Sign up for my newsletter to receive news and updates!

Posts Tagged ‘research’

Anthropological Warning Signs and How to Spot Them

I’m engaged in research mode right now for the second book of Isabella’s memoirs. But this isn’t the focused, targeted research of the Onyx Court series, where I know my time and place and am looking for details; I’m trying to decide what time(s) and place(s) I’m going to be drawing from to begin with. Since the general sphere of this second book is going to be “sub-Saharan Africa,” that means doing a fair bit of 101-level familiarization, before I decide where to dig down further.

One of the books I just read had me rolling my eyes at certain obvious flaws, and I figured that when I write up my “books read” post in a few weeks, I’d dismiss it with a flippant sentence that would make teleidoplex and albionidaho laugh, and move on with my life. But then it occurred to me that the flaws I see as obvious actually may not be. I spent ten years in anthropology and related disciplines; I’m familiar with the ways in which anthropological writing can go wrong. Not everybody else is. And it might be useful for me to talk to more than just the anthropologists in my audience.

So here, with an illustrative example, is how to look critically at the genre. This isn’t in-depth technical stuff, where you need to know the region or the theory to spot where it’s going wrong; this is just critical thinking, of a mildly specialized sort. But the flaws are a type that can slip under the radar, if you’re not accustomed to them.

(more…)

more fun with Hebrew

What are the Hebrew words for “chosen” (or “elect” or anything else in that vein) and “temple” (as in Temple, comma, the)?

Any linguistic neepery concerning the triliteral roots for those words is welcome.

Almost missed it!

Gah. The sixteenth not only sneaked up on me this month; it almost sneaked past. But I ran over to SF Novelists and dashed off the next (and probably final) post in my “Research for Writers” series: Get Help.

Comment over there; no login needed, but if you’re a first-time commenter give me a little while to fish your comment out of the moderation queue.

Thanksgiving Advent, Day Thirteen: The (Forgiveness of the) Internets

‘Cause I, well, forgot to post yesterday. I remembered at one point during the afternoon, but I hadn’t yet picked a thing to post about, and then next thing I know it’s, well, now. (And I already did the meta “get out of jail free” thing with being thankful for days off. Clearly, weekends are hard.)

So I’m thankful that you all forgive me for missing a day. You do forgive me, right? Right???

To avoid totally copping out on this post, though, I’m going to be thankful for the internet more generally. I was talking with kniedzw the other night about signal to noise ratios in our current society, and he complained about internet searches: fifteen years ago he could go to Altavista or whatever and type in [some kind of techie query; I can’t remember what his example was] and turn up a useful tutorial on how to do that thing. Now he has to wade past various auto-generated SEO traps to get to the actual info. I conceded this may be true . . . but on the other hand, fifteen years ago I doubt Altavista could have pointed me at an online account of the exact route taken by Elizabeth I’s coronation procession. The Internet back then was a paradise for techie topics, maybe, but not so much for everything else.

These days, I may indeed have to wade past random crap — but the information is out there, so often it simply boggles me. I can, without leaving my office, look at a topographical map of the area around Dover Castle, or read back issues of the London Times, or get instructions on embroidery stitches. The sheer amount of info contained in Wikipedia alone is astronomical. When I try to imagine writing the Onyx Court series without the 2007-2010 Internet to help me out . . . well, actually, I try not to imagine that, since it leads to me curling up under my desk and wibbling. (I dunno. Maybe it would have been great, because I wouldn’t have had so much red meat to feed my obsessive tendencies.)

So I’m thankful for the Internet, and all its wonders.

You do forgive me, right?

The month, on SF Novelists…

Those who would like an insight into my research process should head over to the SF Novelists site, where I speak in defense of Wikipedia.

Usual drill: comments here are closed, go comment over there instead, no account required, but first-time commenters will have to be fished out of the moderation queue, so please be patient.

tonight’s random internet question

Abseiling/rappelling without mechanical aid (i.e. by wrapping the rope around your body): I’m guessing there is a high likelihood of bruises around your ribs or waist? Especially if you aren’t experienced?

Any other tidbits of information on that sort of thing are equally appreciated. Rope burns on the hands? Etc.

(Yes, I just sent Isabella over a cliff. It’s not the meanest thing I’ve done to her — but that will surprise no one.)

Fifty days!

The countdown continues. Today, I share with you my research photos from last year.

It is, as usual, only a tiny selection from the whole: 39 pictures, when I took somewhere between five hundred and a thousand. But a lot of those are blurry, terrible reference shots from inside dimly-lit museums, or placards reminding me what the next photo in the sequence is, or things that wouldn’t mean much to anybody but me. I chose these to give you a sense of some of the things, places, and people that are important in the novel, with a few tossed in for sheer aesthetic pleasure, and a couple more for nostalgia.

Plus a whole wodge of shots from the Natural History Museum, because the decoration in there really has to be seen to be believed.

The rest of my photos, including those from previous Onyx Court research trips, are here.

Books Read, April 2011

A longer list than March’s, but the post will be shorter, because the DWJ books have all been discussed elsewhere already.

(And while it may be a longer list, I’m not sure it amounts to more pages read. March included a Wheel of Time book, and a bunch of Bujold; April is lots of DWJ and two graphic novels. I won’t be surprised if this turns out to be more like my usual level, as opposed to January and February, where I was mainlining books like a woman who hadn’t read much fiction in, well, ages.)

Now let’s see if I can remember these . . . .

Natural History research

So, I mentioned before that I have a new series.

It will surprise nobody who’s been around for the Onyx Court books that I intend to do a bit of research. 🙂

NOT AS MUCH AS BEFORE. (Thank god.) But there are some things I want to read about, to get some good material for compost into my head, so this is the first of a couple of posts asking for recommendations.

The first topic up is, of course, the discipline of natural history. Can anybody recommend a good biography of Darwin, something that focuses on the fieldwork end of things? His education, the voyage of the Beagle, that kind of thing; I’m less concerned with what happened after he published his theories. Or books on other natural historians, or the development of the field. I’ve got a few things to read already, but knowing the internets, it’s entirely possible that somebody reading this post has a random love for the topic of nineteenth-century natural history, and knows exactly what I ought to be reading to understand it. If that’s you — or if it isn’t, but you know a couple of things you’d recommend — speak up in the comments.

If you’re not familiar with this topic at all, stay tuned; there will be other requests to come.

medical/law enforcement questions

Do psychiatric facilities generally fingerprint their patients?

If cops were to get hold of bloodstained clothing, how long would it take to run an analysis on the blood? And what information would that give? How about analyzing non-visible blood residue on a knife?

(I’m trying to clear some written-but-not-revised stories out of here.)

holy *shit*.

It’s boggling enough that for the first time since I started writing the Onyx Court series, there are photographs from (nearly) the period in which I’m writing.

Every so often, one of them hits me like a punch to the gut:

YOU USED TO BE ABLE TO SEE ST. PAUL’S CATHEDRAL.

I knew this, of course. There are all kinds of references, and even paintings, to how the churches of the City used to soar over everything around them, rather than being lost in the cracks. But holy shit. Not just the dome, not just the western towers, but the body of the church. Visible. In more than glimpses caught between the buildings that crowd around it.

Obviously this photo was taken from the roof of a nearby building (or else something in the vicinity of Blackfriars was decidedly taller than everything else around it). You can get semi-decent shots of the cathedral even now, if you could persuade one of the places at the top of Ludgate Hill to let you onto their roof. But nothing with this kind of sight-line and openness, because these days, too many buildings rise higher than the top of the cathedral steps.

It really is a window into the past. The late Victorian period — this photo was published circa 1891 or 1892 — but also more than a hundred years before then, ever since Wren built the new cathedral, because the buildings would have been mostly about that height. Paste in an image of old St. Paul’s, with or without spire, and you’ve got a good idea of what the area looked like centuries ago.

For a London-history geek like me, this just blows the top of my head off.

I love the questions I ask for research

I need some kind of yardstick by which to gauge the destructive potential of one stick of dynamite. Presuming it was jammed into a device built largely of sturdy wood nailed together, how large of a device could the dynamite effectively destroy? (For values of “destroy” that equal “render it completely inoperable, such that the thing can’t really be repaired.”)

I know that’s a very imprecise description, and I’ll be getting imprecise answers, but it would be nice to know if one stick would be enough to trash, say, a car-sized target, or more, or less.

Charles Babbage and the Devil

Maybe I don’t have enough brain to be sparing any for posting some of this stuff, but dangit, I want the change of pace.

So, Charles Babbage, who I mentioned last post. Difference Engine yeah yeah Analytical Engine sure we’ve all heard about those things. If you read 2D Goggles, you’ve also heard about his one-man war against street musicians, which is a bit less well-known.

Did you know that as a kid, he tried to summon the Devil?

True story, at least according to his autobiography (which is kind of this random string of anecdotes; he says at the beginning that everybody kept after him to write his memoirs or something, and this was the only way he could interest himself in the project). Apparently wee!Babbage began to doubt the existence of the Devil, because it just didn’t make sense to him. Nor did it to a lot of Victorians, for that matter, as they started to get all scientific about their religion and demand that it make rational sense. Anyway, wee!Babbage questioned the existence of the Devil, and then he thought about all those stories where Faustus or whoever summons Satan to make a pact with him, and so wee!Babbage decides to do the same thing — minus the pact. He’s not out to damn himself, people; he’s just conducting an experimental inquiry as to the existence or non-existence of the Devil. Failure to show won’t prove non-existence, of course, but if the Devil poofs into his magic circle, well. Wee!Babbage can thank him for his time and send him away, question answered and immortal soul secure. Surely God won’t hold a little Devil-summoning against him, not when it’s for Science!

I have no intention of writing a “Babbage made a secret pact with the Devil” story — though now that I think of it, “Babbage didn’t make a secret pact with the Devil and that’s why he was constantly pestered by street musicians” is kind of an entertaining concept — but that anecdote amused me. Almost as much as the one about how he and a friend used to sneak out of the dormitory of their boarding school late at night in order to go study. And when one of the other boys wanted to join him they said no, he couldn’t, because he would just want to play. Which led to hijinks involving the kid tying successively thicker bits of string between his thumb and the dormitory doorknob that wee!Babbage kept cutting with his pocketknife until the night the kid, determined to know when he was sneaking out, used a chain.

Wee!Babbage may have been a little crazy. It seems to have been endemic to the period.

Anyway, consider this the book report for Passages from the Life of a Philosopher, which mostly ended up being irrelevant to my research, but was an entertaining read.

Edited: Comments are now closed because of ridiculous ammounts of spam.

how obscure can I get . . .

. . . before the Elljays cannot answer a question for me?

I need help from somebody who has on hand a translation of the Black Book of Carmarthen that is NOT Skene’s. (Because apparently that one is very inaccurate?) There’s a specific poem I need, not too long, and it would be dandy if I could get it sooner than my next trip to Stanford’s library. Comment here, and I’ll drop you a message via e-mail with the name of the poem I’m after.

another question for the dog people

I know there are a lot of factors that will influence the answer to this question — dog breed, environmental conditions, etc — but as a generalized thing, how long after a trail is laid down can a dog follow it by scent?

revisiting high school chemistry class

My brain is tired, yo.

I just spent a chunk of time taking notes on a bunch of different early photographic techniques: daguerreotypes, calotypes, tintypes, ambrotypes, the wet-plate colliodion process, the dry-plate gelatin emulsion, albument prints, etc. My notes are a festival of chemical terms I haven’t used since high school: silver nitrate, potassium bromide, pyrogallic acid. And I’m not yet done; now that I have all this stuff noted down, I need to figure out just how I’m going to use it in the context of the story.

What I wonder — and what my sources don’t tell me — is the extent to which the proliferation of substances and techniques was guided by an understanding of the chemistry behind them, and to what extent it was simple trial and error. I wonder what happens if I add honey into the collodion to slow its drying? What if I add beer instead? The book I’m reading points out that these things are hygroscopic, but it doesn’t say whether that was a known characteristic at the time. I think it must have been, but maybe not; guncotton (a key element of collodion) was invented when a guy used his apron to mop up nitric acid, and then his apron exploded. (Not while he was wearing it, fortunately.) Knowledge of chemistry advanced remarkably between A Star Shall Fall and this book, but that doesn’t mean they weren’t still discovering things through sheer dumb chance.

(Skills I have acquired in the writing of this series: it occurred to me I could look up “hygroscopic” in the OED to get a sense of the term’s development. It doesn’t seem to have been used in quite that manner until 1875, a good decade after the experimentation with honey et. So while the quality itself may have been recognized, it wasn’t something they were talking about in those terms — not yet.)

It’s phenomenal, though, watching the speed with which technology developed. Not quite as fast as (say) digital photography has developed today, but still pretty amazing, given the tools they had to work with. And the results are amazing, too; there aren’t a lot of photographs I can use in researching the book — what I really want are London street scenes, and those are vastly outnumbered by a) portraits and b) cartes-de-visite of random foreign landmarks — but dude. There are photographs of my period. It’s the clearest sign I have of how this book stands on the threshold of the modern age.

re: the baptism post

Making a new post here because it’s easier than replying to everybody who brought up the same points.

Thanks for the input from everybody. I can’t give you the reason why my characters want a second baptism performed, as it would be too much of a plot spoiler, but the short form is that this is a fantasy novel; the reason for it is metaphysical, and can’t be solved by that character going to confession. You’ve given me what I need, though: the reason why baptism isn’t repeated, and then the conditional form that the priest would use once they convince him, against his better judgment, to do it. (I suppose I could have the characters perform the baptism themselves, but it loses a bit of that ritual and narrative oomph, which they would be very eager to have on their sides.)

So now I can write an argument about whether there’s any other power in the world capable of annulling the gift of God’s grace, and that was what I needed. Once I have the scene written, I’ll find somebody who knows the specifical historical Church practices to read it over for me and tell whether it works. (If any such person reads this post, do let me know; the scene takes place in 1884, post-Vatican I but pre-Vatican II.)

calling for Catholic help

To my Catholic readers, or anybody else familiar with the nuances of Catholic policy regarding baptism, especially nineteenth-century policy on same:

1) If an adult converts to Catholicism, do they receive a Catholic baptism? Is the answer to that question dependent at all upon whether they were previously baptized in a different Christian denomination? Does age affect it, and if so, what’s the cut-off point for different treatment?

2) If there were, for plot reasons, a character who had originally been baptized into the Catholic church, who really really needed to be re-baptized in the same tradition, how would the argument about that go? (As I understand it, re-baptism isn’t something that’s supposed to be done, but there’s an unusually compelling reason for it in this case; what I’m asking for is basically a run-down of the objections the priest would make, that my characters can then overcome.)

3) Does anybody have a handy link to the text for the baptismal rite Catholics used in the nineteenth century?

Interview with the Resurrectionist

Tell me if you think these words belong together: “Victorian,” “supernatural,” “grave-robber,” and “comedy.”

If the answer is “yes,” go rent I Sell the Dead. Arthur Blake (Dominic Monaghan) is a resurrectionist about to be executed for his crimes; Francis Duffy (Ron Perlman) is a priest who comes to interview him before his head gets chopped off. Blake tells the story of how, as a wee lad, he got into the body-snatching trade — and then how he and his mentor discovered the real money was in stealing the undead. Wacky hijinks ensue.

It’s a low-budget film that embraces its limitations and turns them into an aesthetic: lots of fog-filled shots with painted backdrops, occasional fades to cartoon sketches, that kind of thing. And, y’know, a fairly sick sense of humour. But you’ve already admitted you think a resurrectionist comedy sounds like a good idea, so there’s no point in pretending you aren’t going to laugh at the jokes.

I rented it in the name of research. There will be no grave-robbing in this novel, but if an Onyx Court body-snatcher story shows up at some point, you’ll know what source to blame.

the trials and tribulations of a writer’s life

I don’t suppose there’s anybody out there who’s read enough vulgar Victorian writing to tell me what the period equivalent would be for “fuck you”?

I might check the OED historical thesaurus the next time I go to Stanford, but I don’t necessarily expect to find an answer there. (The OED itself has “fuck you” starting in 1932, and “go fuck yourself” in 1895 — but that one’s distinctly an American quote.)

“Go to hell” is the obvious choice, but it’s one faerie talking to another, so I’d like to come up with something less theologically-based if I can. I have options, but if there’s some awesome Victorian phrase I could be using, please do let me know.