age of tranquility and plenty, but in a primitive battle for survival.

The soul dies.

There is no afterlife.

Death is nothing to us.

All organized religions are superstitious delusions.

Religions are invariably cruel.

There are no angels, demons, or ghosts.

The highest goal of human life is the enhancement of pleasure and the reduction of pain.

The greatest obstacle to pleasure is not pain; it is delusion.

Understanding the nature of things generates deep wonder.

Well, some of the science is wrong, but it’s closer to the truth than what Thomas Aquinas had to offer.  And 600 years after Poggio rediscovered Lucretius, Richard Dawkins and others are making many of those same points; and if they aren’t getting burned at the stake, maybe it’s because their critics lack the power.  They face many of the same arguments that were lodged against Epicurus and Lucretius: How can people be moral without religion and the fear of Hell?  How can you view the universe with wonder if there is no God behind it and in it?

If Rick Santorum is a legitimate candidate for president, how much have we really swerved?

The World’s Oldest Dickens Movie?

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This is supposedly the death of Jo the crossing-sweep from Bleak House, filmed in 1901:

Love the understated acting and the smooth camera movement.  But something is lost in the translation from book to cinema.  Here is what Dickens actually wrote (thanks, Project Gutenberg!) As always, the sentimentality is almost too much for the modern sensibility.  But it works.  And note the way he pulls the camera back in the final short paragraph — just far enough to indict an entire society.  Tell me that it doesn’t give you goosebumps.

"Well, Jo! What is the matter? Don't be frightened."

“I thought,” says Jo, who has started and is looking round, “I thought I was in Tom-all-Alone’s agin. Ain’t there nobody here but you, Mr. Woodcot?”

“Nobody.”

“And I ain’t took back to Tom-all-Alone’s. Am I, sir?”

“No.” Jo closes his eyes, muttering, “I’m wery thankful.”

After watching him closely a little while, Allan puts his mouth very near his ear and says to him in a low, distinct voice, “Jo! Did you ever know a prayer?”

“Never knowd nothink, sir.”

“Not so much as one short prayer?”

“No, sir. Nothink at all. Mr. Chadbands he wos a-prayin wunst at Mr. Sangsby’s and I heerd him, but he sounded as if he wos a-speakin to hisself, and not to me. He prayed a lot, but I couldn’t make out
nothink on it. Different times there was other genlmen come down Tom-all-Alone’s a-prayin, but they all mostly sed as the t’other ‘wuns prayed wrong, and all mostly sounded to be a-talking to
theirselves, or a-passing blame on the t’others, and not a-talkin to us. WE never knowd nothink. I never knowd what it wos all about.”

It takes him a long time to say this, and few but an experienced and attentive listener could hear, or, hearing, understand him. After a short relapse into sleep or stupor, he makes, of a sudden, a strong
effort to get out of bed.

“Stay, Jo! What now?”

“It’s time for me to go to that there berryin ground, sir,” he returns with a wild look.

“Lie down, and tell me. What burying ground, Jo?”

“Where they laid him as wos wery good to me, wery good to me indeed, he wos. It’s time fur me to go down to that there berryin ground, sir, and ask to be put along with him. I wants to go there and be
berried. He used fur to say to me, ‘I am as poor as you to-day, Jo,’ he ses. I wants to tell him that I am as poor as him now and have come there to be laid along with him.”

“By and by, Jo. By and by.”

“Ah! P’raps they wouldn’t do it if I wos to go myself. But will you promise to have me took there, sir, and laid along with him?”

“I will, indeed.”

“Thankee, sir. Thankee, sir. They’ll have to get the key of the gate afore they can take me in, for it’s allus locked. And there’s a step there, as I used for to clean with my broom. It’s turned wery dark, sir. Is there any light a-comin?”

“It is coming fast, Jo.”

Fast. The cart is shaken all to pieces, and the rugged road is very near its end.

“Jo, my poor fellow!”

“I hear you, sir, in the dark, but I’m a-gropin–a-gropin–let me catch hold of your hand.”

“Jo, can you say what I say?”

“I’ll say anythink as you say, sir, for I knows it’s good.”

“Our Father.”

“Our Father! Yes, that’s wery good, sir.”

“Which art in heaven.”

“Art in heaven–is the light a-comin, sir?”

“It is close at hand. Hallowed be thy name!”

“Hallowed be–thy–”

The light is come upon the dark benighted way. Dead!

Dead, your Majesty. Dead, my lords and gentlemen. Dead, right reverends and wrong reverends of every order. Dead, men and women, born with heavenly compassion in your hearts. And dying thus around us every day.

More on de Botton

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We met Alain de Botton yesterday saying that the question of whether religious beliefs are true is uninteresting.  Today he shows up in the Boston Globe, where Joshua Rothman apparently read his book Religion for Atheists and was smitten.  de Botton’s point appears to be that atheism should attempt to mimic the things that make religion effective, like rituals and buildings and monuments and uniforms. Rothman says:

How much of this religious wisdom can be adapted for the secular world?  De Botton has some intriguing proposals, like secular monasteries, or an “agape restaurant,” in which patrons are seated next to strangers and given a script of thoughtful personal questions.

Those particular ideas sound kind of loony to me.  But at a general level, it seems like de Botton is just trying to reinvent Unitarianism.  The “truth” of Unitarianism is that most people need a sense of connection and community as they make their way through life.  Some people find it in hymns and sermons on Sunday morning; other people find it in the sewing circle or the men’s breakfast.  The good thing about Unitarianism is that it doesn’t require any beliefs — or lack of beliefs — to be part of the community.  The problem Unitarians face is that not many people seem to want to buy what they are selling —  they make up a mere 0.3% of American adults, according to a Pew survey. And that, perhaps, speaks to people’s cravings for belief and certainty.  Why go to church if it’s just to have a conversation?

If de Botton builds the atheist cathedral he talks about, will anyone come?