“Of course, there were a lot of baboons in my stomach… to become a king!” King Mswati says at the beginning of this beautiful and fascinating film about the world’s last absolute monarchy. His country is at “a boiling point” as he becomes king. That was in 1986; it’s still just shy of boiling when Without the King picks up some 20 years later.

At the beginning of Without the King, King Mswati III of Swaziland has 12 wives and 22 children (his father had 110 wives and 250 children). By the end of the film, King Mswati has 13 wives and his daughter, Princess Sikhanyiso Dlamini, is bemoaning her fate. A new member of the family to adjust to! A new favorite to reckon with (“and she’s younger than me,” says the 18-year-old princess) while her own mother, the first wife, is on the outs.

Although Without the King is an indictment of the monarchy, Princess Sikhanyiso is the star of the film. She carries the film’s narrative: her changes are constructed to at least hint at hope for change in Swaziland. Princess Sikhanyiso is amusing and compelling and repulsively naïve of the situation of her father’s people. Her speech is a fascinating blend of Valley Girl (“My dad, he’s the king, right?”), Black English (she flows at rap early on but drops the beat in a pile of giggles), posh London, and something very close to South African. The latter is straight forward, as Swaziland is nestled up to South Africa; the rest come from MP3s, no doubt, as well as being educated in England and the U.S. (more…)

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Inspired by the photosynthesis performed by plants, [Daniel Nocera, the Henry Dreyfus Professor of Energy at MIT] and Matthew Kanan, a postdoctoral fellow in Nocera’s lab, have developed an unprecedented process that will allow the sun’s energy to be used to split water into hydrogen and oxygen gases. Later, the oxygen and hydrogen may be recombined inside a fuel cell, creating carbon-free electricity to power your house or your electric car, day or night.

“Solar power has always been a limited, far-off solution. Now we can seriously think about solar power as unlimited and soon,” Nocera said.

James Barber, a leader in the study of photosynthesis who was not involved in this research, called the discovery by Nocera and Kanan a “giant leap” toward generating clean, carbon-free energy on a massive scale.

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[Note: In “The Harrowing Highway,” part one of the DJ’s odyssey, he tries to ride the bus from Pullman to Spokane without being molested.]

I stumbled around the city of screams, determined to spend the two-hour layover somewhere other than the bus station. Riverfront Park looked inviting enough, so I explored it for a while and was solicited yet again - alas, only for spare change this time. Thank goodness. I called a friend who lived nearby, and worked even nearer. He agreed to meet up before going to work.

“Excellent,” I said, “I have a crazy story to tell you.”

That all went according to plan. He agreed that the tale I related was indeed unusual. We caught up until it was time to go our separate ways.

By this time, I figured, someone with a four-and-a-half-hour layover would have gotten the hell out of the bus station. And with only about twenty minutes left before my bus was supposed to arrive, I was sure I could return for the short wait without much chance of running into my new “friend.” I was partially right.

But what luck! We just so happened to cross paths again. Fortunately, she was just leaving the station. “I got hungry” she explained. Then she expressed her surprise at seeing me again. “I thought this was your stop and you’d be long gone.” I could only wish. (more…)

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Death of a Dutchman
Magdalen Nabb
220 pages
Soho Crime, Dec. 2007

When Magdalen Nabb died in August 2007, she left us with a dozen pieces of delightful brain candy: the Marshal Guarnaccia crime novels.

The Marshal is a low-level law enforcement officer in Florence. He doesn’t consider himself very bright—indeed, he thinks of himself as a consummate bumbler—but that’s precisely his strength, his lack of ego. Because he doesn’t jump to conclusions, as do his superiors who warrant their own intelligence, the Marshal is able to ask the questions that crack the case.

In Death of a Dutchman, the second Guarnaccia novel, a Dutch jewel dealer turns up dead in a flat in Florence. The Marshal’s superiors write the death off as an obvious suicide, but there’s nothing obvious about the case to the Marshal. To the contrary, he wonders at all the loose ends and partial clues that point not to suicide but to murder.

And who is the mysterious woman last seen with the Dutchman? As the Marshal follows this woman around the city of Florence, we are wrapped in what Nabb does best: drawing characters out of everything, people, buildings, parks. With a few deft strokes, she brings the city and its throng of people alive.

It’s a hot and muggy summer in Florence, and the twists of the case build as the Marshal pursues the woman through the twisting allies and crowded plazas. As a thunderstorm gathers on the surrounding hillside, illumination dawns on the Marshal, and the psychological depravity of the murder case cracks open.

Nabb’s lean and elegant prose doesn’t rely on flash and bling for excitement. She told stories the old fashioned way, by constructing an intricate plot and then letting it tighten its noose around the reader’s neck as the pages turn. Originally published in 1982, Death of a Dutchman has long been out of print. Kudos to Soho Crime for bringing back the series. Anyone who enjoys a sophisticated, literary crime story will love Nabb’s Marshal Guarnaccia series.

Originally published on Curled Up With A Good Book.

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Indeed, I want to instigate a write-in campaign: Nisi in the 7th on the Punctuation Party ticket. Anyone who can’t write a candidate statement with proper punctuation and without excessive use of capitals gets a vote of NO CONFIDENCE. As Nisi says, “Punctuation is sexy. People who can punctuate are sexier.”

Although he immediately gets a NO CONFIDENCE vote for numerous and glaring errors in punctuation, Washington gubernatorial candidate Javier O. Lopez makes an interesting claim:

“I have invented an air engine that has the power to operate an automobile while relying on air as its fuel source. Adoption of this technology would mean an end to reliance on fossil fuels, stopping carbon-monoxide emissions, pollution and global warming.” Sweet. How’s that work again?

Nisi thinks cynically that Mr. J-Lo’s air engine will prove to be nothing more newfangled than a sail affixed to the roof of your favorite hoopty. But she is aching to be proven wrong. (more…)

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As devout readers of just about everything that dares pass before our eyeballs, Nisi Shawl and I were talking about the recently arrived Washington Voters’ Guide. Surely a favorite of Puckleberry Houndsters nationwide for its audacious irrepressibility, this political season’s Voters’ Guide is blessed by candidates who write a finely deliquescent prose that, as perennially, includes ALL CAPS, abundant exclamation points, and a complete; disregard for the niceties of punctuation!

Indeed, as regards the latter, Nisi and I have established a bar over which any candidate must pass in order to win our support, to whit: an individual running for office sure as fuck better be able to punctuate a sentence. Or at least have the sense to consult a friend who does. And if the candidate doesn’t have such a friend, then we don’t want any part of him or her.

This season there are several candidates willing to serve as representative from Washington’s 7th District in the U.S. Congress. For sheer Nick Bottomish naiveté and go-forthness, it’s hard to beat Goodspaceguy Nelson. (more…)

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“The Jack Womack?” I asked. “Yes,” said Nisi. “He’s Gibson’s publicist, too.”

I devoured Womack’s novels in the ’90s as they were published. I’ve been waiting for a new one for quite a while now. Nisi said she was afraid I might have to wait quite a while longer as, for some reason, his novels didn’t sell, so he wasn’t publishing. He’s publicizing. WTF? (more…)

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“I saw Tim’s work well before I met him,” Nisi told me later. “I moved to this neighborhood the same year I moved to Seattle, 1996 or so. The Central District is one of the city’s ‘historically black’ areas. People had warned me against moving here, and yes there were crack hovels and mattresses on the lawn but also BBQ restaurants and beauty parlors and other signs–for me–of home.”

Tim was home, we saw, and Nisi called out, “Hi, Tim! Is it all right if my friend takes some pictures?” (more…)

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Related: The Lotus Eco Elise uses a host of sustainable materials to make up the body and trim, including hemp, “eco wool,” sisal and a new high-tech, water-based paint that can be applied by hand. It’s fitted with a set of flexible solar panels on the hard top to help power the electrical systems, reducing the drain on the engine and improving efficiency. There is a new green shift light on the instrument panel that assists drivers in maximizing fuel efficiency.

All of these elements reduce the Eco Elise’s footprint throughout its lifecycle, limit the amount of energy used during production. Lotus looked to reduce the car’s environmental impact by focusing on how it is made as well as how it performs. Link.

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I boarded the bus in a slight hangover haze and sleep-deprivation daze, looking forward to snoring my way through the ride that awaited me. As soon as I settled into a seat next to the window, however, those hopes were lost. Between the seat’s build and my own, it was impossible to get comfortable enough to nod off. In retrospect, I should have given it a try and at least pretended I was sleeping, because by the end of the trip I would find out just how uncomfortable that particular seat could be.

I gazed out the window through the enormous sunglasses that were hiding more than my eyes until I couldn’t stand it any longer. The young man who had gotten on the bus at the last stop was half my age, but even so I was attracted and couldn’t help but entertain carnal fantasies about him. I decided to break the ice. “There’s no need to remain silent.” (more…)

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