Gravity Wells (Short Stories Collection)

I should point out the story is substantially different from the play. For example, the play had none of the Vasudheva/Bhismu subplot. There are subjects that high schools prefer to avoid…

One last thing about 'The Reckoning of Gifts'—the story is science fiction. Science fiction. Just because the tale is dressed in fantasy clothing, just because the characters talk about gods and demons and dreams, don't automatically believe them. Science-fiction readers should know better.

'The Young Person's Guide to the Organism': The title comes from Benjamin Britten's The Young Person's Guide to the Orchestra or Variations and Fugue on a Theme by Purcell. This is a musical work written in 1945, designed to introduce children to the various instruments in a symphony orchestra.

Structurally, the piece starts with the entire orchestra playing a simple tune composed by Henry Purcell in the 1600s. Then each different instrument plays a variation on the tune, demonstrating the sound of the instrument, the range, something about playing technique, and so on. When Britten has finished taking apart the entire orchestra, he puts it back together again in a fugue that has all the instruments taking the melody line in the order they were first presented. Finally, while the fugue continues in the background, the brass section soars in with the original Purcell tune playing over top of the rest of the orchestra (which is still belting out the fugue).

If that sounds complicated when described in words, it's quite straightforward when you hear the music. You can probably find a recording of the piece at your local library—check it out and listen for yourself. Most recordings have narrators who explain what's going on throughout the music, so you won't have any trouble following the structure.

I followed the same structure in writing 'The Young Person's Guide to the Organism.' In my case, the initial 'theme' was one of science fiction's classics: First Contact. The story consists of a number of individual 'voices' describing their moment of contact with an enigmatic alien organism that drifts slowly through the solar system. Each of these individuals imposes his or her own interpretation on what the organism is—the organism serves as a blank slate on which personal concerns are projected. At the end of the story, in the fugue section, the individuals are brought together again for a climax, and then the original theme of First Contact comes back for the grand finale.

It's worth noting that 'Organism' tells the story of First Contact between humans and the League of Peoples. That makes it the foundation for all of the novels I've published so far.

'Three Hearings on the Existence of Snakes in the Human Bloodstream': It's seldom that I can actually trace the genesis of a story, but 'Three Hearings…' is an exception. The night of January 1, 1996, I couldn't sleep; and when I got out of bed to find something to do with myself, I happened to pick up a how-to-write-poetry book I'd been meaning to read. (There's this nagging voice in the back of my head that keeps saying, 'Jeez, I really should know something about poetry. And microbiology. And Chinese folklore.' That voice is why I keep writing science fiction instead of something respectable, like murder mysteries.)

Anyway, I opened the poetry book at random and found a short poem called 'The Oxen' by Thomas Hardy. The poem is based on a folk tradition that oxen supposedly kneel on Christmas Eve, just as they knelt before the baby Jesus on the first Christmas. Hardy wistfully thinks about the legend and says he would like someone to say to him, 'Let's go into the fields to see the oxen kneeling.' Even better, he'd like to see that they are kneeling. To me, the poem was about becoming tired of modern sophistication: nostalgically wishing for simplicity and simple proofs of faith.

This led me to think of a point in history where a simple article of faith was suddenly exposed as a lie. My notes say, 'Someone has invented a telescope or a microscope which shows the belief is not true; that person is pulled in front of the High Priest to judge his heresy. The High Priest is a sophisticated man and feels the symbolic truth is more important than the literal; but he knows that for some people, this tiny thing will undermine their faith.'

It's a stock situation in science fiction: the moment when science confronts religion. But then I decided things would be more interesting if, for some people, the microscope/telescope did confirm their simple faith. Some metaphoric claim of something in a person's blood…and with the poor quality of early microscopes, some people saw what their religion claimed would be there. Over the generations, those who did see something would intermarry with one another, tending to reinforce the trait within that population…

A pattern immediately presented itself: first Leeuwenhoek with the microscope; then Darwin explaining how selection processes emphasized the trait; and finally, a modern scientist who could lay out the whole situation with real chemistry. The parallels with Rh-positive and Rh-negative blood were just begging to be exploited…and the story wrote itself from there.

'Sense of Wonder': A while back, the editors of a proposed new sf magazine called Sense of Wonder sent mail-outs to various science-fiction writers, inviting us to submit stories. The editors wanted 'big' stories that worked on a cosmic scale, stories designed to evoke the famous 'sense of wonder' that many people believe is the heart of science fiction. The letter specifically mentioned Dyson spheres and other large-scale props of classic science fiction as examples of what the editors were looking for.

I certainly have nothing against Dyson spheres, ringworlds, and the like—I've read plenty of good stories that use such knick-knacks. However, I was feeling in a contrary mood the day I received the mail-out. My first response was 'Big stage props aren't what you need for sense of wonder. I'll show you sense of wonder!'

Which is why I wrote this little scene of two boys on a summer afternoon.

And why I wrote all the other stories in this book, too.

Jim Gardner

Kitchener, Ontario

July 29, 2004

Muffin Explains Teleology to the World at Large

TELEOLOGY [teli-oloji] n doctrine or belief that all things or actions are designed to achieve some end.

I told my kid sister Muffin this joke.

There was this orchestra, and they were playing music, and all the violins were bowing and moving their fingers, except for this one guy who just played the same note over and over again. Someone asked the guy why he wasn't playing like the others and he said, 'They're all looking for the note. I've found it.'

Muffin, who's only six, told me the joke wasn't funny if you understood teleology.

I never know where she gets words like that. I had to go look it up.

'Okay,' I said when I found her again, 'now I understand teleology. Why isn't the joke funny?'

'You'll find out next week,' she said.

I talked to Uncle Dave that night. He's in university and real smart, even though he's going to be a minister instead of something interesting. 'What's so great about teleology?' I said. He looked at me kind of weird, so I explained, 'Muffin's been talking about it.'

'So have my professors,' he said. 'It's, uhh, you know, God has a purpose for everything, even if we can't understand it. We're all heading toward some goal.'

'We took that in Sunday school,' I said.

'Well, Jamie, we go into it in a bit more detail.'

'Yeah, I guess.'

He was quiet for a bit, then asked, 'What's Muffin say about it?'

'Something big is happening next week.'

'Teleologically speaking?'

'That's what she says.'

Muffin was in the next room with her crayons. Uncle Dave called her in to talk and she showed him what she was working on. She'd colored Big Bird black. She has all these crayons and the only ones she ever uses are black and gray.

'What's happening next week?' Uncle Dave asked.

'It's a secret,' she said.

'Not even a hint?'

'No.'

'Little tiny hint? Please?'

She thought about it a minute, then whispered in his ear. After that, she giggled and ran upstairs.

'What did she say?' I asked.

'She told me we'd get where we're going.' He shrugged and made a face. We were both pretty used to Muffin saying things we didn't understand.

The next day I answered the front doorbell and found three guys wearing gray robes. They'd shaved their heads too.

'We are looking for her gloriousness,' one of them said with a little bow. He had an accent.

'Uh, Mom's gone down the block to get some bread,' I answered.

'It's okay,' Muffin said, coming from the TV room. 'They're here for me.'

All three of the men fell facedown on the porch, making a kind of high whining sound in their throats.

'You know these guys?' I asked.

'They're here to talk about teleology.'

'Well, take them into the backyard. Mom doesn't like people in the house when she's not here.'

'Okay.' She told the guys to get up and they followed her around the side of the house, talking in some foreign language.

When Mom got home, I told her what happened and she flat-out ran to the kitchen window to see what was going on. Muffin was sitting on the swing set and the guys were cross-legged on the ground in front of her, nodding their heads at every word she spoke. Mom took a deep breath, the way she does just before she yells at one of us, then stomped out the back door. I was sure she was going to shout at Muffin, but she bent over and talked quiet enough that I couldn't hear what she said. Muffin talked and Mom talked and one of the bald guys said something, and finally Mom came in all pale-looking.

'They want lemonade,' she said. 'Take them out some lemonade. And plastic glasses. I'm going to lie down.' Then Mom went upstairs.

I took out a pitcher of lemonade. When I got there, one of the bald guys got up to meet me and asked Muffin, 'Is this the boy?'

She said yes.

'Most wondrous, most wondrous!'

He put both hands on my shoulders as if he was going to hug me, but Muffin said, 'You'll spill the lemonade.' He let me go but kept staring at me with big weepy eyes.

'What's going on?' I asked.