But I know it's hard to hear about this from me. I did promise you that book review, so here it is. I just finished the hardcover copy of a Sci-Fi Political Thriller (I think? I'm so terrible with genrelizing) called Freedom on the March, by Estados Unidos. I'll start with a quote.

The total of American deaths in April and May was the highest of any two-month period since the war began, and the 80 percent ratio caused by makeshift explosives is higher than it has ever been, up from 50 percent in January.

The increase coincided with the more aggressive operations being mounted by American troops in Iraq as part of the stepped-up campaign that President Bush ordered in January.

NYTimes, Iraqi Bombers Thwart Efforts to Shield G.I.’s

In this book (which reminds me a little of what's happening now in real life), the invaders are pouring lives down a bloody hole because a burgeoning empire ("The USA") needs fuel, and sees a threat of insurgents gathering in parts of the world they have long been meddling. Ironically (and stupidly, as these particular warmongers are not the brighest of bulbs), they are helping the insurgency to grow with their violence and occupation and imperialist views on those very people. At the same time (it's a rather gripping story), they have to convince their own people that they are fighting a phantom, and not the people who are fighting them back! It's sort of a Tragicomedy of errors.

The military plans to spend more than $4 billion to combat explosives this year, after spending about $5 billion over the three previous years. The spending has led to the deployment of better-armored vehicles to protect soldiers and new technology to detect and defuse the bombs, but commanders and Pentagon officials say their efforts have produced no more than temporary gains. [...]

'We never will solve the problem until we can get better intelligence and can break up these I.E.D. cells. And that will require changing the attitudes of the local population toward these explosions and those responsible for them. The Iraqis will have to help us root out the people involved.'"

NYTimes, Iraqi Bombers Thwart Efforts to Shield G.I.’s

It's full of nutty dialogue like this. Great, hunh? Sort of reminds me of...I don't know. John Kennedy Toole? Maybe Vonnegut. A dark cynical yet funny (and obscene) angle with an existential message underneath. But it is a rich narrative. I mean...better armored vehicles to protect the invaders from bombs they know they cannot stop. It's a primitive mindset, no doubt. You and I know that this could never work. But then again, we've seen the folly of it writ large.

And changing the Iraqi's attitudes toward the "explosions"? I was rolling with that one. (A welcome escape from my own life, no doubt.) But how can you keep a straight face reading this pulp? I mean...the Iraqis will have to help the invaders root out the "people involved"? And yet, you know while reading the book that the Iraqis are the "people involved"! They are the ones who have infiltrated every police station and can get advance notice on the USA's actions because they are the people involved, they are the people being hassled, and hunted, and searched at midnight, having family members dragged away and imprisoned, the ones whose neighbors of twenty years now want them dead, the people involved in being shot to death at weddings and flattened under bombs in restaurants, the ones seeing their own people humiliated in prisons, and the very people involved in the chaos the USA is bringing every day that they remain!

It does strain credibility in parts, I have to admit. To go along with the notion that such an 'advanced' people (the context of the book, the assumption of the author, not that I agree, but it's an old book!) could do this and not see that they were lighting their own beds on fire...well. You sort of have to just go along with that part. Assume the invaders are really buying their own hype. But I think the main point comes through, or is assumed: The USA is actually fighting factions of the Iraqi populace because humans hate being lied to, used, commanded, invaded, or killed! And as The Decider (this book's Emperor) hath said of other concepts—these things exist in the breast of humankind, and are common to us all.

My only problem with the book is that the villains are not really charismatic enough. To go along with the premise of this story you'd either have to have a populace (The "'Murkans") so lazy and gullible that you would have had to raise them on Gluca-Wafers, or your Emperor and Cabinet would really have to show some derring-do, you know? I mean at least Vader (with his mask on, of course) is tall, svelte, and bassy. Plus he can work that Sith voodoo, you know? Just bends a finger and chokes the life out of a dissenter. The Decider, by contrast, is a moron, can't string five words together without inventing a phrase that could be translated roughly as "I'm a moron," and does every single thing you could possibly stuff into a cartoon character to make him appear foolish and phony. But that's what sort of gives it that Confederacy of Dunces feeling (with "Bush" as the entire confederacy?).

DEAR ALEJO, what does it sound like at the hangar, at the colonies? Are the children scared? Or do they still play? Do they live in fear like we do now? How are you holding up? Does anyone at all breathe fresh air filled with hope? What do they dream of? We don't dream of much over here anymore. Well, maybe some do. On my end, there's a lot of nightmares about Things Getting Worse. Although some folks are smiling and face down in the NewsVat because it's so much warmer. I don't know. I don't like that thing. It's true, hours can slip away in there. But your face gets all pruny, and it makes my thinking weird. You know what I mean? Although I do envy those who can cope with this so easily. Some just seem to be able to do that. You were one of them. You always seemed to be able to find a way out of the despair. I suppose that's why I'm writing you now instead of just talking up at the ceiling in the dark, knowing you are listening as we both fall asleep.

You'd think we'd be happy with all the construction progress on the universe's first battleship planet. There's supposed to be a big ceremony on launch deck 7Ex1...all the top killers dressed up in full regalia. Meanwhile, there are still those of us not impressed with the hurrah, or perhaps applauding a bit too loudly when the Empire, once again, asserts itself. As I sai, for us, there are a lot of restless evenings as we wrestle with what we are doing, I think. It's hard to sleep with all the bullhorn in the background. But I guess you all have more pressing matters on hand...like living another day.

Over here, we are rooting for the invading forces, of course. Nobody talks much about the Lie, these days. The Antimatter Slingshot lie. Of course, none of our little crew bought that hype for a minute. Firstly, it's just a corny idea! Way old. And mostly, I guess, you and I've just seen too many k4zik-junkies and freighter hoosts runnin' game, eh? Hell, I've been sold my own data-core by the best ether-twists to roam the shaded alleys outside the Fahrenheit Club. The current Empire is bush league when it comes to con men. So it's been hard, watching the people gradually wake up. It's taken a damn long time. And yet...in the end, they still expect us all to cheer.

To cheer on the lying invaders! Can you imagine? I know you care nothing for my minor complaints...but it just feels so perverse. All my life, the Empire was only pretending righteousness...but we were the bad guys in the story the whole time? It makes you wonder...why did they set us up for the Just Fight, hey? Why did we talk all that stuff about the glory of the oppressed underdog fighting for those bare essentials of which life grants us all a right? Why did we learn about fascists who grab for power with the thinnest of lies, if not to recognize them when they flex?

Help keep me sane, Alejo, for I feel it slipping away. You were there with me. You remember. Weren't we taught in fables and school progs to cheer those valiant and brave and weaker patrio-hums throwing viral-wrenches in the virtual gears of the tyrannical and imperialist Blackwattle Zoids? Wasn't I taught to cheer on Lucha Cornstalker as, against all odds, she flew her nopal-plane in the face of the Empire's technological marvels and military might?

Haven't we been warned of this tale a hundred times?

Why, now, do they expect us to swoon at Vader's levitating torture drone as it glides into the tiny, metal, cell? Why now is it patriotic to prickle with pride at Moff Tarkin's cold, gaunt agenda; to pump our fists as Alderaan explodes?

I don't know how the rest do it, but mostly I walk the well-buffed hallways here in a self-imposed daze and keep my face tight. Don Winston taught me how to wear an expression that can convince even the most suspicious of Stormtroopers. My Dickie coveralls are always impeccably creased and pressed, and everytime there is news of the Imperial forces being driven back, I adopt an appropriate expression of dour and somber introspection whilst staring at my Hush-Pup Boots. Any glimmer of feeling otherwise is crushed down into my warm fists, which are kept stuffed in my pockets.

It is rumored that the rebels want to destroy the Death Star. I don't want to die, Alejo. I don't want to think about where I'd go if they were successful. I like being alive...I have so many plans. But I'm sure you would understand. Sometimes, pondering this massive piece of technological doom and hunger with which I'm allied...I wonder if it would be best.

Hope you'll write back...I know you probably won't.

Love, Nezua