Ashley Clifton

Classic Sci-Fi Book Cover: “Do Androids Dream of Electric Sheep?”

Most of the art I’ve included in my on-going Classic Sci-Fi Book Covers series has been from the 1970s and 1980s. Two golden ages of sci-fi, surely, which, more importantly, marked my golden age of sci-fi—my middle- and high-school years when I devoured all kinds of science fiction novels from the previous decades.

And so it is with some surprise that I submit this episode’s sci-fi cover, which is only from 1998. But it’s still a classic. An instant classic, actually, and not just because it was done for one of the most influential sci-fi novels of all time, Philip K. Dick’s Do Androids Dream of Electric Sheep? Calling PKD a science fiction writer makes a bit more sense that calling Kurt Vonnegut a science fiction writer, or Franz Kafka a science fiction writer, but not much. Like Vonnegut and Kafka, Dick wrote surreal, even psychedelic novels that deal with issues of compassion, violence, identity, sanity. Most of all, they describe the problem of discerning reality from the fake. (The “ersatz,” as Dick likes to call it in his typical Germanophilic style).

Do Androids Believe in Electric Sheep is Dick’s most famous book, in part because it inspired Blade Runner but also because it’s just a fine, complex, and vivid novel. Rick Deckert, the protagonist, is a bounty hunter who finds and kills runaway androids (called replicants in the film, these are flesh-based artificial people who look and act like human beings, only crueler.)

The book was published in 1968 and has gone through dozens of editions and covers. But this cover, created by commercial artist Bruce Jensen, is my favorite. It depicts a male figure who might be a Greek statue, or a wax dummy (or an android), and yet whose expression conveys a sense of pathos that the viewer can’t quite look away from. This sense of pathos is amplified by the fact that lying between the viewer and the figure is a grid of what seems to be hog-wire, evoking a plot point in the book. Deckert, like many people in his dystopian future, keeps a farm animal as a pet—in his case, a sheep. But the wire also has echoes of the Holocaust, which is especially interesting since Dick’s inspiration for the book came after reading the diary of an S.S. Officer guarding a concentration camp. The figure is, we sense, a prisoner, although we don’t know what of. (Spoiler: it’s modern civilization.)

And then there is the sheep itself, rendered in a hallucinogenic little box over the male figure’s left eye. The only point of color in the work, the sheep draws the viewer’s attention the same way Deckert’s sheep draws out his latent humanity—it represents nature, vitality, warmth. Most importantly, it serves as something to love.

Love, as it turns out, is the last human quality that the androids learn (and most never do). It is also, Dick strongly suggests, the defining aspect of living things.

Friday Night Rock-Out: “Bitter Sweet Symphony”

When The Verve’s “Bitter Sweet Symphony” hit the airwaves (yes, we still had radio back then) in 1997, it became an instant classic, and no one knew why. A rock song with an orchestra and virtually no electric guitar, it sounded utterly different from anything else in the rock world at that time. In fact, it was based on a sample from a Rolling Stones from 1965. I would argue that part of the song’s hypnotic appeal has roots in a much, much older genre: the march.

A march is a piece of music with a very clean rhythm and slow time-signature, intended for people (often marching bands) to…well…march to. “Bitter Sweet Symphony” is a kind of post-modern, existentialist march, a gesture of defiance against a cold, dehumanizing world. This march-like quality was brilliantly exploited by director Walter Stern in the song’s video, which is one of the best music videos ever made.

Enjoy, and rock-on…

What I’m (Re-)Reading: “Devil in a Blue Dress”

Like a lot of people, my first exposure to Walter Mosely was when I saw the 1995 film adaptation of his novel, Devil in a Blue Dress, starring Denzel Washington. It’s a good movie, with fine performances by Washington and Don Cheadle, but it didn’t inspire me to seek out Mosely’s fiction. As far as I knew, he was just another solid mystery writer, one of many whom I hadn’t read.

Sometime later, I bought a copy of The Best American Short Stories and I was surprised to see a story by Mosely among that year’s selections. The story is called “Pet Fly” and it’s a deceptively simple tale of an office grunt (who happens to be black) trying to keep his integrity while working in modern corporate America. I was knocked-out by it. Later still, I stumbled upon an actual novel by Mosely, a science fiction work called The Wave, which turned out to be one of the best novels (sci-fi or otherwise) that I had read in years.

Friday Night Rock-Out: “She Sells Sanctuary”

Even now, forty-plus years after its inception, the musical genre known as “goth rock” still bewitches me. Great bands like Bauhaus and Joy Division and Echo and the Bunnymen and Siouxie and the Banshees all seemed to break out when I was in high school. In other words, when I needed them most. I was a shy, introverted kid in a brash, extroverted decade, and the dark, conflicted lyrics and controlled sound of goth rock spoke to my soul. If heavy metal is for people with too little serotonin, then goth rock is for people with too much.

One thing that still amazes me about goth rock was how diverse it was, less like a sub-genre of rock than its own, self-contained, parallel rock universe. Inside that universe one could find an analog to almost every kind of standard music. There were goth-rock-pop songs and goth-rock-dance songs and even something like goth-rock-disco songs. And, with the emergence of England’s great band The Cult, there were even goth-hard-rock songs.

When listening to one’s first The Cult song, one might easily mistake it for just another hard-rock song as the first guitar-driven bars come out of the speaker. But then Ian Astbury’s magnificently clean and expressive baritone sails out, and one realizes, with a shock, that this is something totally different. And special.

Looking back on this video for my favorite song by The Cult, “She Sells Sanctuary,” I now see that Ian Astbury dressed like Captain Jack Sparrow, danced like Jagger, and sang like Freddy Mercury. God bless him. He helped get me through some very hard years.

Today I Learned a Word: Extremophile

Recently, I stumbled upon the Wikipedia page for panspermia—a concept I was already familiar with, relating to the theory that life on Earth might have originated from an external source. Specifically, a primitive microorganism might have landed here on a meteorite (or, in some versions of the theory, on an alien probe).

While reading about panspermia—a theory that has gained a lot of scientific traction in recent years—I encountered a term I hadn’t seen before: extremophile. It refers to “a microorganism, especially an archaean, that lives in conditions of extreme temperature, acidity, alkalinity, or chemical concentration.” In other words, a really tough bug. Tough to live in the deepest of the ocean, or even in the earth’s mantle.

While reading about panspermia—a theory that has gained a lot of scientific traction in recent years—I encountered a term I hadn’t seen before: extremophile. It refers to any microorganism that has evolved to exist in an environment so extreme that most other life would be prohibited. Examples of such environments are hydrothermal vents, salt-ridden lakes, and frozen ice sheets.

Or, perhaps, outer space.

Apparently, the concept of extremophiles—and of panspermia, in general—has taken on new relevancy in the past ten years. Even as we find more and more exoplanets (the most recent count is around 2,000), we have yet to find a single sign of life, intelligent or otherwise. This has led some cosmologists to adopt the so-called Rare Earth Hypothesis, which stipulates that while earth-like planets are a dime-a-dozen, actual Earths—that is, planets with life—might be fabulously uncommon. In fact, there might have only been a few in the early universe, from which all the other life-bearing planets were seeded. This could happen either accidentally (from asteroids; hence the extremophiles) or intentionally (from aliens deliberating spreading life across the galaxies).

All this speculation struck a chord with me. For one thing, it took me back to my youth, to all the sci-fi books and films I consumed. The idea of alien invaders taking the form of germs or seeds goes all the way back, I think, to Jack Finney’s classic The Invasion of the Body Snatchers, in which the evil “seed pods” are actually alien weeds that travel from planet to planet on the solar wind.

Shameless Plug

A few weeks ago, I’d never had any review (good, bad, or indifferent). Now, the fine people at @ALA_Booklist have given my debut novel, Twice the Trouble, a starred review!

WHOOOO!!! I’m stoked.

Read a Classic Novel…Together!!!

My great friend Margaret Luongo and I just released the premier episode of our new YouTube Channel, Read a Classic Novel…Together. In this series, we tackle classic novels that we’ve been meaning to read forever, and we invite the viewer to read each chunk along with us. (We try not to read ahead, but do anyway sometimes. Sorry.)

For this first episode, we take on Part I of Jean Rhys’s Wide Sargasso Sea. Check it out when you can.

What I’m Reading: “The Big Goodbye: Chinatown and the Last Years of Hollywood”

Anyone who follows this blog knows that my two primary obsessions are movies and history. So, you can imagine my excitement whenever I encounter that rare intersection of these two interests: a well-written film history book. And, still further within this category, there is the vaunted production-of-a-classic-movie book, which is a special favorite.

The supreme example of this sub-sub-sub-genre is Mark Harris’s Pictures at a Revolution, which recounts the making of not one film but four, all of which marked the changing nature of Hollywood—and America—at a specific moment in time, 1967. But if Harris’s book is the touchstone of this subject, then Sam Wasson’s The Big Goodbye: Chinatown and the Last Years of Hollywood is a very close second. Put simply, I enjoyed the hell out of it.

Where Harris’s book describes the making of four movies, Wasson’s reveals the making of four men, the principal creators of Chinatown. These were the producer (Robert Evans), the screenwriter (Robert Towne), the director (Roman Polanski), and the star (Jack Nicholson).

“I’m Probably Wrong About Everything” Podcast Interview

Many thanks to Gerry Fialka for interviewing me on his great podcast. I have no idea why he thought of me, but I’m glad he did. It was fun.

Yes, my lighting sucks. I’m working on it. Check it out anyway, pls…

Friday Night Rock-Out: “New Year’s Day”

Yeah, I know. Picking U2’s “New Year’s Day” as my Friday-Night Rock-Out three days before New Year’s Day is a very, very obvious choice. But the truth is that I still listen to this song all the time. It came out when I in high school, and it marked the first time I really became aware of U2 as a band. The song sounded completely different from anything else on the radio or MTV at the time, with Bono’s soaring, heroic lyrics and The Edge’s dirge-like guitar work. But unlike any other U2 song that I know of, this one is driven primarily by the use of a piano, also played by The Edge. It’s the propulsive piano melody (really more like a drum beat) that makes the song feel otherworldly. Sublime. Classic.

Suffice to say that it still works for me, lo these many years later.