And it is amazing.
It’s also a little difficult to classify. It’s being sold as non-fiction, but I’m putting it under our local sci-fi listing, in large part because it has a lot of segments that start with absurd, impossible proposals before attempting to follow them to their logical (and frequently world-ending) conclusions.
There are a surprisingly large number of ways for everyone to die horribly. Munroe focuses on the planetary-level destruction and smaller, for the most part.
The options range from global windstorms to near-lightspeed baseballs to turning off the Sun to draining the oceans using a magic portal between Earth and Mars.
Here’s the part 2 to my previous slush pile post. This one is titled Sandbox, and looks at the universe-in-a-box idea from the other side.
Miriam wanted some time to herself.
It is a truly notoriously challenging computer game. And, once you get past the steep learning curve (which generally requires looking at the extensive wiki) very addictive.
It’s even been notable enough to go on display at the Museum of Modern Art in New York, in a video game exhibition, right next to SimCity.
So, let’s have a look.
What did I just blunder into?
This is not SimCity.
This is going to be my first entry into what is likely going to be a long series. I’ve written a number of sci-fi and fantasy short stories, and I have been putting some effort into getting them published… but at some point, I run out of potential venues to sell them to.
Thus, when I give up on a story, I’ll go ahead and put it up here for your entertainment. Of course, since these are stories that have been rejected a few times, I’d love to have some feedback on where they have gone awry.
This particular story, “Universe in a Box,” exists in several forms; I’ve also written (and had rejected) a related story called “Sandbox,” which I’ll be posting later.
She was reading a paper on the latest techniques in miniaturization. She was fascinated by the description of improved methods for controlling the dynamics of a solar system compressed to the size of an atom.
But her time of quiet reading did not last. As usual, once she had finally found a moment to catch up on the literature, she was interrupted by a chime at the door. She pushed the holographic text aside and said, “Come in!”
The doors slid into the walls, revealing her newest student. He seemed worried and embarrassed at the same time. He pulled nervously at his whiskers, and a few tufts of his fur stood on end. “Uh, professor? Do you have a few minutes?”
“With that kind of face? I think I have a few more than a few minutes.” She resigned herself to finishing her reading at another time, and gave the command for a seat rest to emerge from its place in the wall.
The student was too nervous to take the rest. Instead, he paced, rattling his fingers against the walls whenever he wandered close enough to reach them. In her small office, this was often. “I, uh, made a mistake with one of the boxes. I set some of the constants wrong. Well, a lot of them wrong.”