The Dream Ends

2026-Apr-26, Sunday 11:44
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Posted by Unknown

I am at the annual school camp in the Peak District. There is a sweet shop down the lane, we are allowed to go there once a day. They sell Dalek Death Rays and Kendal Mint Cake. My tent-partner is reading a copy of Doctor Who In an Exciting Adventure With The Daleks

I don’t think the book was actually called Doctor Who In An Exciting Adventure With The Daleks, any more than the Beatles first album was actually called Love Me Do With Please Please Me and Twelve Other Songs. Fans refer to it as the Armada Paperback. It was a very loose adaptation of the first Dalek Story, which was still called "The Dead Planet". It was published in 1965, the year I was born, eleven years in the past. If my tent partner still has it so many years later it is probably worth an awful lot of money.

The Armada Paperback eventually became Doctor Who And The Daleks, the first of the Target Paperbacks. All the Target Paperbacks were called Doctor Who and The Something even though Doctor Who is the name of the programme and not the character. They had a small bit of text on the fly-leaf explaining why the face of Doctor Who kept changing. My tent partner had hundreds of Target Books and I had a few. Even when I became a Fan, having them was more important than actually reading them.

I suppose I had seen the Peter Cushing movie by then? I suppose I could tell that it was a similar story but not quite the same story? I suppose I didn't think it mattered all that much? 

It looked like an Enid Blyton book or one of those books about wars and jungles and Jesus. I mean that it smelt like one of those books, though not necessarily with my nose. It was already even then an artefact a tangible connection to the olden days, when Doctor Who was real. The olden-days kid who had first handled this book had been there at the beginning. Had seen the whole story. Was not playing catch up.  I read all the Doctor Doolittle books in the school library, even writing the names of the ones I had missed on a blue card with a fountain pen and putting it in a box on the librarian's desk. It came from a time before the Daleks were the Daleks: when they were just scary new robots in a children’s book with pictures and there was a description of what the creature inside the Dalek actually looked like. I tried to sketch the creature: I have never been able to draw. 
I do, in fact, think that David Whitaker’s conception, of a creature that inhabits the shell and operates it like a vehicle is superior to the later conception that conceived them as more like cyborgs, robots with an organic component. There is a sketch somewhere of a grotesque little dwarf driving a pepper-pot.

This was before Jeremy Bentham but after the Making of Doctor Who.  

Fresh eyes, is what I am trying to say. Defamiliarisation. Seeing a thing as if for the first time. A yellowed press cutting: a display of action figures alongside Jubilee mugs.

Is this the whole of the Elusive Magic? We repeat the joke, over and over: "It isn't as good as it used to be; but then it never was." They have been making the joke since the death of Queen Victoria: “Punch was never what it used to be.” The graffito "Nostalgia ain't what it used to be" isn't particularly funny. If we go by linear, chronological time then school camp was no further from the Dead Planet than this essay is from Day of the Doctor. Do the eleven year olds of today hear the flapping of times chariot when they watch The Reality War? Did Michael Grade sever the cord? 

It's about time, as the fellow said. 




Don’t let’s call them Lost Stories. Let’s call them Never Having Existed In the First Place stories. Imaginary Stories is already taken.

The Radio Times Doctor Who Tenth Anniversary Special, again.

A black and white photo of a scary looking unshaven man in a military uniform. The title “The Nightmare Begins”. And the summary:

“The Doctor lands on the Planet Kemble in 4000 AD when the space security agent Brett Vyon is trying to warn that the Daleks are about to destroy the earth”.

Who was this Brett Vyon, and who was this Sara Kingdom who got killed and what was this nightmare that after twelve episodes was still only beginning?

The Nightmare Begins is in fact the title of the first episode of the Dalek Masterplan. The Radio Times Special referred to Doctor Who stories by the titles of their first episodes. This made them seem more interesting in some cases than they were: Four Hundred Dawns seems altogether more evocative than Four Hundred Dawns. I think we would tolerate the Gunfighters much better if it was still called A Holiday For the Doctor.

In 1983 they found two episodes of The Dalek Masterplan in a Mormon Church in Tooting. No-one ever explained what they were doing there, and so far as I could tell from the phone book there was no Mormon Church in the vicinity at that time. One cannot help but picture them on golden tablets. I saw one of them at a showing at the National Film Theatre; I think to mark the twentieth anniversary, which would put me in the Sixth Form. It was one of Patrick Troughton’s first appearances at a fan event. It was the one with the Monk in agent Egypt; it starts with him, the Monk, disguised as a mummy. They showed the Dead Planet on the same day, and it very nearly lived up to my expectations, even the bit where they spent a whole episode trying to jump across a ravine. For some years afterwards I insisted that the Peter Cushing Film and the Armada Paperback lacked the high seriousness of the original episodes and should be ignored. I was twenty and a fan and very annoying like all twenty year olds and all fans. 

But the orphan episode of Masterplan turned out to be nothing more than an old episode of a black and white TV show in which the Doctor and the Daleks run around some historical back drops and the Monk, the Meddling Monk, the First Time Lord Apart From The Doctor (and Possibly Susan) was somehow inadvertently played by the manager from Carry on Camping (the one with the bra) and in roughly the same style.

If my memory is correct, then one of the Great Old Ones who was acting as MC admitted as much. It’s worth watching if only for the Dalek choreography. Which is pretty faint praise.

(Memory may not be correct. I can remember the tent and the kendel mint cake much more specifically than I can remember the National Film Theatre and Tooting Bec and the Sixth Form; so I may be confusing different showings and different conventions.)

The Nightmare Begins formed in our heads on the basis of one photo of Nic Courtney and a one sentence synopsis. The Dalek Master Plan emerged from a handful of fan-relayed oral traditions. The Longest And Most Epic Doctor Who Story of All Time. We imagined a Stan Lee George Lucas Stanley Kubrick Dalek Master Plan and lost sight of the fact that it was a teatime instalment of Doctor Who.

Doctor Who isn’t as good as it used to be. And even when it was, it wasn’t.





The Nightmare Begins

That opening credit; that wobbly line in the middle of the screen; when the theme tune was a pulse and a rhythm not a fanfare. When the opening credit itself was an abstract riff on the concept of monochrome TV.

Steven is sleeping.

If we didn’t know better, we would wonder if it is his nightmare which was beginning.

Except, of course, that I sill cannot see “Steven”: I can only see Peter Purves, with his badge and his makes table and his annual scheme to make assistance dogs out of silver bottle tops. I suppose there is now a whole generation of fans who know about very olden days Doctor Who but would have no reason to remember Blue Peter. 

“The Nightmare Begins”: those words, superimposed over the picture just like in any normal TV show. 

The first time I saw Unearthly Child in the great hall of Imperial College almost the biggest pang was seeing the words “Next Episode: The Dead Planet” hovering so neutrally on the screen.

“Written by Terry Nation.” Not in his handwriting though. Dalek Annuals and Blake's Seven annuals and even I think the Survivors novelisations printed his signature above the titles. A bit, it suddenly occurs to me, like Stan Lee’s signature, appearing above all those comic-book he didn’t actually write. Did Terry’s agent realise that?

Steven is sick, poisoned. The Doctor asks the black haired girl to take care of him.

We all used to think that the hostile scary Doctor of Unearthly Child was just how the Original Doctor was, and that the affable friendly Doctor was part of a gradual fall from grace that culminated in scarves and  jelly babies. At least, that was what the Great Old Ones taught us to believe. It was truly the jelly babies and the scarf that I loved. 

But this Doctor says “my child” and “that’s a good girl” and puts his chin thoughtfully in his hand. He is much more the eccentric Eagle-reading Peter Cushing than the elderly thug who threatened Ian and Barbara in the junkyard. Not even crotchety. More: doddery. 

What does crotchety even mean? I think it means “That quality possessed by the First Doctor.”

The line between an actor fumbling his lines and a character improvising is quite a wobbly one. The girl asks if they have reached the "place of perfection", and he replies “Ah…well…. I rather doubt it. At least….that is….we shall be stopping at a lot of places before that.”

In the beginning the show had been about a child who was not quite of this earth. Her replacement was from the Far Future. This third stand-in granddaughter is a refugee from the Siege of Troy and talks fluent old fashioned. The idea that they were audience-identification figures does not quite stack up. 

Adric died in 1982, in retrospect, perhaps punishing Matthew Waterhouse for being, by all accounts, quite annoying. And the world said “It’s the first time a Doctor Who assistant has been killed off!” and the fandom replied “No, Katerina was killed in the Dalek Masterplan!” and here we are, now, looking at her, Katerina, the first companion to be killed, before she has been killed.

Is she really a companion, given that she appears only in one story and is not given co-star billing. (Also: do Balrogs have wings, and where was Watson injured, and how many children had Lady McBeth?) 

Certainly, she behaves as if she were a companion, patronised by her stand-in grandfather and menaced by bad guys. 

The Doctor and Katerina and Steven in the TARDIS is barely a prologue; barely a recap. The Story Begins with two military men in the jungle, and we are suddenly, metaphorically and literally, in a different world.

Before there was
Blue Peter, there was Play School, and it would be nice to say that in three minutes The Nightmare Begins encompasses the holy BBC trinity: Peter Purves and Brian Cant and a Dalek. Play School was a show for pre-schoolers, the closest the British had at that time to Sesame Street. Nursery rhymes and stories and suspiciously long lived gold-fish and counting games. Brian Cant also provided the voice over for Camberwick Green, the BBCs stop motion evocation of rural English life. I had a vinyl recording of one of the episodes when I was a toddler: Brian Cant’s voice is literally my earliest memory. But until the credits rolled at the end of Nightmare Begins I recognised neither his face nor his voice. Putting a gun to your commanding officers head is a very different proposition from pretending that your horsey’s feet are going clippoty clop.

The unshaven man from the magazine was, of course, Nicholas Courtney. Nicholas Courtney appeared with every Doctor in the original run apart from the one he didn’t; and he was Space Agent Brett Vyon before he was ever the Brigadier. His face looks different but his voice is unmistakable.

The biggest miss-step the Revived Series took was chucking the classic TARDIS design overboard. When I see that white room and the white mushroom I know that I am watching Doctor Who. The weird wobbley coral arrangement, not so much. The Doc and Steven and Katerina in the control room is clearly ninety seconds of Doctor Who; but then suddenly the channel flips. The Brigadier and Brian Cant are (briefly) tying to send a message to earth: and then we cut back to Mission Control on Earth, where everyone is studiously ignoring a flashing red light. (I assume it is a red light. Obviously, we are still in black and white.) Then we go back to the jungle planet. 

The stylistic channel hopping makes the episode feel more expansive that it actually is. The jungle scenes feel like Blake's Seven, or Survivors, or in short something written by Terry Nation.  On earth, all the technicians are bald: there are big perspex maps and banks of equipment but someone is still using a clipboard. People sometimes draw an analogy between the Dalek Masterplan and Dan Dare: but Dan Dare was set in a 1950s retro-future, where the Masterplan gives the 41st century a Things To Come Freemasonry of Science vibe. But the two characters with speaking parts (who aren't much more than a chorus) are arguing about what to watch on TV: a sporting fixture or a political speech. Which puts us more in the realm of the Jetsons. Even two thousand years in the future, people are still just like folks. 

People sometimes talk about Padding in Old TV. Other people say that New TV is far too rushed. Roald and Lizan spend several moments talking about their favourite make of space ship. He prefers the latest Flip T4; she prefers the Spar 7-40. “Elegance, plus technology." 

If you think that we should cut out everything which Doesn’t Advance The Plot, then certainly this scene should be cut. But I think I can still feel the eleven-year-old's thrill of glancing into a world where spacecraft are as common as cars. That’s what we did when we played spacemen, isn’t it? We did not imagine that we were fighting Daleks or setting foot on an alien planet, necessarily. We just constructed our space cockpit out of chairs and bean bags and maybe tin foil and cardboard, and said “We are on a spaceship isn’t it great being on a spaceship don’t you just love being on a spaceship.”

Mavic Chen is the Guardian of the Solar System. He’s a politician. Although the episode ends on a kind of a twist--Mavic Chen has betrayed the Solar System to the Daleks!--I don’t think that first generation viewers can have been entirely surprised that he was a wrong 'un. He has a sinister name. He looks a bit foreign. I might not go so far as to say a "racist caricature", but foreign, certainly. And literally the first thing he does when he comes on screen is twirl his moustache! 

While he makes his speech about peace and prosperity everyone ignores the flashing red light warning that the Daleks are about to invade the universe. Subtle is not the word.

And then we go back to the jungle. The extended two-handed scene between Brett and Kurt is genuinely one of the best bits of B-movie space-opera schlock I've ever seen. I mean that in an entirely positive way. I think that this is what the Old Fans wanted us to believe that the Dalek Masterplan was like all the way through. Brett remains calm and soldier like, while Kurt slowly disintegrates. 
Nation throws every suspense trick in the book at us. “You know we can’t fight… them” says Brett “Our weapons are useless against…  those things.” Granted, if we have read the Radio Times, or know the title of the story, or, indeed saw the stand-alone prequel five weeks ago, we know perfectly well who “they” are. 

There is something very Avon and Blake about a situation where the coward points a gun at the hero and demands to be left behind. Kurt knows he is going to die and we know that he knows, but we stay with him for a full minute after Brett leaves. And then he sees….

Well I guess we know what he sees. But it is a genuinely impressive bit of sci-fi TV. He points his gun into the jungle: we see it from his point of view. And again. And again. He falls to his knees, he looks up, and there it is. Looming. Less like a BBC prop and more like the cover of an annual. And of course, the gun fires, and the screen turns negative and he falls down dead.

It recalls the endings of the first two episodes of The Dead Planet: Barbara, lost in the city, waiting for the moment when the unseen presence would make itself known; and Susan running headlong through the Skarovian forest. A feeling of desperation; waiting for a bad thing to happen. Like the beginning of a nightmare. 

And then there is another point of view shift: two Daleks, in the jungle, talking in capital letters about who they are going to exterminate. It’s an effective transition: from the looming monster Dalek to the faintly absurd matter-of-fact artefacts trundling through the foliage. Things out of bad dreams: but also unwieldy, physically present, tactile objects. 

This is what made old Doctor Who so much like old Doctor Who, and why new Doctor Who has never been able to replicate the Elusive Magic. Every monster (and every planet, and every spaceship) has been physically constructed. Every monster is present in the room with the actor, and therefore feels present in the room with the audience.

(It has been said that 1960s “adult” TV is sexy in a way that much more explicit modern stuff fails to be, for a similar reason. Modern TV can do closeups and long shots and swift intercuts and show us nipples. Older TV had to point the camera at the bed, giving the viewer the impression that he was just watching two people doing it.)

The final shot of the dead Kurt is quite unsettling. Not X-Certificate body horror, of course, but strong stuff for a Saturday tea-time. 

Brian Cant does not stand up and say "It's all right children, I was just pretending." 

Some people have never stopped saying that Doctor Who feels like a pantomime: fake horror, fake violence, fake evil, fake death. This Doctor Who is being as real as it dares. 

We are halfway through the episode before the Doctor arrives. (There was of course a prologue or prequel, Mission to the Unknown, in which he didn't arrive at all.) We might almost forget what show we are watching. A new, grim-ish and moderately gritty Terry Nation space show--Vyon's Two, perhaps--into which Old Grandfather Who has incongruously materialised. 

Uncle Who natters away inconsequentially to himself. Or perhaps he is talking through the screen to us "kiddies" at home. “A city, or perhaps a town. I wonder where we are? All I have to do is get through that jungle and perhaps then I can get some help. I must say, it's a strange place to put a city.” (Who is that? It’s Windy Miller! Let’s see what he is going to do next....") And then the scary man in the uniform puts a gun to his head and says “Give me the key or I will kill you.”

(A clunky bit of construction, if ever there was one. Katerina, who has been told to stay behind and watch over Steven, comes out of the TARDIS with the Doctor purely so he can show her, and therefore Brett, the TARDIS key.)

Was Doctor Who always like this: whimsical safe kids TV rubbing up against dark, somewhat adult science fiction? 

This is the change that has come over Doctor Who in its first three seasons, I think. It isn't just that William Hartnell, as he put it, "mellowed" the Doctor. In those first three or four stories, the nasty hostile Professor Challenger figure who has kidnapped the two gormless school teachers comes from a similar world to the Thals and the Cavemen they encounter. But this Doctor and Brett Vyon are gate-crashers in each others stories.

Which world do the Daleks come from? The world of Space James Bond or the world of Childrens' Television?Perhaps the remaining episodes explore that. 

"DALEKS!" exclaims the Doctor, in the tone of voice of a form-master who has spotted someone chewing gum. One hopes that even the first night audience responded. "Yes, we can see that you doddery old duffer."

There is an old joke about the man with polaroids of UFOs. But come now, says someone of a skeptical bent: isn’t it obvious that one of those spacecraft is a hubcap and the other one is an ashtray? Yes, says the enthusiast, and when we understand why the human race designed their hubcaps and ashtrays to resemble alien spacecraft we may understand their ultimate mission.

The Dalek city is obviously a model. Furthermore, it is obviously a model made of bottle-tops and cardboard and tin foil: the kind of model that you could probably make yourself in a craft lesson given some effort. And yet I look at it now all those years on and I think: yes, that is what a space city is suppose to look like. That is what space cities used to look like. That was what the future looked like in the past. 

It is not a huge twist that Mavic Chen is a traitor: but it is a terribly good bit of narrative architecture. So much has been crammed into the last dozen minutes that when he appears we have temporarily forgotten about him. 

Aha, we say, now we see the point of the long digression in the earth control room. Now we see how everything fits together.

But we are watching Doctor Who, not a political space opera. The final cliffhanger is not that Earth’s Guardian is a traitor, but that the Daleks have surrounded the TARDIS. 

Do the Daleks know what the TARDIS is, or who the Doctor is? They have probably not encountered each other for a millennia and a half….

And now we are back in the present, and only half the episodes are on BBC IPlayer. I suppose there will soon be cartoons. Or perhaps if after seventy years you can find two tapes then there is no reason that any day now you may find six more. Katerina in the airlock. Space Agent Sara Kingdom aging to death. A merry Christmas to all of you at home. We have seen more than we ever hoped to see. 




A particular Doctor Who fan, who you may have heard of, expressed his disappointment that the Nightmare Begins has been found because it makes his own attempted reconstructions redundant. 

Enchantment, disenchantment, re-enchantment. You love the idea of the thing. You are disappointed that the Thing doesn’t live up to your idea of it. But then you learn to love the thing itself.

I learned to stop worrying and love Doctor Who. Not the idea of it: the thing with its imperfections. I am not one of those who says that I do not want to watch old episodes in case they spoil my memories of them. 

I think that there are some people, including that Very Famous Fan, who are only able to love the idea. I think that there are toxic fans who are permanently angry because the actually existing episodes are different from the ideas in their heads. There are people who find it easier to love an AI reconstruction of a Flag than the nation for which that Flag used to stand. 

'Tis mad idolatry which makes the servant greater than the god. Hmmm, hmmm my child: I hope you find your place of perfection. 
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Posted by John Scalzi

As most of you know I spent much of this last week in Los Angeles, taking meetings with film/TV folks and pitching things to them, both from books I’ve written and ideas I have currently not connected to something I published. The meetings generally went very well — which isn’t necessarily the same as I’m walking away with a movie deal, there’s a lot of moving parts involved with that — and I came away with a lot of interest in the things I pitched and movement as my manager sent along materials. I gave some thought on why these meeting generated as much interest as they did.

There are a number of factors for this, but the one I want to bring to the fore at the moment is this one: When I sit down with these film/TV people and run an idea or concept past them, they one hundred percent know that the idea I’m running past them is my own, not generated by or written out with, some version of “AI.” From a practical point of view this means they know there is no issue with things like copyright (“AI” generated work is not copyrightable, and rights issues are a big deal for film/TV). From a creative point of view this means they know I have actually thought about the concept I’m bringing to them — that I know it inside and out and can build it out, dig deeper into it, and can improvise with the concept rather than just go with whatever an LLM spits out from a prompt.

In other words, they know I can do actual creative work, from ideation to production, and they know when they work with me they’re not only getting an idea but they’re also getting the actual working brain behind it. That brain can efficiently work the problem, whatever the problem might be. In 2026, this is a real and actual differentiator: A functional brain, and a reliable creative partner. I rather strongly suspect the further along we go in this new era of “cognitive offloading,” the more of a differentiator this will be.

This isn’t an anti-“AI” post. It is a “the more other people claiming to be writers use ‘AI’ the more secure my gig gets” post. If you want to use “AI” to generate ideas or create your prose or whatever, by all means, be my guest. The next twenty years of my career thanks you in advance for your choices.

— JS

Construction Time Again

2026-Apr-24, Friday 15:12
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Posted by John Scalzi

What it feels like to wake up to house construction

John Scalzi (@scalzi.com) 2026-04-24T14:26:05.759Z

Spoiler: We are not going to die. But we are going to get a new porch railing, as the much of the last one was blown out by 80 mph winds we had a few weeks ago. The porch railing was 30 years old and as our contractor told us, had support beams that were too small for the weight put on them anyway (this is additional proof that the fellow who had the house built, also its first owner, had contractors who cut occasional corners on him). This was one of the reasons the railing blew out in the first place. The railing we put up will be burly and strong.

Here’s what the porch looks like at the moment:

Those are the old support beams. Please enjoy your time with them. They are soon to go off to a farm upstate, to play with other retired porch support beams.

The same contractors who are redoing our porch are also going to be providing us a new back deck, because, again, after 30 years, the back deck is in need of repair, and also Krissy wants a cover for it, so her husband can sit out there with her and not have his pale little head turned a shocking shade of lobster red. So the whole back deck is going, replaced with one of her specification.

Needless to say, all of this is going to be loud. Fortunately I do have my office at the church to go to if I need to get work done without the sound of pneumatic hammering.

Also needless to say, all of this is going to be expensive. Please buy my books.

More pictures as construction progresses.

— JS

On Reinforcing Cynicism in the Academy

2026-Apr-24, Friday 07:43
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Posted by Eric Schliesser

Today’s post was prompted by two recent news items: first, by the announcement that Martin Peterson, currently professor of philosophy at Texas A&M University, will be moving to Southern Methodist University (SMU); second the report by the Harvard Crimson that “Harvard Asks Donors to Endow $10 Million Professorships for ‘Viewpoint Diversity.’” (Wasn’t that what the visiting fellows program at the Kennedy school was for?)

First, Peterson’s comments (quoted at the top of this post) resonated with me. Of course, administrators are also people with mortgages, have parents with expensive care needs, and have kids with expensive tuition. American political economy with its go-fund-mes for urgent medical care and (say) funeral costs makes individual, principled stances incredibly fraught affairs in a job-market that is clearly imploding for mid-career academics, and that most certainly leaves fewer alternative opportunities than (the usually more lucrative options) former prosecutors have. Some of the administrators at Texas A&M may well have had tenure, and they do deserve special opprobrium for their cowardice.

Second, Peterson’s words remind us that something is very broken in the academy when the people who are charged with running it — and Texas A&M is not some idiosyncratic place; it is one of the great, earlier public land-grant research universities — can’t bring themselves to even try to defend fairly basic academic freedom. (If you inform yourself of the details you will learn that Peterson was really making a basic point.) This absence of principle exhibits cynicism and only engenders further erosion of the academy’s spiritual authority (recall this post). I don’t mean to suggest the situation is more cynical than a President who barely pretends to care about revelation and then reads 2 Chronicles 7:14 in front of the cameras. Both exhibit what Machiavelli would call ‘corruption.’

Third, and speaking of cynicism, in its fundraising, Harvard has embraced a term, ‘viewpoint diversity,’ whose (let me adopt James Burnham’s terminology) formal meaning implies a kind of openness to intellectual pluralism, but whose real meaning means ‘people that are critics of liberalism from the non-libertarian right.’ That is to say, this is affirmative action for right-wing coded intellectuals.

As an aside, I am myself not a critic of funded centers that presuppose an ideological commitment. If the institutional embedding is properly organized, these can enrich a campus and even the disciplines in which the academic housed in them publish. (I have a soft spot for the development of ‘schools’ with distinct orientation within many disciplines.) I have been a ‘visitor’ at centers where the ultimate source of funding was ‘right’ coded back in the day.

Harvard University’s official guidance for a policy on university statements (May 2024) does not embrace institutional neutrality. So, I am not suggesting that Harvard is inconsistent with its own understanding of university speech. In fact, its “policy commits the university to an important set of values that drive the intellectual pursuit of truth: open inquiry, reasoned debate, divergent viewpoints and expertise. An institution committed to these values isn’t neutral, and shouldn’t be.” (That’s from an NYT OPED written by Noah Feldman and Alison Simmons.)

But the reason why I use ‘cynicism’ is because nobody believes that Harvard’s funding drive is designed to create intellectual pluralism at the disciplinary or methodological level where groupthink may be lurking. (I have published on the epistemic and normative risks to society of disciplinary groupthink, so this is not a merely intellectual matter.)1 The fundraising goal is not a means to advance knowledge. Rather, Harvard’s fundraising is patently a means to appease a hostile and dangerous administration and the intellectuals that are partisans of it.

This administration has demanded ‘viewpoint diversity’ from Harvard in a letter (here) of April 11, 2026. And the reason why it is legitimate to be cynical about the use of ‘viewpoint diversity’ is that this is an administration that across a range of topics and institutions seems to have no interest in ‘viewpoint diversity’ when those views contradict its own. Most strikingly this is exhibited in the way it has sought to control public media and the way it has sought to deport foreign students who express views it doesn’t like; but also in weaponizing the judiciary in attacking its enemies (and so on).

This gets me to the real point of today’s post, which is not the manifest cynicism on display. Rather, to grapple with the following point. I have remarked before that many prominent universities are exceedingly long-lasting corporations. They have endured, in part, by their willingness to exhibit context-sensitive prudence, alas. If, say, a well-entrenched, Bonapartist government wants a certain amount of conformism to its preferred viewpoints in public institutions and universities, it will usually be obtained eventually. Again not merely a hypothetical point; the forced departure by (former prime minister) Orban of CEU from Budapest is fresh in memory. Many nineteenth century European intellectuals may have been spontaneously nationalist and imperialist, but the governments also nudged the universities in appointing reliable pairs of hands.

Sometimes this process leads to an official purge at the official universities and the subsequent development of an ‘underground university’ as occurred in, say, Czechoslovakia after the Prague Spring. I understand Zena Hitz’s Catherine project and Justin Smith-Ruiu’s The Hinternet Foundation as the building blocks of an underground university of the future.

The more intense cases occur, in circumstances where the academics and the social forces that really support them and, say, the political and economically influential elites have drifted apart, but the law has not caught up with that divergence yet. The best known and most dramatic examples of this occur in the context of civil war or separatism/revolutionary wars. For example, in the age of the English civil war, Oxford’s politics was sometimes very far out of step with the parliamentarian party. And, after the American revolution, the University of New Brunswick and the University of King’s College were founded by loyalist exiles in what came to be known as Canada.

I have used the neutral term ‘drifted’ in the previous paragraph, but echoing the diagnosis of Michael Polanyi back in the day, strategic agents including fascists and anti-liberal movements will aim to lower the trust and authority in the professions and the academy in order to make possible and consolidate their own power. So, it would be a mistake to treat ‘drift’ as pointing to a lack of agency. But universities’ vulnerable strategic position is also due to the loss of their spiritual authority in wider society.

The university’s distinctive spiritual authority (recall this post) was rooted in two features of its intrinsic mission: witnessing truth and being the institution that engages a non-trivial part of the education of an important subset of near adults. Both tasks are serious and dedication to them commands respect. How to engage in this mission such that spiritual authority is the effect is something to figure out and decide upon by each university, conceived as a corporate entity (in the medieval sense), and to be articulated in its mission and the practices that are structured by it. A private university should have more space for autonomy in these matters than public ones. Self-consciously politicizing their mission — by seeking out ‘viewpoint diversity’ — is not a means to recover such authority.

MAGA and its allies want universities to believe that Stateside a regime change has already occurred and so that accommodation is the only prudent way forward for research-intensive universities. It is somewhat puzzling that while they maintain considerable freedom to shape events on their own campus, so few universities have found ways to make the case that an independent education and the advancement and preservation of knowledge is worth preserving.

 

1 Elsewhere, I have argued (in Dutch) that, for example, ideological conformism is to be expected (and not without its problems) in many professions and fields, but when it occurs it is far more politically dangerous in policing and the armed forces than it is in the academy.

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Posted by John Scalzi

Because the song’s been rattling around my head for the last couple of days, particularly the Bryan Ferry cover version. So when I got home I thought I would give it a whirl. I hope you like it.

— JS

Penn & Teller & the Supreme Court & BS

2026-Apr-23, Thursday 13:59
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Posted by Rebecca Watson

This post contains a video, which you can also view here. To support more videos like this, head to patreon.com/rebecca! Transcript: I’ll be honest–when I first saw this New York Times headline, I rolled my eyes: “Two Magicians Warn the Supreme Court About Junk Science.” The eye-rolling wasn’t because warning the current US Supreme Court …

Public Service Announcement

2026-Apr-23, Thursday 17:32
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Posted by Unknown

The idea of St Patrick’s day parades and parties was mostly thought up by the Irish ex-pat community in New York, who (as you’d expect) wanted to celebrate their country of origin once a year. In Ireland, historically, it was mostly a day to visit family and go to church. 

Yes, quite often, legendary figures do differ from their historical prototypes. Dick Turpin was a nasty little horse thief who somehow got remembered as an heroic outlaw. Saint George the figure in the Mummers plays and the Fairy Queen is an English knight who rescues ladies from dragons, and fights duels with Turks. He may possibly have been based on a Cappadocian Christian martyr. This is absolutely fine. 

The Church of England is historically kind of a big deal in England. The Church of England is sort of kind of mostly Protestant. Protestants mostly think that the veneration of humans, even very holy humans, borders on the idolatrous and even pagan. Some Anglicans are okay with saying “and so, with Mary, Francis and Augustine we pray…” but Saints Days haven't been that big a deal in this country since the reformation. 

Go round some older English churches and you'll see statues of saints with their heads knocked off by puritans.

My first name is Andrew. I happen to know that Saint Andrew's day is on 30th November because Scotland. But I bet if you are named James or Phillip or for that matter Polycarp or Dysmas you have no idea when your name-day falls. 

Not that St Andrew is a very big deal in Scotland: the big day for tartan and bagpipes and disgusting meat products is Burns Night. 

Wales is different again: they celebrate being Welsh with leeks because the English spent so long telling them they ought not to be. 

While we are here: the English have a King and a national church and also a national health service and a national broadcasting corporation and a famous playwright and the Archers. Which is why the Union Jack has never been such a big deal for us as the Stars and Stripes is for Americans: we have other symbols. English people who put flag poles in their own gardens are adopting an American tradition, on the same level as kids who go trick or treating instead of pennying for the guy. Not that a thing is wrong because it's foreign and new, but you shouldn't pretend its traditional. 

The thing about it only being the Union Jack if it’s flying from a boat is a myth.

Yes, indeed the Union Jack is the British flag, not the English, and God Save the Queen I Mean King is the British national anthem, not the English one and the fact that everyone including me gets confused over that is a big part of the problem.

When I was a kid I was quite churchy and went to a quite churchy school, and no-one talked about St George's Day, ever. I think it was an extra holiday celebrated by Boy Scouts, in the same way that one or two children did a thing called Bah Mitzvah which the rest of us didn't. Individual teachers had different opinions about whether they could wear their Scout uniforms to school on Baden-Powell's birthday. 

I think that in some parts of the country there were genuine traditions of Morris and May-Pole dancing and maybe daft things like Yorkshire Pudding Rolling and Pork Pie Hurling in some areas. They have died out or are kept up by revivalists because in the cold light of day they were in fact a little bit silly. 

It is fun to sing Fields of Athernry and Dublin In the Rare Old Times and drink far too much Guinness even if the closest you have been to Ireland is Staffordshire. I like the way King Street turns into a good natured festival on March 17th. Although if I were Irish, I might find some of the blarney and leprechauns a bit annoying. I mean, why aren't mobs of people sitting in pubs reading Yeats and Joyce? 

But if some landlords want to sell people too much real ale while singing the British Grenadiers....er....Rule Britannia....er....England Swings Like a Pendulum Do....then I see no problem at all. 

To summarise 

-- Literally no-one is telling you you can't celebrate St George's Day, but historically, it hasn't really been that big a thing. 

— It is irrelevant and not at all a gotcha that St George came from what is now called Turkey, probably. (And it is not a witty riposte to say "ha-ha but Turkey didn't exist back then" either.) 

— Although I do think it a shame that Alban, who was a: English and b: real never gets a look in. Or Edmund, come to that. 

— I’d go with Jerusalem if I had to make a choice. Land of Hope and Glory is too jingoistic and associated with a particular party, and Rule Britannia requires too much contextualisation, although it’s actually a good tune. I mean, I joke about Place Called England but no-one outside the folk world has heard of it. 

— But if you try to make “having a beer on April 23rd” an Act of Resistance to Forces of Oppression that only exist in your head, then I will call you a racist twat and decline.

Also: Shakespeare's birthday.


Getting Tatted On A Tuesday

2026-Apr-23, Thursday 03:00
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Posted by Athena Scalzi

My mom and I both had three tattoos. One of hers was from before my time, and she got two more while I was a kid. I got my first one at eighteen; a matching one with my two cousins who are practically like my sisters. It was all three of our firsts. My second one at twenty was not perfectly matching but very samesies with my lifelong bestie. My third was just for me, and it represents a promise to myself.

My mom and I always knew we wanted matching tattoos eventually, it just took us both four to get there. But we’re finally here, with the matching tats we’ve wanted for years. We just kept not getting them, and another year would pass. I asked her to look at artists, find some she likes, and I’d do the same and we’d pick our favorite. It never happened, and eventually I said, “mom, I booked us a consultation.” I was dragging her to get a tattoo because I knew if I didn’t, she’d never slow down on her own long enough to get one.

I follow a lot of tattoo artists on Instagram, but most are states or even whole countries away. However, there’s one in Dayton I’ve been following for about two years. After seeing his floral work time and time again and thinking how amazing it was, I finally just booked a consultation because I figured taking at least a step in that direction was a good idea. So, my mom and I headed to Truth and Triumph Tattoo in Kettering and met Kevin Rotramel.

My mom had sketched a design of a sunflower, and after talking with him about what we wanted and where we wanted it, he said he’d come up with a design that was close to the original my mom drew, but just more cleaned up and with more depth and detail. While we had always dreamed of color, we both knew yellow would look awful on our skin tones, and just went for greyscale, which our artist highly recommended anyway.

Before I show you how our tats turned out, I want to showcase some of Kevin’s work. I know I said his floral work is what made me decide to go to him, but check out this insane octopus:

Or this sick giraffe:

How about this super cool lantern?!

And this castle is incredible:

Okay, I won’t keep you in suspense any longer, but seriously Kevin’s work is so cool.

My mom went first, and I was starting to get nervous, but also was so excited to finally be doing this!

Finally, it was my turn:

Me sitting in a chair with my back to the tattoo artist, with my back exposed and my head hanging down so he can get to my upper back area. He is actively tattooing me in the shot!

Honestly it barely hurt for the first like half, but in the latter half of the tat I was definitely starting to get sensitive. I always seem to be chill for about an hour, and then right at the hour mark I’m like, “ooh okay I want to be done now.” But I hung in there!

And here they are, our matching sunflowers:

My mom and I with our exposed backs to the camera, looking at each other. Our sunflowers are both in the middle of our upper backs, mine between my other two tattoos (a pineapple and purple flowers), and hers all lonesome on her back by itself.

I am so happy with these! I appreciate Kevin for putting mine up a little bit higher than my mom’s so it wasn’t just straight up in line with my other two. I do love how my mom’s looks as her only back one, though. It’s framed so nicely! They’re the perfect size and aren’t too wild, just something pretty and simple to remind us of each other.

I absolutely love how they came out, and I’m just thrilled to finally have a matching tattoo with my mom. I know it’s corny, but sunflowers have always been a symbol of our love for each other, because we are each other’s sunshine, and we make each other happy when skies are grey. I love my mom and our tattoos, and I only wish we had gotten them sooner.

-AMS

The Big Idea: Samantha Mills

2026-Apr-22, Wednesday 20:35
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Posted by Athena Scalzi

Family ties aren’t always a prettily done bow, sometimes they’re fraught with fraying ends and tricky knots, all woven together in the branches of family trees. Love ’em or hate ’em, everyone’s got parents, and everyone’s relationships with them are vastly different. Nebula Award-winning author Samantha Mills explores these varied relationships in her newest collection of short stories, Rabbit Test and Other Stories.

SAMANTHA MILLS:
Assembling a short story collection is an exercise in self-reflection. Material written over the course of years is placed side-by-side for the first time. Themes emerge. Preoccupations become clear. Where one story can be read in isolation and stand on its own terms, a collection can’t help but blare its author’s recurring fixations.
If there is one big fixation recurring throughout Rabbit Test and Other Stories, it is parenthood—specifically, the many ways that parent-child relationships buttress, cast shadows over, and intersect with so many other aspects of our lives.

Nearly every story here includes parents (usually mothers) and/or children (usually daughters). Frequently, this relationship is ruptured. Someone is missing, or dead, or dragged away by forces beyond their control. In “Strange Waters,” a fisherwoman is lost in time, struggling to get home to her children. In “Spindles,” a young fairytale princess has been separated from her mother during an alien invasion, and is struggling to make it to their rendezvous point before being captured. The settings change, the anxiety remains. What if, what if?

Parent/child separation is not something I keep writing about on purpose, but it’s a worry I can’t shake. When my first baby was born and then immediately whisked away for a 3-day stay in the NICU, I felt fear like nothing I had ever experienced before. I looked at that tiny face and felt the weight of the generations stretching behind me, the future spiraling uncertainly ahead of me, and I thought: oh no. I’m going to be scared for the rest of my life.

Weirdly, this was what leveled up my writing, though I didn’t realize it right away. About six months after giving birth, after years of fits and starts, I finally figured out how to craft a proper short story. The immensity and clarity of those new mom emotions were what tipped me over the line from knowing how to write a pretty sentence to knowing what I wanted to say.

Having kids forced me to think more deeply about my own childhood, both what I wanted to carry forward from it and what I wanted to leave behind. I was looking forward and backward at the same time—and god, I was so sleep-deprived! It was in this fevered state that I began to think about society generationally in a way I hadn’t before, reflecting on the ways that traditions or traumas (or traumatic traditions) are passed down from one generation to the next.

That tension—being caught between generations and deciding what, if anything, to do differently—surfaces in several of these stories. In “Rabbit Test,” the main character is prevented from getting an abortion by her parents; later, she has an opportunity to give her own daughter the choice she didn’t have. In “The Limits of Magic,” a repressive patriarchal state is passed down in the nursery by women who never saw a way out for themselves, and a new mother can’t bear to follow in their footsteps. In “A Shadow Is a Memory of a Ghost,” a pair of nemesis witches have to face the fact that, in trying to avoid the harms of their father, they’ve hurt their own children in entirely new ways.

There are good parents, here, too (the aforementioned fisherwoman; the fairytale queen; a tightknit family surviving in a mining colony company town in space), but even they make mistakes, because who doesn’t? What keeps drawing me back to this topic is the sheer variety of possible perspectives. I could write a thousand more stories and still not feel I’ve adequately conveyed the many facets of this experience. We do not all become parents, but we’ve all been children. We all spent our formative years utterly dependent on the adults in our lives—some up to the task, some not. It’s a bond that can be a comfort and joy for the rest of one’s life, or a fragile, fraught connection, or a disaster to be worked out in therapy for years to come, and whether we like it or not, this affects how we see ourselves and how we move through the world.

Now, don’t get me started on siblings.


Rabbit Test: Amazon|Barnes & Noble|Bookshop|Powell’s

Author socials: Website|Bluesky|Instagram

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Posted by Rebecca Watson

Hi everyone, today we’ll be talking about the most important news of the day: The Quartering is being accused of being a cuck by his fellow rightwing chuds in a massive drama explosion known as The Cuckening. Yep, those sure are all words I just said. English words.  Okay, don’t worry, this is online-drama-adjacent but …
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Posted by Frank Jacobs

Here’s something you didn’t know about the Strait of Hormuz: It is named after Ahura Mazda, the Zoroastrian sky god. And here’s another: In about 20 years, Iran will likely be unable to throttle the global economy by closing this maritime chokepoint, as it did in response to the latest U.S.-Israeli war on its Islamic regime.

Why? Because we’ll be two decades further down the road to decarbonization. Oil will still flow out of the Strait, but it will matter significantly less to the world economy and the cost of driving in the U.S. 

Electrification’s push and pull

As of early 2026, there are around 5.8 million EVs on U.S. roads, or just under 2% of all passenger vehicles. Projections for 2050 vary widely, from a low of 11% to a high of 75%.

The chasm between those figures is due to two opposing forces pulling at the market. The case against accelerated electrification is bolstered by the recent slump in EV sales, which is driven, in part, by the dismantling of pro-EV measures, such as federal EV tax credits and EPA tailpipe emissions standards. But favoring accelerated electrification is the gas price spike due to the war in Iran, which has rekindled consumer interest in going electric.

Decarbonization will help insulate the world economy against sudden oil price shocks like those caused by disruptions in the Strait of Hormuz. 

Whether the number of EVs on the road grows quickly or slowly, it is safe to assume the vehicles will make up a significantly larger part of America’s car fleet 20 years from now than they do today — and that the people who drive them will be much better insulated against sudden oil price shocks. 

The world economy as a whole should be better insulated, too, although predictions here also vary widely. 

In November 2025, the International Energy Agency (IEA), which has been predicting for years that global oil demand would peak in 2030, introduced a Current Policies Scenario. It projects that, if current government policies remain in place (rather than changing as governments promise they will), global oil demand will continue to increase for the time being, postponing “peak oil” until mid-century. 

It should be noted, however, that this change-nothing scenario was introduced following pressure from the Trump administration, which had been critical of the IEA’s pro-energy transition focus. The IEA’s Stated Policies Scenario still sees oil demand flattening around 2030 and then declining to 45% less than it is today by 2050. In the increasingly less achievable Net Zero Emissions by 2050 Scenario, oil and gas demand would drop by 75%. 

More sustainable, yes — but also more stable?

All of those scenarios were written before the current war in Iran. The closure of the Strait of Hormuz (and the U.S. counterblockade) has added economic urgency to the energy transition that’s already underway worldwide. With petroleum getting more expensive and the price of energy from renewables dropping toward so-called grid parity, economic self-interest is replacing concern for the climate as the main driver of decarbonization. 

The Strait of Hormuz is currently the linchpin of the hydrocarbon-fueled economy. But as the world pivots toward more sustainable sources of energy, a new geopolitical order will emerge. Will it be any more safe and stable? 

Rare earth elements and other critical minerals are to the clean energy age what steel was to the Industrial Revolution.

For Gulf locals, a new order may turn out to be a blessing in disguise, as the discovery of oil and gas has brought not just prosperity to the region, but also pollution, corruption, and conflict. 

The post-oil economy will have to be powered by something, though, so the Eye of Sauron will turn its gaze elsewhere — and because the infrastructure underpinning renewable energy relies on critical minerals and rare earth elements (REEs), places with access to them will fall within its sights. 

What are critical minerals and REEs?

The terms critical minerals and REEs are frequently used interchangeably, but they are distinct and that distinction will become increasingly relevant.

  • Critical minerals constitute the broader category. According to the U.S. Geological Survey (USGS), these 60 materials are essential to America’s economy or national security and their supply chains are vulnerable to disruption. Critical minerals include lithium, cobalt, nickel, and graphite — key components of the lithium-ion batteries in smartphones, EVs, and the grid-scale storage systems that hold solar and wind power for later use. 
  • Rare earth elements (REEs) are a subset of critical minerals that includes 17 heavy metals: the 15 metallic chemical elements known as lanthanides (e.g., gadolinium, cerium, and samarium), plus scandium and yttrium. Despite their name, REEs are not so much “rare” as they are difficult to isolate. Cerium, for instance, is as common as copper, but it and the other REEs are typically found in compounds with other elements, making extraction difficult and costly. REEs are used in the infrastructure that surrounds batteries, the magnets found in EV motors and wind turbines, and other clean energy technologies. 

To picture the significance of these minerals, think about what steel meant for the industrial age. It didn’t power the factories, but it was the material used to build them. Critical minerals (including REEs) are the steel of the clean energy age. Without them, we can’t efficiently generate, transmit, or store clean energy. That’s why there’s a race to find, mine, and process the minerals — and that race is reshaping the world’s energy security landscape. 

Hydrocarbon reserves are concentrated largely in the Middle East, plus a handful of other countries, including Venezuela, Russia, Canada, and the U.S. 

Critical minerals, including REEs, are spread out rather differently. Major potential sources include Russia, the U.S., Canada, Brazil, southern and eastern Africa, Australia, India, and Vietnam. But China holds nearly half of the global total of REE reserves: 44 out of roughly 92 million metric tons, according to the USGS.

If we follow the theory that resource-rich regions invariably attract superpower attention, then the parts of the world where these building blocks for the new energy paradigm can be found may have to start preparing for foreign bases in their backyards and foreign boots on their territory. 

One country, Greenland, has already drawn some unwelcome attention from a superpower. In January, U.S. President Donald Trump explicitly admitted that “mineral rights” were one of the U.S.’s motivations for seeking control over the Danish territory. 

China’s long game, carved in stone

Maps of hydrocarbon reserves and REE deposits have one thing in common: clear centers of gravity. For hydrocarbons, it’s the Middle East. For REEs, it’s China. But geological luck only partially explains China’s dominance in REEs and critical minerals. 

In 1992, during his famous Southern Tour of the country, Chinese leader Deng Xiaoping remarked that while “the Middle East has oil, China has rare earths.” That saying is now literally carved in stone in an industrial park in Inner Mongolia, which is home to one of China’s largest REE operations. It’s ahistorical to claim that Deng had an exact roadmap in mind for China’s rare-earth ascendancy, but his quote works as a retrospective prophecy. It’s also proof of China’s ability to play the long game — that’s the other reason it dominates in REEs, critical minerals, and the renewable energy sector as a whole. 

China now accounts for about 60% of global REE production — and Beijing is willing to go to great lengths to maintain its supply chain dominance. 

It wasn’t always thus. Until the mid-1990s, the U.S. led global REE production. But then China swept in and used state subsidies, lower environmental standards, and a long-term industrial strategy to outcompete Western companies. By the 2010s, China had achieved near-total control of the global REE market. In 2015, Molycorp, the former flagship of American REE production, filed for bankruptcy

China now accounts for about 60% of global REE production. Not content with its domestic deposits, the nation is acquiring REE and critical mineral projects around the world. In 2025, a Chinese company acquired an REE project in Tanzania at a nearly 200% premium over the market price — a sign of how far Beijing is willing to go to maintain its supply chain dominance. 

But what makes its dominance so durable is not the mining of REEs, but the processing and refining of the minerals. China has about 90% of global REE processing capacity, a figure that rises to 99% for heavy rare earth elements, a subset of rarer and more valuable REEs. 

That expertise is not easy to replicate. It’s taken Chinese companies decades to master the complex chemistry needed to separate and extract REEs from their compounds. That is why ore mined by Western companies often still ends up locked into Chinese processing agreements: There is effectively no viable, non-Chinese alternative.

The new energy chokepoints

While the map of global maritime chokepoints is fixed by geography, the importance of individual passages changes over time. The Strait of Hormuz, as mentioned, will almost certainly matter less in the future. The Suez Canal and the Bab el Mandeb Strait, on either side of the Red Sea, will likely stay vital as conduits for manufactured goods travelling from China to Europe, including EVs, solar panels, and other elements of the new energy order. 

China is also eyeing the use of polar shipping routes to reach Europe and North America, which would allow it to bypass traditional chokepoints. However, they’d introduce a new one: the Bering Strait — and that would give Russia and the U.S. leverage over Chinese trade.

The infrastructure layer of the global clean energy transition is largely controlled by China, and its refineries are the chokepoints of the new global energy landscape.

But here is the crucial distinction between the ages of oil and critical minerals: Geography is no longer the primary factor in strategic power. With oil, control of strategic passages such as the Strait of Hormuz means control of the energy supply. With critical minerals, geography still matters, but the decisive factor is industrial. 

Today, many countries can refine oil. But almost none can process REEs and other critical minerals at scale outside of China. This is the real endpoint of Deng’s 1992 vision: Chinese REE refineries are the chokepoints of the new global energy landscape. 

And China has already demonstrated that it is not afraid to weaponize its dominance. In 2010, it banned REE exports to Japan over a fishing trawler incident. In 2023, it imposed a global ban on the export of REE separation and processing technologies — the ban was explicitly designed to prevent the development of refining capacity elsewhere. 

For the renewables industry, this is a sobering reality: The infrastructure layer of the global clean energy transition is largely controlled by China — and will continue to be for the foreseeable future. To go green is, in effect, to go Chinese. 

Rich in ore, poor in refineries

How does the global energy transition affect the U.S.? In terms of raw materials, the U.S. is, literally, resource-full. According to the USGS, the country is home to an estimated 3.6 million metric tons of REE reserves — a figure that likely understates the full picture. 

In 2024, the Mountain Pass facility in California produced an estimated 45,000 metric tons of REE mineral concentrates, making the U.S. the world’s second-largest producer. The recently opened Brook Mine in Wyoming — believed to sit on the largest unconventional REE deposit in the country, with an estimated value of $37 billion — adds further depth to the American resource picture. And more mines are in development.

The U.S. has the mines of the future, but not the refineries needed to close the production loop.

But the uncomfortable reality is that mining is only the first step. For most of the past decade, the U.S. has been sending the ore it mines to China for processing. That creates strategic exposure: A single F-35 fighter jet contains over 900 pounds of REEs; a Virginia-class submarine contains around 9,200 pounds. REEs are also critical for technologies not directly related to clean energy, such as MRI and PET scanners. Should China choose to choke off REE exports, it would create crises in half a dozen vital industries, from defense to healthcare. 

The U.S. is rightfully concerned. Since 2020, the Department of Defense (DOD) has allocated more than $439 million to domestic REE processing and magnet manufacturing projects. In 2025, it concluded a multibillion-dollar partnership to scale magnet production from 1,000 to 10,000 metric tons per year over the next decade. That would still be less than 10% of what China was producing in 2018, but it would be a step towards catching up. 

Ultimately, Chinese dominance will be hard to displace in the near term. While the U.S. and Iran play tug-of-war with the Strait of Hormuz, Chinese megacorporations are fast replacing Middle Eastern petrostates as the kingmakers of the new global energy economy. 

In that new world, the U.S. will have a seat at the table. The question is whether it will be a comfortable one. It has the mines of the future, but not the refineries needed to close the production loop. Unless and until that changes, the U.S. — and the rest of the world — will remain vulnerable to an energy chokehold that could make Hormuz look manageable in retrospect. 

Strange Maps #1290

Got a strange map? Let me know at strangemaps@gmail.com.

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This article The Strait of Hormuz is today’s energy chokepoint. China is tomorrow’s. is featured on Big Think.

Still in Hollywood

2026-Apr-22, Wednesday 14:33
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Posted by John Scalzi

Although this picture is actually of the Pershing Square Metro Line escalator, nowhere near Hollywood in terms of actual Los Angeles geography — look, we’re going for the metaphor here, okay. What I’m saying is that I am still out here, on my third day of meetings, all of which seem to be going pretty well. It’s nice to keep busy.

Nevertheless I’ll finally be on my way home tonight after a week away, and I’m looking forward to seeing family and pets and being a massive introvert in my comfy office chair for several days. Los Angeles is wonderful. Home is even better.

— JS

The Big Idea: Christian Bieck

2026-Apr-21, Tuesday 19:49
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Posted by Athena Scalzi

Just because something is created with a younger audience in mind, doesn’t mean it can’t be enjoyed by all. After all, whomst among us doesn’t love the idea of magic cats? Author Christian Bieck is here today to show us the result of his NaNoWriMo creation, A Basquet of Cats.

CHRISTIAN BIECK:

At some point early in their writing journey, every writer learns that a good way to start a story is by having an interesting what-if. So one day a few years ago I asked my family, “What if cats had magic?”

“That’s not a what-if,” our son said. He’s a walking encyclopedia, and generally knows what he’s talking about. “Cats do have magic. They can turn invisible.”

“Mrt?” Rex, our ginger tabby, said from behind me.

I turned to him; he was sitting on the back rest of the sofa. “Where did you suddenly come from?” I asked.

“And they have short-range teleportation abilities,” my wife said. 

“And some mind magic,” our son said.

Rex said nothing, but his smug look clearly told me I should have known that.

“I did know that,” I said to him. “So what do I do now?”

I’m going at this Big Idea essay all wrong, aren’t I? Let’s try again:

It all started with a family game of Microscope.

For the less nerdy among this blog’s readers, Microscope is a cooperative world-building/setting-creation game. Players create a fictional timeline, and then events and people within that timeline to any depth desired. Afterwards, you can jump in and roleplay a scene.

We set the game in an alternate Earth medieval France. And the “people” to cats—cats that have even more magic than our real-world ones. Our main character was the friend, companion, familiar, however you call it, of a human mage, the Archmage of France and Spain. (Mages obviously also existed at the time.) Other mages were visiting his tower with their own cat companions, and something happened to them: the first event. Now the cats had to find out what had happened. Murder mystery with cats!

We spent a pleasurable afternoon fleshing out the story, as it was, ending up with a stack of index cards, but without an answer to the question what happened to the mages. Didn’t matter, it was fun. That was in December 2019.

Fast forward to late October 2021. An online article reminded me of the annual writing event called National Novel Writing Month, a.k.a. NaNoWriMo, and on the spur of the moment, I decided to take up the challenge and restart my fiction writing after a ten year break. My first NaNo attempt in 2009 had been successful in that I did finish a novel, but less so in terms of quality of output. So around 2011, I had decided to put fiction writing on hiatus and focus on improving my craft through the non-fiction writing I was doing in my day job.

So, what to write for Nano 2021? What if I used that Microscope game as a basis for my novel? What if, on top of their normal, natural magic, there were special cats with special skills? With mind-based magic, a magic that was quite different from that of human mages. And a mind-to-mind connection to said humans. And what if something happens to the main character’s mage, and the protagonist and his friends have to set it right?

I couldn’t find the index cards from the game anymore, but I didn’t really need them. I had my main characters and the inciting incident in my head; the beats in 3 disaster structure were quickly sketched out, and the story of A Basquet of Cats practically wrote itself. With the active help of Rex, and our female gray tabby Neko, who helpfully provided dialogue. (Have you ever had that thing where you look at the companion animals living with you, and comic-style speech bubbles pop up over their head, telling you exactly what they would be saying in that moment? No? I am sure John knows exactly what I mean . . .)

Okay, maybe “wrote itself” is a bit of an exaggeration, because even for a fantasy novel you need a (to naive me) surprising amount of research if your setting is alternate history Earth. What time exactly? (13th century, when Aquitaine was English.) How does the magic work? (No spoilers, just that Basque is the human language of magic, and “Abracadabra” in Basque is “Horrela izango da!”) How close to real cats are my cats? (Close. But they are cats, and that has consequences for the way they see the world. And how they behave. And communicate. And, and, and.) Do other animals feature? (Yes! But the PoVs are all cats!)

And then there was the question: for what audience was I writing Basquet? A story with animal protagonists feels like a kids’ book, so that was my starting point. I ended up writing a story that I would have wanted to read as a teenager, and be happy to re-read at any point later in life: an adventure story, a story of friendship, of responsibility, and of learning to value the good things in life and in relationships. My publisher calls it “For young adults and animal lovers of all ages”, and he’s exactly right.

I dream that Rex and Neko would also read and be pleased with the story.

(Full disclosure: I made up that dialogue at the beginning. But it could totally have happened that way; after all, real-life cats do have magic. Don’t they?) 


A Basquet of Cats: Amazon US|Barnes & Noble|Bookshop|Powell’s 

Author socials: Website|Bluesky|Linktree

Read an excerpt.

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Posted by John Scalzi

Old Man’s War. Art by John Harris

This is fabulous news: The entire Old Man’s War series, from OMW to The Shattering Peace, has been nominated for the Best Series Hugo this year. What a lovely accolade. Here is the entire category:

  • Emily Wilde by Heather Fawcett (Del Rey US; Orbit UK)
  • October Daye by Seanan McGuire (Tor US; DAW)
  • Old Man’s War by John Scalzi (Tor US; Tor UK)
  • The Chronicles of Osreth by Katherine Addison (Tor US; Solaris UK; Subterranean)
  • The Craft Wars by Max Gladstone (Tor; Tordotcom)
  • White Space by Elizabeth Bear (Saga Press; Gollancz)

And here is the full list of finalists for this year. In my category as well as in others are writers and editors and artists and others who I like and admire. This is an excellent year for the Hugos, and I’m delighted to be part of it.

Also, yes, I will be attending Worldcon this year. In addition to anything else, I am DJing a dance!

— JS

2: City of Death - v

2026-Apr-21, Tuesday 15:20
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Posted by Unknown

Everyone knows what Doctor Who is like: monsters in rubber suits, cardboard sets, impenetrable techno babble, over-acting thespians. When Lenny Henry and Victoria Wood parodied the show; and when Rowan Atkinson fronted an affectionate tribute, that’s was what they made fun of. Even David Tennant’s appearance on Extras seemed to default to that universe.

But one in three of the adult population of the UK had seen City of Death. And whatever you say about City of Death, it is nothing like that. Why did Doctor Who not fixate itself in the public consciousness as a witty, self-knowing concept-heavy, but by no means ridiculous piece of character driven TV clearly intended to appeal to adults as well as children.

There is a moment in the 1970s when Marvel Comics were being written by a cohort of excellent writers who had grown up reading Stan Lee but were now quite clearly done with superheroes. They told the stories they wanted to tell: drugs and Viet Nam and social issues and Dylanesque psychedelia or just plain melodramatic soap opera: they put silly men with spandex suits and capes and masks into them because that was what they were paid to do. And superhero fans read them and only saw the superheroes and said that these were the best superhero comics they had ever read.

I do not say that Doctor Who ever quite reached that point. But I don’t think that Fisher or Adams or Williams had quite the attachment to spaceships and aliens and are-the-going-to-be-any old monsters that the fans had. Neither did Tom Baker.

So City of Death feels like a gradual unmasking, even a strip-tease; a Doctor Who story modestly covered with something which is not a Doctor Who story; something which is not a Doctor Who story that keeps turning into one for contractual reasons.

And the fans look and they see a Doctor Who story. According to Doctor Who Monthly, City of Death is the third best story of the original run, after Genesis of the Daleks and (inexplicably) Caves of Androzani. But the sixteen million…perhaps, in the end they felt cheated. They had been led up a garden path at the end of which the witty art dealing toff turns out to be an other one of the those rubbery aliens, and the art forgery story is a ruse to get us onto a cardboard cutout version of the primeval earth.

Aha, they said, this is what Doctor Who was always like. Next week, Lalla Ward will be over-acting at Fagin in furs and Tom Baker will be cracking jokes at a tentacle that can’t help looking like an enormous green willy. Of course Mind Your Language looked like the better bet.

“This isn’t Doctor Who….This isn’t Doctor Who… This isn’t Doctor Who….Okay, fooled you, this is Doctor Who.”

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Posted by John Scalzi

The Astra Awards are an award given out by the Hollywood Creative Alliance, and in previous years have been primarily for film and television, but this year they have branched out into books as well, across seventeen categories including Best Science Fiction Novel. And what do you know, in this inaugural year for the book awards, When the Moon Hits Your Eye was the winner. I am, of course absolutely delighted.

The awards were livestreamed, which I have posted above, and you can see my acceptance speech starting at 28:56 (if you don’t want to watch the whole thing, the full list of finalists and winners is available here). In my speech I specifically thank my editors Patrick Nielsen Hayden and Mal Frazier, as well as my agent Ethan Ellenberg and my manager Joel Gotler, but also generally everyone who worked on the book up and down the production chain. There would be no book without their work.

In any event, how cool is this? It’s made my day. Winning awards is fun.

— JS

Occasional paper: Inconstant moon

2026-Apr-20, Monday 21:46
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Posted by Doug Muir

I said a while back that nobody’s going to Mars any time soon. Which is true. But that doesn’t mean Mars isn’t interesting! Mars is very interesting.

Orange-brown globe with white snow caps
So today’s paper is about Mars.  Okay, it’s about a moon of Mars. 

TLDR: one of Mars’ moons may periodically tear itself apart, turn into a system of rings around the planet, and then put itself back together.


You may recall that Mars has two small moons, Deimos and Phobos.  Emphasis on small; they’re about 12 km and 20 km across, respectively.  They’re so small that their weak gravity doesn’t pull them into spheres.  They’re both irregular lumps, vaguely potato-shaped.

undefined

Now we have to take a step back and talk a little bit about the physics of moons.

You’ve probably heard of geosynchronous orbits. There’s a particular distance from the Earth — it’s about 40,000 kilometers — where a satellite will take exactly 24 hours to complete one orbit.  Mars rotates much like Earth, so there are geosynchronous (1) orbits around Mars too.

So an interesting fact about moons: if a moon orbits above geosynchronous orbit, it will tend to very slowly spiral outwards, raising its orbit and moving further away from its planet.  (2) (“Very slowly” here means over billions of years.)  Our own Moon is doing this, drifting away a few centimeters per year.  Contrariwise, if a moon orbits /below/ geosynchronous orbit, it will tend to spiral /inward/, gradually getting closer to its planet.

Furthermore: the speed with which a moon’s orbit changes depends on the distance from the planet.  So if a moon is drifting outwards, that drift will gradually become slower as it gets further away.  It will never stop entirely, but it will slow down so much that the moon’s orbit will be stable over astronomical time — billions or tens of billions of years. 

But if a moon is drifting inwards?  Then as its orbit gets lower, the inward drift will accelerate, lowering the orbit even faster.  It’s a positive feedback loop.  Which is not going to end well for the moon.

“Hm,” you may ask yourself, “so if close-in moons tend to spiral inwards towards the planet, faster and faster… there probably aren’t a lot of close-in moons?”  And that’s exactly right!  There are (at the moment) 467 known moons in the Solar System.  Only six of them are below their planet’s geosynchronous orbit.

So what happens as a moon spirals inward?  Does it crash into the planet? 

As it turns out, no.  When a moon gets too close to its planet, tidal forces begin to tear the moon apart.  The point where this happens is called the “Roche Limit“, and it’s not a fixed distance — it depends on a bunch of things like the size of the planet, size of the moon, density of the moon, and what the moon is made of.  But wherever it is, if a moon hits the Roche limit, well…

undefined
[don’t stand]

undefined

[don’t stand so]

undefined
[don’t stand so]

[close to me]

The moon gets torn to shreds, and the shreds form rings.  This is (we think) how planets get rings around them.  Current thinking is that Saturn’s rings, for instance, probably originated with a now-extinct moon with the excellent name of Chrysalis.

undefined

[and Saturn throws in that crazy hexagon at its north pole, just to flex]

Okay, so back to Phobos.  Phobos is orbiting about 2.7 Martian radii from the center of Mars.  The Roche limit for a solid object is about 1.6 radii.  It’s expected that Phobos will hit that limit in about 40 million years, give or take.  It will then be pulled apart and destroyed.  And Mars will get a lovely set of rings!

Which, okay, but…  the Solar System is about 4.5 billion years old.  Phobos is scheduled for destruction in 40 million years.  That’s less than one percent of the lifetime of the Solar System.  Isn’t it a bit of a coincidence that we should be seeing Phobos right now, just as it’s starting its death spiral?  

(It’s true that we’re seeing a couple of other moons doing this at Jupiter and Neptune.  But those are giant planets that have ridiculous numbers of moons — Jupiter has over 100.  And their gravitational fields are so large and strong that they regularly capture new moons from wandering asteroids and such.  So a moon in a decaying orbit around Jupiter is not exactly a surprise.)

But okay, so Mars will have rings one day.   Here’s a thing about rings: they don’t last.  Over geological time, they tend to widen, spreading inwards and outwards. (3)

Eventually, the innermost ring particles hit the planet’s atmosphere and either burn up or crash.  Meanwhile the outermost ring particles drift outwards until the ring is attenuated into nothing.  This process can be delayed or complicated by the presence of other moons — Saturn famously has a bunch of “shepherd moons” constraining its rings — but the  point here is, rings don’t last forever.

Lord of the Rings Return of the King (2003) Ending Scene - Destroy Ring ...
[well, they don’t]

So a while back someone had a crazy idea:  what if, after Phobos breaks up into a ring, some of the ring particles disperse outwards and drift far enough from the Roche limit to re-coalesce?  Their mutual gravity would be very weak, sure.  But over millions of years, maybe they could gradually recombine into a new moon!  One outside the Roche limit! 

The new moon would be smaller, of course — at least half of Phobos’ mass would be lost.  But while Phobos is pretty small for a moon, it’s still about ten trillion tons.  Cut Phobos in half and you’ve still got a moon.

Alas, the math didn’t quite work.  Phobos’ Roche limit was too low.  Most of its mass would fall onto Mars.  Not enough ring material would climb high enough to form a new moon.

And there the matter rested for a bit, until this latest paper.  Which asks the question: well, what if Phobos isn’t a solid object?  What if it’s a rubble pile?

See, in the last little while we’ve been sending probes to asteroids.  And while asteroids all look pretty solid from a distance, when you get closer? Turns out a lot of them aren’t solid at all.  They’re just big floating piles of rocks sand and gravel, very loosely held together by weak gravity.

Grey asteroid

[everybody looks a bit rougher in close-up]

You remember the DART mission a little while back?  It’s when NASA blasted the hell out of a small asteroid, because it was cool.  I mean, sorry, because for planetary defense and also science.


[we tried negotiating with the so-called “moderate” asteroids]

Well, that impact didn’t just hit the small asteroid.  It literally blew half of it off into space.  Because that little asteroid was actually a rubble pile.  So the DART impact was a bit more… impactful, than expected.

Shotguns vs Watermelons! - Ballistic High-Speed
[pretty much this, yeah]

Which brings us back to today’s paper!  Because if asteroids can be rubble piles, why not small, asteroid-sized moons as well?  

And it turns out that if Phobos is a rubble pile, everything changes.  Because then the Roche Limit will be higher — further out from Mars.  Because it’s much easier to tear apart a rubble pile than a solid object, yes?  And if that’s the case, then Phobos will die sooner than we think, and the ring system that it produces will start higher, and will spread out further away from Mars.

And if that’s the case, then… suddenly the math works.  Enough ring material will be high enough to re-combine into a smaller moon well outside the Roche limit.  But that moon will still be sub-geosynchronous, so it will start spiraling inwards again.  And so, over tens to hundreds of millions of years, the cycle will repeat. 

It won’t be able to repeat forever, because Phoenix Phobos will be smaller every time.  Eventually there won’t be enough ring material to produce a moon.  But it could potentially continue for several more cycles.

Paul Muad’Dib's Gif on X

And extending it backwards into the past… yeah.  Maybe Phobos used to be a lot bigger!  But maybe it’s been through several cycles already.  Spiral inwards, hit the Roche Limit, break up into rings… rings spread out, inner part falls onto Mars, outer part recombines into a new, smaller version of Phobos… this could have been going on for a while now.  And you’ll notice that this solves the “why are we seeing Phobos just as it’s dying” question.  It’s not actually dying!  Sometimes Mars has two moons; sometimes it has one moon, and a pretty ring system. 

If the dinosaurs had owned telescopes, they could have seen rings around Mars.  Whatever intelligence inhabits Earth in 50 million AD (4) may see rings around Mars. Us?  We just happen to be catching Mars and Phobos at this particular point in their cycle. 

But wait!  As a bonus… remember Deimos?  The other, more distant moon?  Well, if the rubble pile model is correct, then some ring material might eventually be captured by Deimos.  So while Phobos would get smaller with every cycle, Deimos would get a little bit bigger.  And also, Deimos should be covered in a thick layer of Phobos material.

Okay!  Cool theory. 

Is it true?

Well, we don’t know.  But we might know pretty soon.  

JAXA, the Japanese space agency, is planning to send a probe to Phobos.  It’s scheduled to launch in the next Mars launch window, which is in November-December 2026.  That would bring it to Mars orbit by September 2027, give or take.  JAXA has only a fraction of NASA’s budget, but they have a pretty good track record of successfully sending probes to do cool science in space.  Their Phobos probe will orbit Phobos, scan it with a bunch of instruments, and drop a rover onto the moon’s surface.  Then it will swing in close and take a bite out of Phobos’ surface for a sample return to Earth.  And then for an encore, on its way out the door, it will do a close flyby of Deimos as well.

MMX - Martian Moons eXploration
[unironically, fingers crossed for this]

So — if all goes well — we’re going to learn much, much more about the moons of Mars.  And we could have an answer to the “rubble pile or solid” question in the next couple of years.

And if the sample return succeeds… well, we’d have some stuff from another world, which is astonishing enough by itself.  But not just any stuff.  It would probably look like a handful of sand and gravel.  But it might be sand and gravel that has spent the last couple of billion years cycling between being part of a moon, then part of a ring system around Mars, and then part of a moon again.  

And that’s all.

(1) don’t be that guy
(2) because reasons
(3) because reasons 
(4) probably raccoons.

The Big Idea: Dan Rice

2026-Apr-20, Monday 16:49
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Posted by Athena Scalzi

When we explore our minds, our thoughts, and who we are as a person, we don’t always like what we find. Author Dan Rice takes a deep dive into the idea of accepting one’s true self, even if some facets are uglier than others. Grab a mirror for some self-reflection and follow along in the Big Idea for his newest novel, The Bane of Dragons.

DAN RICE:

Sometimes you have to go down the rabbit hole.

The challenge I faced when writing The Bane of Dragons was to send Allison on an adventure with a climax that ended her story and the series with a bang instead of a fizzle. Luckily, Allison had rabbit holes to go down, one that she had explored many times before and another she had only ever gazed upon.

The rabbit hole Allison spends much time spelunking is her inner self. In those dark tunnels she wrestled with, negotiated with, and sometimes was defeated by her literal internal monster that always pined for escape and to supplant her. This device provides ample ongoing conflict throughout the series after the monster wakes up in the first book, Dragons Walk Among Us. Allison’s titanic clashes with her inner monster, which she comes to understand is another facet of herself, mirrors the struggles young adults face as they pass from adolescence to adulthood, albeit in dramatic and often bloody fashion.

The other rabbit hole Allison must explore is the slipstream, described as a superhighway through the multiverse. Since encountering this pathway to alternate dimensions in the first book, she has dreamed of traveling it, and, while both sleeping and awake, has been commanded by a stentorian voice to enter the slipstream. It is something she both yearns for and fears. In The Bane of Dragons, it’s a yearning she must give in to and a fear she must face. The only way to protect everyone she loves is to travel the slipstream and discover exactly what’s waiting for her on the other side.

What Allison and her motley companions discover are strange worlds and monstrous aliens. They are captured by angry, terrestrial octopi, whom they attempt to negotiate with, with nebulous results. Instead of taking the fight to the monsters threatening Earth, Allison is handed over as a prisoner to her nemesis, General Bane. But not all is what it seems on the surface, and even the deadly General Bane, with whom Allison shares a kinship by way of her inner monster, is a prisoner of sorts, pining for freedom.

To free Bane and hopefully protect everyone she loves, Allison must finally come to ultimate terms with her inner monster. In the end, that means looking into the mirror and accepting herself, both the human and the monster with its fangs and claws and transgressive desires. Only by becoming one with her monster can she communicate to Bane and others like him how to break the bonds that hold them.

Just like in real life, young adult characters sometimes need to go down the rabbit holes, both those that spark curiosity and those that cause dread. It’s the only way to learn, mature, and find self-acceptance.

—-

The Bane of Dragons: Amazon|Barnes & Noble|Books-A-Million

Author socials: Website|Facebook

3: City of Death - iv

2026-Apr-20, Monday 16:05
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Posted by Unknown

So: Scaroth is going to travel back in time and prevent the explosion that shattered him into twelve fragments and marooned him on earth. If he succeeds, all human history will be erased and life on earth will simply never have existed.

The Doctor, Romana and Duggan run across Paris, looking singularly unworried. Romana smiles, the Doctor holds her hand. Failing to get a taxi, the Doctor cries out “Does no one care about history?”

The TARDIS is parked in an art gallery. The TARDIS is parked in an art gallery purely to facilitate this scene. I had always assumed the gallery in question was the Louvre, but in fact, we see the exterior of the Denise René  -- which is all about modern, abstract art.

Our heroes run to the Ship. The bystanders continue to shrug. And at that moment; when the stakes have never been higher...

We pause for a celebrity cameo. 


In 1977 there had been a rather concocted controversy about Tate Gallery’s spending a great deal of public money on a minimalist installation, consisting of a pile of bricks and nothing else. It was sufficiently big news that John Craven covered it. The young lad in Children of the Stones threatens to sell the wreckage of his bike to the Tate Gallery. Even today the word "pileofbricks" is sometimes invoked by the kinds of people who think that Western Civilisation has been in permanent decline since the death of  Michelangelo.

As our heroes jump into the TARDIS, we hear a snippet of conversation between two connoisseurs who have mistaken it for a piece of modern art. One of them takes an essentially formalist line:

“Divorced from its function and seen purely as a piece of art, its structure of line and colour is curiously counterpointed by the redundant vestiges of its function."

But the other is more interested in it conceptually:

“And since it has no call to be here, the art lies in the fact that it is here.”

These would both have been perfectly sensible comments to have made about, say Equivalent VIII (the pile of bricks) or Fountain (the urinal). Either you are looking at the shape of the object: paying attention to what it looks like in a new way because of the new context. Or else you are amused by the paradox of something which is not art being exhibited as if it were.

But these perfectly sensible comments are being made by JOHN CLEESE, one of the most recognisable actors on British TV. Many people say that they find him funny even when he isn't doing anything particularly amusing. I used to think that the scene was hurriedly added to the script when it turned out that Cleese was filming Fawlty Towers in a nearby studio and was game for a laugh: but in fact the cameo had always been part of the script, with a number of celebrities in the frame. Because BASIL FAWLTY is speaking the words, we are apt to regard them as intrinsically ludicrous. But I wonder how we would have read the scene if it had been Alan Bennett or Jonathan Miller in the role?

When the Doctor went to the Louvre, he said that the Mona Lisa was one of the greatest treasures in the universe; when he finds out that people are plotting to steal it, he says innocently that it is a very pretty painting. Duggan tells him that there are at least seven millionaires who would buy a stolen Mona Lisa even though they could never show it to anyone -- as a "very expensive gloat". 

Scaroth has forced or persuaded Leonardo to make multiple copies of the picture. Presumably, all seven paintings are equally "pretty" -- as, indeed, would be any high quality reproduction. But the men on Duggan's list are only incidentally interested in its prettiness: what they attach a monetary value to is its rareness and authenticity -- not to look at, but to have. The existence of multiple copies put the whole notion of “authenticity” into question. Would the art collector view each painting as equally valuable because Leonardo painted all of them? Or are they all equally worthless since none of them are unique? [1]  In the event, all the paintings but one are destroyed: but the surviving portrait, which is returned to the Louvre, is one of the ones on which the Doctor wrote the words “this is a fake” at the time of Leonardo. So it is simultaneously an obvious fake and quite definitely authentic. The Doctor sticks to his original position: it makes no difference because the whole point of art is to look at it.

Romana, without realising it, blows the whole argument out of the water. On Gallifrey, art is produced by computers. (In Invasion of Time and Deadly Assassin, the Time Lords have quite a lot of very ornate upholstery, but little representative art.) The Doctor would presumably say that art counts as art if it is pretty, but not otherwise: we can reserve judgement on whether a computer could ever in fact create something as pretty as the Mona Lisa. This would also be Elenor Bron's view: Time Lord art would have value if it had the formal properties of art. To Scarlioni's customers, such art, however pretty, would be infinitely reproducible and therefore completely valueless. But on John Cleese's view, it would become art once we put in an art gallery and treated it as art. 

The last thing we see is Duggan buying a postcard reproduction of the Mona Lisa: and we are left asking — what is the status of this cheap, mass produced, piece of cardboard? 

Doctor Who was ostensibly a children's show. Did Adams or Williams envisages children discussing the nature of art in the playground on Monday morning? Or were they intended to say, in effect "Here are a couple of silly grown ups talking complete gibberish -- which is, after all, what all modern art and all art criticism really is?" Is it intrinsically funny that anyone should talk in an informed way about modern art, or about any art at all? Or perhaps the thought was that we would be so busy saying "Hey -- isn't that Basil Fawlty"  that we wouldn't notice what was actually being said. 

Did Williams or Fisher or Adams realise that City of Death offered a pre-emptive debate about the validity of AI artwork? Perhaps not: but the interruption of an end-of-the-world space opera by an irrelevant pair of art aficionados is a clever piece of construction. The scene has no call to be there: the art lies in the fact that it is there.


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