HARMONY

So last week I was demonstrating how to punch a wall in a Zen-like manner -- or rather explaining the traditional use of a makiwara striking post -- when Chris Hill exclaimed: "That's not Zen." And I explained that it really was. (In fact I was bemoaning the overall state of karate, which has either lost or never had the aliveness of MMA -- mixed martial arts -- while forgetting the traditional bits that were actually good: serious attitude, hitting solid objects daily -- I prefer punchbags -- and grappling. Or maybe I'm getting old.) Neither stray thought nor emotion: that's Zen.

There are those who allow their left frontal cortex to dominate all actions, existing only cerebrally, and I guess that's a choice I understand. But the Olympics symbolize another way to live.

And didn't the Bird's Nest stadium look like a Jim Burns painting brought to life? For anyone who saw the whole of the opening ceremony, the future is here, and it is so sfnal. And with 2008 wu shu performers demonstrating their own kind of harmony.

Ironically, here I am glued to a screen -- me, the person that normally discourages TV watching only because the daily hours in front of the goggle box are a substitute, often, for achieving one's real dreams. Unless your dream is to become a scriptwriter, in which case you probably need to watch a lot, just as an unpublished writer needs to read a lot.

But there was some terrific judo today, the first day of the Games. In the final of the womens' under-48 kilo category, Alina Dumitru whipped out an awesome ippon-scoring throw for the big finish. And the men's under-60 kilo category ended with a blinding wheel-the-man-through-the-air move from Choi Minho. Marvellous. I understand that it's a hard sport to watch with comprehension if you've never practiced it.

So I'm going to recommend a book that will be rivetting only to two kinds of reader: those who practice martial arts and those who don't.

The book is The Pyjama Game and the author is Mark Law, award-winning author and journalist for the Daily Telegraph. As a 49-year old who never did sport, he took up judo ("the sport that puts the harm in harmony"). The book is partly his story, mostly that of the people who made the discipline... and it's beautifully written, and very funny.

Every bout begins with the command Hajime! Law's description: "it sounds a little like one Glaswegian greeting another." Apart from the one-liners, there's writing like this:

"But in all this there seems to be one common language, a language of fighting like no other... This is a vernacular of colliding and twisting torsos, of sweeping legs and whipping wrists, of assertions written in the air with flying bodies."

And the historical stories are fascinating.

In some earlier blog, I wrote that the best knockout I ever saw was in a lightweight women's fight at the British Judo Championships sometime during the 90s in Crystal Palace. (A throw leading directly to a strangle, forearm impacting the carotid artery. Beautiful.) But it's still an immensely civilized discipline.

Facing off against an opponent in any combat sport involves one essential aim: to deck the other guy. I often smile when I hear a boxing referee say "Good luck" to the fighters as they touch gloves. There's something paradoxical and wonderful in wishing luck to both of 'em.

So here goes. To all athletes -- Olympic or not, combat or not -- good luck, everyone.

DREAMING SPIRES

As inadvertently blogged below, I'm back in Oxford this week, pretending to be a computer scientist (or at least a software engineer) once more. I already established that one of the other guys had to be an instance of a specialization of me, since he could finish a milkshake in less time than me. (The post-condition of a subclass operation, like a class invariant, can be stronger than the superclass version, or equally strong but never weaker. The principle is called covariance. Any practicing programmer knows about polymorphism and the like, but übergeeks take things to another level.)

Speaking of other realities (in a city that houses David Deutsch, Philip Pullman, and dozens of homeless drug addicts... er, that is, people from two distinct subsets of humanity), I wrote a rather gruesome story set in an alternate world, for Lou Anders' anthology, as pictured.

Writing in SFX, Jonathan Wright praises the Jon Courtenay Grimwood story in the same anthology, before adding: "Also holding up the British end, John Meaney’s “Via Vortex” is built around a gory idea of how near-instant teleportation might be achieved. If we didn’t know him better, we’d be worried… "

Ah, well. You all know me by now.

SELF-REFERENTIAL SEQUITUR

Hi, Chris... I'm glad that Paradox kept you reading late into the night. Would Penrose tiles become curved Penrose snowflakes (asymmetric Koch snowflakes) in mu-space? I'll have to think about that...

I don't know Professor Penrose, but we do have the same agent, and I am hanging around in Oxford University's computer labs this week. So I really shouldn't take his name in vain. But I did.

Oops. This was supposed to be a reply to a comment in the post below. But I'll let it stand, with this amendment. Without the previous sentence, this would be a non-self-referential post that would appear to be a non sequitur. So I'll just add the title to this post, which you may have read first, but I'm about to add as the chronologically final words I'm writing in this post.

SINGULAR STROSS

Now you already know this man is brilliant, but when I met up with him at Easter (not pictured -- that's from Glasgow, 2005), and I pointed out a particularly unique achievment of his, he said no one else had spotted it, as far as he knew...

So look, you've bought Halting State, haven't you? Take a look at the cover, if you have the UK edition from Little, Brown, and see if you don't recognize one of the pixellated guys on the cover.

I mean, has any author of any genre, never mind SF, been the model for his own cover art before?

All hail Charlie, king of the posthumans.

OLD FRIENDS, NEW FRIENDS

...I'd say mature friends, but heck, that makes it sound as if we have to grow up. That is optional, isn't it?

So less of the philosophical essay and more of a dear-diary kinda post, this time round.

Last weekend I caught up with friends from way back -- Justine Fidler (as she is now) and new hubbie Steve -- and Sally Burns and Bill Hamilton. Good to see y'all. Also Sylvia and David. Hugs, everyone...

Earlier that week, I got to meet that excellent thriller writer Barry Eisler, breezing through London on yet another global jaunt. Apparently he has to do loads of exotic travel in order to be able to write.

Also met up with writer/editor Bridget McKenna (close friends from way back when) and screenwriter Adrian Reynolds (first meeting in realspace).


And of course at Eastercon, there was renewal of old acquaintances. Great to catch up with China Miéville and Jessy, with Joe Abercrombie, Chris Wooding (that's the three of us, pictured) with our minds completely unaffected by the evil spirit summoned by the three witches overhead -- er, I mean the three princesses of fantasy fiction -- Jaine Fenn, Suzanne McLeod and Alex Bell. Also great to hang around with Ian McDonald and his missus Enid. And everyone else.

I also made contact with some harder hitting friends, having found a new kickboxing gym to train in. Cuts and bruises heal, I'm glad to say. Especially when you're young like me...

Keep healthy, all.