Behaviorism strikes me as an awfully cynical view of human nature: We run the maze because we’re paid to, or because we fear the consequences if we don’t. But, on the other hand, I’ve often wondered whether Freud himself believed, as so many of his followers seemed to, that every human action is the result of some hidden compulsion. I wondered whether some people might not simply choose values and conduct themselves in accordance with them. Or was that too naive? I remember my Political Science professor, Dr. Hotz, cautioning the class never to place too much trust in any system which relied heavily on the rationality of the human animal for its operation. He refused to guess as to the exact nature and extent of human irrationality. Just being aware of its existence is sufficient, he’d once told me. It was obviously there, though, I later came to realize, as humanity’s collective
suki
.
* * *
I was impressed by Noel Pertin’s book,
Giving Up the Gun
(“Japan’s Reversion to the Sword, 1543-1879”), wherein he tells of firearms first being introduced into that country in 1543 and during the next thirty-some years pretty much replacing the sword save for a few die-hard samurai. But this produced a reaction, when the warlords realized that they could spend years training great fighting men and then have them shot down by someone who’d learned only how to aim and fire, before the warriors could even close with them. So, the last engagement of the period in which firearms played a major role was the Shimabara Rebellion in 1637, wherein Christianity lost its last chance for success in that country. Afterward, the warlords licensed all of the gunmakers, regulated and purchased their total output, and locked the weapons up in warehouses; and the samurai went back to fencing, the monks to making arrows, the smiths to armoring. Firearms were then used only for hunting and display. It wasn’t until the breaking of the samurai in the Satsuma Rebellion in the late 1870s that firearms came back—this time to stay—well over two centuries later. The author makes no overt comparisons concerning this and any voluntary abandonment of nuclear weapons; he simply describes what once happened, resulting in a culture’s putting aside a form of military technology.
But never place too much trust in any system which relies… I am reminded by memories of my Morgenthau-trained mentor. And there are plenty of holes to be found in attempted comparisons of one culture with another.
I do find stories like this fascinating, though, possibly only because I’m a technology junkie. The Greeks had an aeoliple, a rotating steam-powered novelty machine. With that technology, they could easily have learned to distill wine and make brandy, adding to the amenities (not to be confused with the Eumenides), but look how long the wait for spirits really was. The interaction of technology and society is one of the fascinations science fiction has always held for me. Even if there are no easy answers.
While doing push hands with a friend a while back I gave a very liberal answer to a political question he’d asked me, and it made me think of something much more general.
People have told me that they can’t tell my politics from my stories. The reason is something that probably smacks of perversity, save that I was the way that I am long before I’d thought it through: When the country’s political climate is conservative I tend to grow liberal. When it swings the other way I find myself feeling more conservative. This goes back to a basic mistrust of extremes. I don’t know whether, ultimately, this makes me radical or extremely conservative. More likely, it shows me as being basically mistrustful of both government and the temper of the times in general. I am aware of a somewhat paranoid element in my makeup when it comes to anyone or anything capable of exercising power over me. Whether this reaction is push-pull or turning, it is hard to say. Whether it is hard style or soft style depends upon how active, and in what ways, I choose to become on any matter. I mistrust principles, too, and tend to stick to values. That is as close as I can come to a principle.
“Aikido is purely defensive,” Phil told me one day, as yellow and gold cottonwood leaves blew by us in the park, “teaching one to respond to aggression. But when does an attack really begin? When the other person takes a swing at you? Or when that person forms the intent to do so? Are there ways of detecting this intent before it becomes action?”
“If you’ve got an example, please give it to me,” I said.
“I once worked in a hospital,” he responded, “where a patient who seemed disturbed cursed me and began moving toward me while we were waiting for an elevator. That might be taken as an intent to attack.”
“What did you do?” I asked.
“I raised my hands before me,” he said, “and I smiled.”
“And the man?”
“He changed his mind. Maybe it was the hands. Maybe it was the smile.”
I read
A Brief History of Time
by Stephen Hawking a while back, because I feel obliged to read popular books in this area when written by anyone with such impressive credentials. While most of the book summarized general matters familiar to everyone who writes science fiction, the final chapters, which gave his cosmological thinking, were of interest. Even more interesting, however, was the man’s triumph of sorts over that terrible wasting disease, amyotrophic lateral sclerosis (ALS)—Lou Gehrig’s disease—which, while it racked his body, did not stop his mind in its turning through time, space, gravitation, from the quantum to the relativistic, in search of unities. In
Neuro
(“Life on the Frontlines of Brain Surgery and Neurological Medicine”), author David Noonan says:
…[I]t is generally recognized that ALS has three different rates of progression: the typical rate, in which the patient survives two to three years; an accelerated rate, in which death occurs in a matter of months or even weeks; and a very slow rate, in which the patient survives for ten years, twenty years, or even longer.
One doesn’t know whether to bless or curse in a case like Dr. Hawking’s. One can but wonder at the warrior heart that continues to face the cosmos down that slow rate, working, working for maximum understanding, unable to push-pull or reject his own accelerated entropy, able only to turn, between riddles personal and universal.
“Once some guys attacked me on the street,” Phil said one chilly evening after class as we pulled on street clothes and gathered our gear at the picnic table. “One of them threw a Coke bottle. I blocked automatically. The bottle shattered against my left forearm—still a few slivers in there—and the pieces flew off to the side. It was rather spectacular. I must have looked as if I knew what I was doing, because they backed off.”
“Sounds like rejecting the attack rather than turning with it,” I suggested.
“Yes, it was,” he agreed. “Everything you know in the martial arts eventually flows together. What you’re left with is your own style. You will do what is most appropriate.”
Phil died on Monday, February 26, 1990, of amyotrophic lateral sclerosis, at the typical rate. It had eroded him for about two years. He turned with it, embracing the attacks and putting forth the best responses he could to each of its grapplings, with his own diminishing energies. He did block and punch, too; he did push and pull. But he had no choice but to enter its universe, to play by its rules. I taught his classes, under his guidance, during that time—and later by general consent of the class itself when he was no longer able to come in, periodically reporting back to him by telephone and seeking advice. I continued the teaching for several years after that, also.
He was buried in Santa Fe, New Mexico, on Thursday, March 1. He was survived by an amazing lady, Karen, a lovely daughter from a previous marriage, Carissa, and by all of those whom he had taught. Leroy Yerxa, Jr., Jamfi Corley (herself an aikido, kenjutsu, and aikijutsu
sensei
), Claudia Hallowell, and I were at the service and the graveside with the family. Donna Lubell (a karate
sensei
) was there in spirit, as were some of the others I could not reach in time, or who could not travel the distance.
In the 1990s Zelazny wrote an autobiographical essay “Aikido Black”; the title refers to the black belt he earned in aikido. Jane Lindskold quoted from it in her book
Roger Zelazny
(Twayne, 1993). Zelazny used excerpts from it in creating this introduction to his 1995 anthology
Warriors of Blood and Dream
. The full manuscript of his autobiography remains unpublished and in a private collection.
Various martial arts clothing (
hakama, gi
) and techniques (
munetski,
silat, capoeira, etc.) are mentioned in the article but will not be defined here. Hans Joachim
Morgenthau
did pioneering work in international relations theory, diplomacy, and political realism.
Zelazny said repeatedly that he did not want anyone else to write in the Amber universe. In a 1991 interview he said, “I don’t like the idea of anyone else getting their hands on the material so I’m not going to [allow it]. The closest I came was, I permitted two children’s books, choose your own adventure type things, to be written using Amber material with the understanding that the person who did the writing would not change my characters in any way and wouldn’t do anything that would damage the narrative line and move the story, that sort of thing. That was all, but apart from that I wouldn’t want to get into anything that I felt would change the universe.”
[1]
Soon after, Zelazny authorized a second exception:
Amberzine
, limited to 1,000 copies per issue, showcasing fan fiction that had to be confined to retellings of Amber role-playing campaigns. Zelazny insisted on limited distribution and the rule about fan fiction to protect his copyright. However, this made little difference to the reader since these “campaign accounts” appeared as stories—often alongside Zelazny’s own Amber short stories—and the writers never had to certify that they had based their creations on role-playing events.
Zelazny reiterated his wishes in interviews, to friends, and colleagues (Neil Gaiman, George R. R. Martin, Walter Jon Williams, Steven Brust, and others)
[2-5]
but his will did not forbid other writers’ working in the Amber universe. Moreover, although he separated from his wife a year before his death, he did not alter any plans for his Estate. After he died, these circumstances allowed others to write about Amber. Despite the objections of Zelazny’s friends and colleagues
[2-4]
his Estate authorized John Betancourt to write a series of Amber prequel novels. Beginning in 2001, four novels appeared and reached bestseller lists. Then publisher Byron Preiss died; his company ibooks went bankrupt, and Betancourt never wrote the contracted final installment,
Sword of Chaos
. John Colby/Brick Tower Press purchased the rights to the Amber prequels, but Betancourt said that disagreements and lack of communication among himself, the Estate, and the publisher killed the final book.
[6]
Zelazny’s son Trent said, “I was horrified when I found out. I knew my father never wanted any more Amber books written. George R. R. Martin called me and gave me the news… If I’d had say in the matter, I would have turned it down. If I’d had say, but the books were going to be done anyway, I would have wanted a far more accomplished writer. Bob Silverberg or Philip José Farmer or someone like that. I had no say in the matter, however, and I will never read them.”
[7]
Nine Princes in Amber
continued to resurface as a potential motion picture. Zelazny told an interviewer that someone who used to work for 20th Century Fox had announced at the 1991 Cannes Film Festival a forthcoming Amber movie, encompassing the first two books. This unnamed company did not want Zelazny to write the screenplay.
[1]
In 1998 and 1999, Warner Bros. announced
Nine Princes in Amber
to be written by Ed Neumeier (
Robocop
,
Starship Troopers
) and co-produced by Akiva Goldsman (
Batman Forever
) and Mark Canton.
[8-9]
However, neither project ever materialized. Warner Bros. continues to hold rights to the title
Nine Princes in Amber
, and its domain names (
www.nineprincesinamber.com
or
www.9princesinamber.com
) redirect to the Warner Bros.’ website. The Sci Fi (now Syfy) Channel announced in 2002 a 4-hour Amber mini-series written by Richard Christian Matheson (and
SciFiWeekly
later published an interview with him about it),
[10-11]
but that miniseries has not emerged. Trent Zelazny confirmed that various Zelazny works remain under option for motion picture or television development, but details must remain confidential while negotiations continue.
[12]
In 1991 Zelazny perused a manuscript begun by Gardner Dozois and continued by George R. R. Martin. He mulled over joining them. “I got here a manuscript started by Gardner Dozois. Then George R. R. Martin picked it up, and I might take it from here and do that and just study, but that would be far off when I get some of these other things done. George is a very good friend of mine, he lives just a few miles from here.”
[1]
He eventually passed on it because he was too busy, and Martin forgot about Zelazny’s involvement.
[13]
Daniel Abraham joined Dozois and Martin to complete the novella “Shadow Twin,” later expanded into
Hunter’s Run
.
Zelazny’s 1989 encounter with Robert Sheckley at a party given by Kirby McCauley prompted a discussion about collaboration. By 1991 McCauley was agent for both authors, and he encouraged them, noting the pair’s facility with humor. Zelazny said, “I’d always been very interested in [Sheckley’s] brand of humor which is really off the wall and bizarre. It was our agent who brought us together by suggesting he could get us a pretty good contract to do three books together. So we talked it over and said ‘Okay.’ Robert pointed out that he was not good at outlining, but I’d learned so much from Fred that I said, ‘I’ll run a bunch of ideas by you, you find the ones you like best, grab the top one, I’ll outline it, you write it in quick draft, I’ll rewrite it.’ And that’s what we did.”
[14]