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Thoughts on the Rathbone/Bruce Sherlock Holmes films, Part 2 (spoilers)

Continuing my reviews of the WWII-era Sherlock Holmes film series that Basil Rathbone and Nigel Bruce did for Universal Studios:

Sherlock Holmes Faces Death (’43): This one’s a loose adaptation of “The Adventure of the Musgrave Ritual,” and it’s the first Universal film that isn’t specifically about a military or intelligence matter. Rather, it engages more peripherally with wartime themes, establishing that the Musgraves have volunteered their estate as a convalescent hospital for shellshocked soldiers, several of whom are featured in the story. It’s a good showing for Watson, who’s been working at the hospital and gets to wield a lot of his medical expertise. He calls in Holmes to investigate an assault on a fellow doctor, and Holmes arrives just in time to deal with a series of murders revolving around the Musgrave Ritual, which is rewritten here to be based on a chess game rather than the more basic, less visually interesting set of directions in the original. It’s a reasonably effective story, culminating in Holmes pulling one of his classic gambits to lure the murderer into a trap and a confession, and Watson again makes a better showing than usual, readily catching on to Holmes’s plan for once and being a key offscreen player in the trap for the killer. The movie also establishes a mutual dislike between Watson and Lestrade, with Watson having contempt for Lestrade’s intelligence and abilities. This will be a recurring thread going forward.

This is one of the most generic titles in the series, since Holmes faces death in just about every film. Still, I guess it is marginally more applicable here, since Holmes’s climactic gambit involves faking his death (not for the last time).

This film mercifully loses the weird, swept-forward hairstyle Rathbone sported in the first three Universals, which was like some kind of strange combover for his temples. He now has neater, slicked-back hair like in the Fox movies, which makes him look distinctly more Holmesian. This will be his standard look from now on.

The Spider Woman (’43): This one is packed with allusions to elements from the Holmes canon, notably The Sign of the Four and “The Final Problem,” among others.  After an opening montage detailing a series of “pyjama suicides” sweeping London, we see Holmes in a situation that seems out of character — on a Scottish fishing vacation with Watson. Since when did Holmes concern himself with any activities that didn’t serve the pursuit of crime? Luckily, it turns out to be part of a scheme to fake his own death (see?), a la Reichenbach Falls, so that the mastermind behind what he renames the “pyjama murders” will be put off their guard — or her guard, as he deduces using rather chauvinistic logic (in that the indirect, subtle murders are “more feline than canine”). To lure out this “female Moriarty,” Holmes dons brownface once again, and almost the same alias he used in Secret Weapon, this time as a turbaned Indian gentleman named Ranji Singh. Once again, his accent isn’t even remotely Indian, but is maybe in the vicinity of a stock “Arab sheikh” accent.

Anyway, the mastermind is Adrea Spedding (Gale Sondergaard), who preys on debt-ridden compulsive gamblers by getting them to sign over their insurance policies to her accomplices, then kills them inside locked rooms, which Holmes discovers is done by means of a tarantula slipped into a vent by an unknown party (hence the title). But before then, she figures out that “Singh” is an impostor and recognizes him as Holmes, keeping that knowledge to herself, though he knows she knows, and she knows he knows she knows, and he — you get the idea. Later, she brazenly comes to Baker Street and pretends to be meeting Holmes for the first time, subverting his scheme to catch her by returning the incriminating insurance policy — yet also attempting to murder him and Watson with a clever gas trap that almost succeeds. Anyway, the game of cat and mouse continues until it arrives at a rather melodramatic cliffhanger: Deducing that her accomplice small enough to sneak into vents is an African pygmy (or rather, noted Little Person actor Angelo Rossitto in unfortunate blackface), he tracks her to a carnival, gets captured, and is tied up behind a Hitler target in a shooting gallery, with Watson himself doing the shooting that almost does him in — a deathtrap replicated almost exactly in the 1966 Batman 2-parter “The Penguin Goes Straight”/”Not Yet, He Ain’t,” with Commissioner Gordon and Chief O’Hara in place of Watson and Lestrade — and now that I think about it, the resemblance between Nigel Bruce’s Watson and Neil Hamilton’s Gordon is rather striking. I can’t help but wonder if the homage was intentional.

Anyway, this is another effective battle of wits between Holmes and a criminal genius, made distinctive by featuring a female mastermind. Much like Irene Adler, Miss Spedding comes as close to defeating Holmes as any foe he’s ever faced (although she’s far more brutal about it). And Universal tried to capitalize on this film’s success a few years later by featuring Sondergaard in an unrelated horror film misleadingly called The Spider Woman Strikes Back.

This film has only a peripheral acknowledgment of WWII, namely the shooting gallery with cariatures of the Axis leaders as targets. While the Universal films were initially part of the propaganda push that drove most Hollywood productions in the early years of the war, from here on the films are pure escapism, none of them even acknowledging the existence of the war until the final installment in 1946. I suppose that, as the war dragged on, the audience’s need for escape increased.

The Scarlet Claw (’44): This one opens with Holmes and Watson attending a conference on the occult in Quebec, making it the second and last film in the series to be set in North America (the first being Sherlock Holmes in Washington). Holmes’s rational skepticism clashes with the credulity of the occultist Lord Penrose (Paul Cavanagh), who learns that his wife has been killed, apparently by the same supernatural monster whose existence he’s been arguing for. He rejects Holmes’s help and rushes home, but the next morning, Holmes receives a letter mailed the previous day by the murdered woman herself, imploring him to help her. Regretting that he could not aid her in time, Holmes resolves to take the case. “For the first time ever, Watson… we’ve been retained by a corpse.”

This takes him to the village of La Mort Rouge (“The Red Death” — how Poe-etic) deep in the marshes, where, even though it’s a Hollywood movie taking place in a Francophone province, most of the characters speak with English or Scottish accents. Holmes and Watson recognize the victim as a noted actress who vanished two years earlier, and it turns out there are several others who came to town two years before, all of them turning out to be connected to the mystery. There’s a lot of interplay with the various colorful villagers, and several more murders committed with the title weapon, a five-pronged garden weeder that leaves marks like an animal’s claws. Holmes finally deduces that the killer is a fellow actor from the first victim’s company, living in town in more than one disguise. To prevent the final murder, he must determine which of the villagers is not who he appears.

Wikipedia says this generally considered the best of the Universal Holmes films, and thought I’m not sure I’d go that far, I agree it’s excellent, with an effectively eerie mood and a good strong mystery that shares a few resonances with The Hound of the Baskervilles (which is name-dropped by Watson as an earlier example of supernatural debunkery — although it no doubt happened decades later in the Universal continuity than in the Fox films). It’s also surprisingly dark and tragic at times. I did figure out in advance who the villain was, because I recognized his profile when he was in shadow. Appropriately, the actor playing the master of disguise is one of the numerous actors in this series to play multiple roles, sometimes in several consecutive films. I didn’t really find him all that impressive as a villain, but I guess that’s why he was cast, because he had to be convincing as a nice guy.

Rathbone still manages to effortlessly capture Holmes’s character, and though Bruce endures a few slapsticky moments as Watson, he’s not quite as dense as in some earlier installments, and he has some admirable moments, such as when he expresses righteous outrage at the sight of a man striking his daughter to discipline her. He feels more like the Watson of the original stories than he has in some installments, and I hope that trend continues.

One odd thing is that several characters — including the woman who wrote Holmes the letter — described sensing an inexplicable premonition of doom prior to their deaths. It was never explained what the basis for that sensation was, though I suppose perhaps it could’ve been a subliminal awareness that they were being watched and stalked. Still, given the movie’s rationalist viewpoint, with the supposedly supernatural phenomenon proving to be a hoax, it’s odd that something like premonitions of doom would be left un-debunked.

The Pearl of Death (’44): This one’s based on “The Adventure of the Six Napoleons” (also the basis for a recent Sherlock episode, “The Six Thatchers”), and is a vehicle for Rondo Hatton, the towering, acromegalic actor who made a career playing brutish killers in movies. Its first act feels somewhat modern. It begins in medias res with a disguised Holmes out-conning a chameleonic thief, Naomi Drake (Evelyn Ankers in her second role in the series), in order to steal back the stolen Borgia Pearl, which Drake was meant to obtain for her boss, the criminal mastermind Giles Conover (Miles Mander). Later, in the museum where the pearl is displayed, Holmes’s own arrogance plays into Conover’s hands, when he sabotages the alarm system to demonstrate how vulnerable it is, unaware that Conover is already there and ready to snatch the pearl at the earliest opportunity. It’s a rare moment of fallibility for Holmes in this series. Conover is soon apprehended without the pearl, and Holmes is certain he must have either passed it to an accomplice or hidden it somewhere.

Fans of the canon (or Sherlock) will know where this is going, although the movie changes things up from the story. Holmes learns of a series of baffling murders in which several unrelated people have their backs broken — the trademark of Conover’s enforcer, the Hoxton Creeper (Hatton) — and have had china inexplicably smashed around their bodies. Holmes and Watson eventually piece together (literally) that the china was smashed to hide the real target of the attacks, the plaster busts of Napoleon owned by the victims — one of which Conover hid the pearl in while it was still drying. This leads them to the shop where Drake is working undercover and has already smashed two of the busts, leaving only one, at the home of a doctor where Holmes arranges to have his final confrontation with Conover and the Creeper, using psychology (and the Creeper’s romantic fixation on the creeped-out Naomi) to turn the killer against his master. Holmes then shoots the Creeper dead in self-defense, but Universal spun off Hatton into two more “Creeper” movies unconnected to the Holmes continuity, as well as featuring him in the Spider Woman non-sequel mentioned above, and would’ve done more if Hatton hadn’t died before the films were even released (a reminder, albeit a grim one, of just how quickly they churned these films out).

It’s a bit odd to see Universal trying to turn a Holmes movie into a horror movie (although it does make me wonder what a Universal Sherlock Holmes Meets Frankenstein might’ve been like), but this is a pretty good one, especially in the first act. It’s a really nice twist seeing Holmes outsmart himself for a change and be hoist on his own arrogance. Although the movie does rather gloss over the fact that three people are murdered as a result of Holmes’s mistake. As for Watson, he is played as dimwitted comic relief here, but he has his moments of insight, and the film handles the Holmes-Watson relationship well in a scene where Holmes deduces that Watson has been fighting to defend Holmes’s honor after the press rips into him for his mistake. I gotta say — all anyone remembers Nigel Bruce’s Watson for these days is the “doddering buffoon” stuff, but there is more to him than that in many of the films, a stalwart, loyal, protective and principled character that’s very true to Watson and an avuncular charm very much his own, as well as an excellent chemistry with Rathbone. If not for the dimwittedness, he would have been a fairly good Watson.

The House of Fear (’45): Another very loose adaptation, this one taking the title element from “The Five Orange Pips” and inserting it into an almost completely different story, about a gentleman’s society of seven members called The Good Comrades, living together in a cliffside Scottish castle represented by the matte painting of the bombed-out church from Sherlock Holmes and the Voice of Terror. Holmes is brought in when two of the men die in grisly accidents after being sent envelopes containing orange pips (seeds) — seven for the first victim, six for the second (and so on, as confirmed later). Their insurance agent asks Holmes to investigate, suspecting that one of the men is murdering the others to collect on the insurance policy they all share as mutual beneficiaries. The men have a mix of reactions to Holmes and Watson, some welcoming them, others resisting their involvement. But more of them keep getting killed off, in different ways that mutilate the bodies and leave them to be identified by their clothing, cufflinks, tattoos, and the like. This is said to be associated with a town legend that no resident of the ancestral house is buried whole, but it’s a red herring. I started to suspect part of what was going on after the third incident, though the real truth dawned on me only a few minutes before it was revealed.

It’s a fairly clever premise, though some aspects of it are perhaps a bit too easy to guess. The Good Comrades are a fairly effective mix of personalities, and there are some clever touches in the directing (like when a mention that a victim’s limbs were dismembered with surgical precision fades into a scene of one major suspect, a surgeon, carving a turkey). There’s a bit too much comic-relief Watson business for my taste, but Watson does get to make one crucial deduction that leads Holmes to the solution. Watson’s also still managing to get in his licks at Lestrade (e.g. “You stick with us, old boy, and we’ll make a detective of you yet”). Although it doesn’t make much sense to call in a Scotland Yard inspector to assist with a crime spree in a Scottish village. Despite its nickname, Scotland Yard is the HQ of the Metropolitan Police of Greater London, so actual Scotland should be outside Lestrade’s jurisdiction.

I’ll wrap up with the final four films in the next post.

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Thoughts on the Rathbone/Bruce Sherlock Holmes films (spoilers)

I’ve been thinking lately about all the different versions of Sherlock Holmes I’ve seen in recent years, which led me to consider the Basil Rathbone/Nigel Bruce Holmes series from 1939-46, none of which I’ve seen since they were aired on TV in my youth. I’ve long shied away from them because of their infamously revisionist take on Dr. Watson, turning him into a doddering old fool instead of the stalwart and capable partner of the canon and most modern adaptations. But recently I got to thinking that I should at least see them for comparison purposes, and as a key part of the history of Holmesian adaptations. They’re hard to find on DVD, but between YouTube, the Internet Archive, and the library’s streaming service, I was able to find them all online. Only a few of them are in public domain, but the copyright owners don’t seem all that concerned with enforcement, since there are multiple copies available on YouTube and elsewhere, with varying degrees of quality. So I figure they’re pretty much fair game, though I tried to favor the library versions where feasible (the first time I’ve actually “borrowed” streaming movies from the library). Indeed, the public-domain ones are embedded directly into their Wikipedia pages, though the editions available there are of low quality.

The first two Rathbone/Bruce films were big-budget efforts made by 20th Century Fox in 1939, and were all but unique among pre-1950 Holmes screen adaptations in being period pieces rather than updated to contemporary times, as I discussed on Locus Roundtable a few years ago. (The only other exception I know of onscreen was the 1916 silent film adaptation of William Gillette’s Sherlock Holmes play, although the radio series The New Adventures of Sherlock Holmes, which Rathbone and Bruce starred in throughout the same period as their movie series, was also set in the past.) The series was discontinued when World War II broke out, on the theory that audiences would be more interested in stories about chasing enemy spies and saboteurs rather than classic mysteries. When Universal picked up the rights in 1942 and brought back Rathbone and Bruce, they simply updated it to the present day so that Holmes was chasing enemy spies and saboteurs (why didn’t Fox think of that?).

The Hound of the Baskervilles (1939): The first film hits the ground running, doing a pretty faithful adaptation of the famous novel and presenting Holmes and Watson as well-established figures. Even so, the introductory scene of Holmes and Watson does a fine job establishing the basics of what they do and what their personalities are, so novices can easily catch up. (Then again, it’s based quite closely on the novel’s opening scene, so the credit there goes to Doyle.) Rathbone is an excellent Holmes indeed — perhaps a bit more upbeat and charming than some versions, but good at conveying Holmes’s intellect, intensity, and sterner side. There’s a marvelous split-second expression of resigned impatience on Rathbone’s face when Holmes questions a hansom driver about the color of his passenger’s eyes and the driver lacks the observational skills to answer. As for Bruce, his infamous Watson characterization isn’t in place yet; since this is largely faithful to the book, Watson is capable, aggressive, and not without cleverness, though nowhere near Holmes’s level. But there are moments where Holmes takes his amusement at the expense of a flustered, annoyed Watson, and I can see how the later persona must have arisen from the filmmakers writing to the actor’s strengths and the nature of his chemistry with Rathbone. Still, I can’t say I’m massively impressed by Bruce yet.

As for the rest of the film, it plays to ’30s film conventions by focusing a lot on the romance between Sir Henry Baskerville (Richard Greene) and Beryl Stapleton (Wendy Barrie), who get first and third billing while Rathbone gets second and Bruce is relegated to the top of the diagonal list of supporting players (since Fox was unsure their star power was sufficient to carry a film). Greene and Barrie are adequate enough as romantic leads, but their interplay is still secondary to the mystery and suspense. The film reveals the killer’s identity surprisingly early, well before Holmes reveals it, but this is necessary to create suspense in the climax.

The Adventures of Sherlock Holmes (’39) is nominally based on Gillette’s seminal stage play, but has little in common with it aside from featuring Professor Moriarty (George Zucco) as the villain and including the character of Billy the pageboy (Terry Kilburn), who was created for the play and later added to the canon. Otherwise it’s an original story in which Moriarty engineers a convoluted murder scheme as a “toy” to distract Holmes while the Professor goes after a much bigger prize. The woman at the center of the former scheme, Ann Brandon, is played by Ida Lupino, whose name I know mainly from her later work as a director and from appearances in The Twilight Zone and Columbo. At this age, she was quite lovely and also projected compelling strength and intelligence, reminding me of Carrie Fisher in her Princess Leia days. Her character is smart, perceptive, and courageous, insofar as a woman in a 1930s movie could be, which means she still had to do her share of screaming and fainting.

Anyway, this is a really good movie. The interplay between Holmes and Moriarty in their early scene together is delightful, marvelously setting up their oh-so-civilised rivalry and war of intellects. Zucco is effective as the Professor, but Rathbone is superb as Holmes, with the script allowing him to be more eccentric and obsessive in a very authentic way. It really is one of the classic screen portrayals of the character (and is also the film that popularized “Elementary, my dear Watson,” though not the first appearance of the phrase). On the other hand, Watson blossoms into full comic relief here, a greater departure from the source — but the comedy is effective and funny and not always at Watson’s expense, and the lighter moments it creates help make the film more well-rounded overall.

Sherlock Holmes and the Voice of Terror (’42): Even though most prior Holmes adaptations had been modernized, Universal felt the need to preface its first WWII-era Holmes film with a title card stressing that Holmes was “immortal” and “timeless.” Maybe that shows how much of an impression the first two Rathbone movies had made on the culture.

But it’s worth remembering that the last original Holmes story had been published only 15 years before this movie. That’s probably why the early Holmes movies were usually in modern settings — because at the time, it was still an ongoing or recent series and hadn’t yet come to be seen as a thing of the past. But what’s relevant here is that the Holmes canon overlaps the First World War. This film is a loose adaptation of “His Last Bow,” a 1917 story about an aging Holmes on the brink of retirement capturing a German spy on the eve of WWI. That story was a departure from the norm, the only canonical story told in omniscient third person and focused on espionage instead of mystery, and it’s thus believed to have been written as a patriotic propaganda piece to boost British morale. The Voice of Terror is very much in the same vein. It keeps little of the plot, aside from the name of the enemy spy (nearly) and the verbatim closing speech made by Holmes about England weathering “an east wind” and coming out stronger. But it’s very much a morale-boosting propaganda piece of the sort that was pretty much required for Hollywood films of this period.

The B-movie budget is immediately clear in the opening montage, which uses abundant stock footage to show a series of disastrous acts of sabotage supposedly perpetrated by the Nazis on the UK, with a gloating German propaganda broadcaster, the titular Voice of Terror, describing the horrors even as they happen, so as to demoralize British listeners. The narration is actually pretty chilling despite the stock footage. A lot of the film also happens on one set, the office of a secret intelligence council led by Reginald Denny’s Sir Evan, who’s called in Holmes to track down the VoT over the protests of his colleagues. Holmes is still essentially the same as before, though with a messier hairstyle for some reason. As with the later modernized Holmeses played by Benedict Cumberbatch and Jonny Lee Miller, he’s adapted to the cutting-edge technology of the era, using an oscilloscope to analyze the VoT’s broadcasts and having a flashlight mounted at the tip of his walking stick. Watson is greyer-haired and somewhat more useless, playing a minor role in the story aside from giving Holmes someone to talk to, correct, and laugh at. (Though there’s an odd bit where he stops Holmes from donning his deerstalker cap before going out, saying “You promised.” Of course, a proper British gentleman like Holmes would never have worn a deerstalker in the city, only in the country. But Holmes’s deerstalker and Watson’s bowler on the hat stand are an in-joke nod to their period origins, since they otherwise wear contemporary 1940s attire and headgear.)

The leading lady is Evelyn Ankers of The Wolf Man, The Ghost of Frankenstein, and other Universal chillers. She plays a supposedly Cockney girl from the criminal classes, whom Holmes persuades to help him out of patriotism and who rallies her fellow lowlifes with a rousing speech about doing it for England, incongruously delivered in an accent more like an American gangster’s moll. She’s nice to look at, but she’s no Ida Lupino. She ends up seducing a German agent named Meade (Thomas Gomez) as part of Holmes’s plan, though how Holmes figures out who Meade is and where to find him is never explained. All in all, a decent film, but not a hugely impressive start to the Universal series.

Sherlock Holmes and the Secret Weapon (’42): This one sees Holmes not merely catching a spy, but working as one — using his talent for disguise and clever planning to sneak a Swiss scientist named Tobel (William Post Jr.) out from under the Gestapo’s noses and bring him to England, where he’s agreed to develop an advanced bomb sight for the RAF. But he insists on overseeing the work himself and keeping the technique secret, an arbitrary condition that serves only to drive the plot. When Tobel disappears, Holmes learnes that he left a message for the detective with his fiancee in London, Charlotte (Kaaren Verne), but it’s already been taken in secret by Professor Moriarty (or “Moriarity” according to the credits) — here played by Lionel Atwill, who was Dr. Mortimer in The Hound of the Baskervilles three years earlier. Holmes reconstructs the code from the underlying sheet of paper on the pad (lucky he wrote it in pencil), and it’s a code Holmesians know well. The film is nominally adapted from “The Adventure of the Dancing Men,” but it’s really more of a sequel, since Tobel knew Holmes would recognize the code from his prior encounter with it.

There’s even more debonair battle-of-wits banter between Holmes and Moriarty this time, but I’m afraid I don’t find Atwill quite as impressive a Moriarty as George Zucco was, even though I’ve quite liked him in earlier roles. I guess I feel Atwill makes a better good guy than a bad guy, though he played plenty of both. I do enjoy their interplay, though, and I imagine it may well have been an influence on the Doctor and the Master in Doctor Who. As for Rathbone, he gets to play Holmes in a number of disguises, but the most problematical one is when he dons brownface to play a “Lascar” (South Asian sailor in British employ) named Ram Singh, for whom he uses an inexplicable accent that sounds more like Karloff’s Frankenstein’s Monster than anything from the Indian subcontinent.

The film also features this series’s debut of Inspector Lestrade (Dennis Hoey), whose relationship with Holmes is less adversarial here than in the canon, though it will grow more so in later films. Lestrade and Watson are both shown as clueless next to Holmes, but they do get to save Holmes’s life with a nice bit of observation and deduction (more Lestrade’s than Watson’s) when they realize he’s being carried off in a chest with a false bottom. And Watson gets a good moment when he recognizes and explains the Dancing Men code, though he fails to recognize the extra twist Tobel adds to it. Still, it’s a better showing for Watson than in the previous film or two.

Sherlock Holmes in Washington (’43): This one involves the disappearance of a British courier carrying an important document to Washington, DC, prompting Holmes and Watson to fly to the US capital to find the missing item. The document is a classic Macguffin, in that it drives the whole story but we never learn what’s in it, beyond the fact that the freedom of the world depends on it falling into the right hands.

This is easily the best of the Universal series so far, with lively and clever plotting and fun characterization, starting with the opening sequence in which we’re introduced to the courier, gradually clued in that he’s not the innocent klutz he appears, and shown his interactions with the entertaining bunch of train passengers, notably Nancy Partridge (Marjorie Lord), to whom he casually hands off the document disguised in a matchbook once he realizes enemy agents are onto him. Later, in London, H&W examine the missing agent’s flat and Holmes deduces that he’s converted the document to microfilm and hid it in the matchbook (or “match folder” as they call it in the film). From then on, it’s a hunt for the missing matchbook, and the film has some devilishly clever and suspenseful sequences as the book casually changes hands among various characters, as matchbooks tended to do in the age of ubiquitous smoking. There’s a party sequence where it wanders by chance through many different hands, including an ironic moment where it’s briefly held by the person who was supposed to receive the document in the first place, before ending up back in Nancy’s possession where it started. Later, the villain casually and unknowingly takes possession of it, and Nancy has a nice moment where she silently deduces what’s happened and chooses not to tell, even under threat of torture. It’s nicely conveyed through pure expression and gaze.

This leads to a confrontation between Holmes and the villain Stanley, played by a returning George Zucco, who’s as effective a menace as he was as Moriarty. It’s very entertaining to see Rathbone and Zucco play off each other, and to see how Holmes brilliantly manipulates Stanley into giving him the matchbook. All in all, a very cleverly crafted and well-written tale, one of the two best in the series so far.

After these first three films, the Universal series shifted away from its focus on the war and back toward more conventional mysteries. So this seems like a good place to break.

“Abductive Reasoning” is out!

I’ve only just discovered that my short story “Abductive Reasoning” is in the September/October 2017 issue of Analog, which is apparently just going on sale at newsstands this week. There’s already a glowing review of it on the Rocket Stack Rank blog (glowing but very, very spoilery).

Here’s the cover:

Analog Sept/Oct 2017

I’ve updated the homepage with subscription links. I’ll update the Original Short Fiction page with story info when I can get around to it.

Eclipse walk

I just got back from a long walk I took to watch the eclipse, which was not total here in Cincinnati but pretty darn close (91%). I decided to walk over the University of Cincinnati campus, figuring there would be a lot of other eclipse watchers there, and I ended up watching the watchers more than the eclipse itself. I did have some NASA-approved eclipse glasses, courtesy of the folks at the Shore Leave Convention, who handed them out for free with the convention packets last month. But even with the glasses, I didn’t feel comfortable looking at the Sun more than a few times or for more than a few moments at a time. I think maybe I got a couple of glints of direct sunlight around the edges while orienting myself the first couple of times, so I learned to keep my eyes closed until I could see enough glow through my eyelids to know I was looking the right way.

Still, once you’ve seen a crescent Sun once or twice, you’ve got the general idea. It was more interesting watching the environment and the people. It didn’t get dark enough here for the crickets to chirp or the animals to think it was night or whatever. But the light level softened to a degree I’d call comfortable. Ever since I got surgery for a retinal melanoma in high school, my eyes have been extremely sensitive to sunlight. This afternoon was the first time in ages that I’ve been comfortable without sunglasses while outdoors on a clear, sunny day. I heard some people around me say it was dark, but it looked more than bright enough to me, still definitely sunny, just not glaringly so. Maybe it was darker in shaded areas, though.  And the sky did turn a dimmer shade of blue as the eclipse neared maximum.

As for the people, there were a bunch of students and faculty members milling around watching, many with eclipse glasses, others with handheld filters, quite a few with homemade cereal-box pinhole cameras, at least one with a welder’s mask. A bunch were trying to take cell phone pictures through their eclipse glasses, which didn’t seem like a particularly wise idea to me. A few minutes before maximum, I happened across a group with a telescope that was projecting an image of the Sun on a plate, which gave me a clearer image than my eclipse glasses, so that was handy. (It’s surprising how small the Sun is in your field of view when you can actually look at it. Of course, by an accident of nature, it’s the exact same apparent size as the Moon, which is why total eclipses work.) The group seemed pretty upbeat and engaged with the whole thing, although maybe that was partly since it was an excuse to get out of class. When maximum coverage was reached at 2:29 PM, a round of applause went through the crowd. In what other context would people applaud something just for blocking their view of something else?

It is impressive how close we came to totality, and yet how bright it still was even with just 9% of the Sun still visible. I guess it shows how well the eye can adjust to different light levels. Still, now I have a crick in my neck from looking up so much. And I’m probably one of several million people asking, “So now what do I do with these eclipse glasses?”