Category: Mythology

In the Company of Ogres GraphicI just finished reading In the Company of Ogres, by A. Lee Martinez1. The essential plot line follows an individual named Ned (called ‘Never Dead Ned’), who is probably what I would consider an “anti-hero.” Ned is pretty much incompetent at everything in his life – he can’t really do anything well, or in many cases, even sub-par, with one exception – he can’t die. Or, rather, he can die (he’s actually pretty practiced at that), but for reasons that become clear later in the book, Ned doesn’t stay dead.


At the beginning of the book, Ned is an accountant for Brute’s Legion, an army of skilled and fearsome warriors. We get the impression that, while Ned isn’t extraordinarily good at being an accountant, he isn’t awful at it, either. He is transferred from this position to a command position in Ogre Company, which is a motley assortment of undisciplined characters that include a fire-breathing salamander, a shapeshifting goblin, several ogres (for which the company is apparently named), a promiscuous siren, and a bloodthirsty Amazon.

Ned isn’t quite sure how to handle this command position, and he is fairly disinterested in being a commander in general. As the story progresses, we learn more about Ned’s past, which leads to a confrontation that could ultimately destroy universes (yes, plural!). Ned is also the subject of essentially two female crushes, although he is oblivious to both of them. This situation adds humor and a bit of frustration to the novel. Frustration is felt by the reader (at least by me) on behalf of Ned’s two lovers’ feelings going not only unrequited, but unacknowledged. Add to this a plot to destroy Ned as a commander (in normal terms, this would mean killing the individual, but since Ned doesn’t stay dead, this becomes quite a conundrum), and there is a whole avenue of ridiculous humor to be explored.

Comparison to Other Works

I think that A. Lee Martinez’s writing style developed significantly in the year between the publishing of Gil’s All Fright Diner2 (his first novel) and In the Company Of Ogres. The writing seems to be more fluid in In the Company of Ogres, whereas in Gil’s All Fright Diner, it seemed to me that the author was still trying to determine his place in the set of amusing and ridiculous fantasy novels. With In the Company of Ogres, Martinez seems to blend well with other authors in this genre such as Terry Pratchett, Douglas Adams, and (in some cases) Neil Gaiman.

One thing I will say regarding the comparison between Gil’s All Fright Diner and In the Company of Ogres is that I actually thought the overall topic of Gil’s All Fright Diner was more interesting. I’m not exactly sure why, but it seems to me that when reading a fantasy novel, especially one that’s set in an era similar in style to Earth’s “middle ages” (e.g. weapons are mostly melee, farming is done by hand, communication done by carrier pigeon or other bird, etc…), magic, demons, monsters, etc… are all just expected. So, the fact that in Gil’s All Fright Diner, a novel set in a rural town in what appears similar to modern America, the two main characters are a vampire and a werewolf, is original and unexpected. Even more unexpected is the fact that nobody seems to give this a second thought!


Overall, I was pleased with the novel. I thought that the protagonist, in this case, Never Dead Ned, was interesting and developed in an unexpected way over the course of the novel. The novel was fairly funny, and it kept me interested throughout the book. I only have two criticisms about the book in general. One is that I thought the idea of the Mad Void – the supposed all-powerful demon asleep in Ned’s mortal shell – was somewhat hard to swallow, given that he had (some) difficulty defeating Rucka (a supposed smaller, or less-powerful demon). The Mad Void is introduced as a character that literally destroys universes for entertainment – that’s how powerful he is. On the other hand, he was somehow bound into a mortal form and trapped, as well as (almost) being defeated by Rucka. This sort of boggles my mind, and it might have been interesting to have a chapter on the back-history of the Mad Void either when he is first introduced, or perhaps at the beginning of the novel. Something that makes it clear how he was trapped in that shell originally, and why the Red Woman was assigned to watch him (rather than one of the magicians that originally trapped him) would have been useful.

The only other criticism I have of the novel is the idea of Ned’s autonomous left arm. I don’t think the idea is bad – in fact, I think it was a great idea that just wasn’t pushed quite hard enough. In the beginning, it’s introduced that Ned doesn’t have complete control over this arm, and my first reaction was “Oh boy, this is going to be funny later in the book.” There are some scenes where it enters in, such as in the pub when Ned first arrives at Ogre Company, but other than that, this plot device isn’t used much until the end of the book. I think it would have been really funny if it had gotten him into some strange troubles. I can see all kinds of jokes, especially given that there were two women chasing Ned, but Ned was somewhat oblivious to both of them. If the arm wasn’t oblivious, and had a mind of its own in situations like this, it would have been hilarious to see the reactions from Regina and Miriam as they get multiple signals from Ned – one of disinterest from Ned himself, but one of innate attraction from Ned’s left arm.

All in all, though, the book is definitely worth reading. I’m excited to see Martinez’s development as an author, and I’m looking forward to reading his other novels soon.

[1] In The Company of Ogres.
[2] Gil’s All Fright Diner.


Let the Games End

I recently finished the book Mockingjay, by Suzanne Collins1, which is the last in a trilogy including both The Hunger Games2 and Catching Fire3. I was warned, by my sister, prior to starting the series, that she considered the series excellent, but she pretends that the last two books in the series don’t exist. I’m still unsure why her hatred of Catching Fire and Mockingjay (this last one in particular) are so intense. I found that the books told an interesting story, albeit in a rather immature and unpolished writing style. This is a short review of each of the books in the series, ending with a review of the series as a whole.

The Hunger Games

This book introduces the characters that will tell the story of a revolution. Specifically, it’s told from the perspective of one Katniss Everdeen, a teenage girl from a place called District 12. District 12, we find out, is one of twelve (formerly 13) districts in a country called Panem. Panem exists as a country, ruled by a totalitarian government that is located in a separate district, called (unimaginatively) The Capitol. Each of the districts provides much needed food and supplies to citizens in the Capitol, which are essentially an aristocracy bend on doing nothing, but yet have an unsatisfying urge to be entertained. The Capitol pushes each of the districts to the brink of starvation, but keeps them subjugated with brutal enforcers known as Peacekeepers.

We find out early in the story that there were previously 13 districts, but District 13 incited a rebellion against the Capitol, resulting in it being entirely obliterated. As another repercussion of the failed coup, each district must give two children (known as Tributes) to the Capitol each year for a sport they call, “The Hunger Games.” In the Games, the children essentially fight to the death in a complicated arena for the entertainment of the Capitol’s citizens (and horror of those parents and friends watching from the other districts). Each year, there is exactly one winner.

The rationale for calling this bizarre circus “The Hunger Games” isn’t immediately clear, until you find out that from each district, every child between the ages of 12 and 18 must sign up once per year from their twelfth birthday,  to be chosen as a tribute. So, for example, if a child is twelve, they must enter their name once. If they are thirteen, twice. After that, you can put your name into the pool of potential tributes additional times for “tessera,” which are basically additional rations, in the event your family is poor and cannot afford enough food.

Now, I won’t ruin the story for you in telling all of the dramatics, but suffice it to say that Katniss is chosen as a tribute (albeit through a roundabout way). Likewise, a male tribute is chosen from District 12 named Peeta Mellark. Peeta and Katniss have an interesting history, which basically entails a sort of “love from afar” idea, but you don’t learn about this until later on in the novel. It’s used as a plot device to springboard into the rebellion that comes in the later novels.

All in all, the book is interesting. I enjoyed the concept of the arena, and how the Hunger Games are played out. The novel feels like you’re watching a grisly reality TV show. It’s a fascinating environment Katniss and Peeta exist within, and you’re thrown into this world that is similar to our world, but in many ways, you’re not sure what has been remembered from the time before Panem. I do thing it would have been interesting if more historical context were given. For example, a sub-story begins to develop when Katniss recalls a girl that was taken by the Capitol before her and her friend, Gale’s eyes. We find out that the girl has been turned into an “Avox” – which essentially just means her tongue was cut out. But no connection is made between this and the rest of the story. It’s as if the whole thing is simply a roundabout explanation of Avoxes in general. Instead, I think it would have been more interesting to have that part of the back-story lead somewhere, rather than simply being told and then dropped. I also had a number of questions like “Where did the hovercrafts come from?” and “How is an arena chosen and constructed?” which were left similarly unanswered.

There were some great lines from the book. I especially liked the line “May the odds be ever in your favor.” I find it exciting when an author can create a phrase, which, at first glance, seems uninteresting, but the more you read it and it rolls around in your mind, the better it seems4.

The major criticism I have of the novel, and really of the entire series, is that there doesn’t seem to be any character development. Every character is basically the same, personality-wise, from the beginning of this novel to the end of the last novel in the series. Especially Katniss Everdeen – she doesn’t seem to change throughout the entire series, even though we’re basically reading her thoughts and fears. They don’t seem to change from the moment we’re thrown in to the novel. This is probably partially a result of the book reading as though it was written by a twelfth-grader. Many of the sentences are short and direct. There isn’t a lot of self-reflection or complexity to the characters or the settings. The book is very focused on action and navigation from one plot point to another – one problem/climax/resolution set to another. Everything in the novel is black and white – there isn’t a lot of gray area shown.

Catching Fire

Katniss and Peeta are returned to the arena (in a special Hunger Games called a “Quarter Quell”), each having made a “deal” with Haymitch to keep the other alive. The reason for their being returned to the Hunger Games is mostly inferred to be a political move on President Snow’s part. He is attempting to crush the rebellion that started with Peeta and Katniss refusing to let only one victor be taken from the arena in the previous novel. Katniss learns that just their unwillingness to obey the manipulations of the Capitol and instead put up a small resistance of their own has sparked sentiments of unrest that have been growing for quite a while.

Add to this the growing tension between Gale and Peeta after Katniss and Peeta’s return from the Hunger Games, and there’s an actual story here. There is also some mystery revealed about the aforementioned District 13, previously thought to have been destroyed, actually being alive and well, albeit beneath the surface of the original district. The oppressive hand of the Capitol swoops down on District 12 in the form of additional security, and both Katniss and Gale have a run-in with the new guards, most of which aren’t as easy to appease as the previous ones were.

Tributes are chosen from among the other district’s victors, and surprisingly, instead of outright trying to kill Katniss and Peeta within the Games, some of them actually protect the newest victors from the dangers of the arena (and the other tributes who have decided, for whatever reason, not to “play ball”). In an epic conclusion, they actually assist Katniss in escaping from the arena without the games being finished. Peeta, however, isn’t quite as lucky. He gets left behind and we are led to assume he’s been captured by the Capitol.

Of the books in the series, this novel was probably my favorite in several regards. Before we get into the details, though, one needs to overlook the stupid repetition that is reminiscent of another plot hole that leaves one thinking, “Really? That’s the best you could come up with? A second Death Star?” (Oops.. I meant “Hunger Games.” A second “Hunger Games.”) Once you look past that, though, you begin to see the complexity of what’s happening. The idea of the clock as an arena was really intriguing, made even more so by the first showing of the watch to Katniss during the celebrations by Plutarch.

And then there’s the whole idea of District 13. Are they still around? It is interesting to think the Capitol has been using the same video shots over and over, if they could have actually gone back to the original site. But, if this were true, why wouldn’t have District 13 been clandestinely aiding the other districts?

It also  gives rise to a bunch of questions that really aren’t answered – where are the arenas physically located? Are they within the Capitol or somewhere outside? How does the force shield enclosing the games work? What is the back-story behind all of the tributes? This last question, in particular, could have made the story MUCH more interesting. Using Catching Fire as a jumping-off point, the rebellion could have lasted a number of additional books, and been told from the point of view of each of the tributes involved in Catching Fire – in a sort-of Lost way – which would have made the story leagues more provocative. Instead, it seems to sort of leave us hanging at the edge of our seats. This is fine with me – I love cliffhangers – but what’s not fine is that all of the enticement goes unfulfilled in the final installation of the series.


The last book in the series, Mockingjay concludes the story of Katniss Everdeen. After escaping from the Quarter Quell with the assistance of the other tributes, Katniss is taken to District 13 for recovery. Once there, she learns that District 12 was obliterated due to her lack of willingness to cooperate, and as punishment for what President Snow feels was incitement for the Districts to rebel against the Capitol. Although it isn’t really stated, the other districts are in open revolt against the Capitol, led by District 13, which has the weapons and technology necessary to bring the fight to the Capitol.

Although Katniss is a wreck because Peeta was captured during their escape, District 13’s President Coin entices her to be used as a propaganda puppet. In exchange for amnesty of Peeta and they other tributes, as well as the opportunity to kill President Snow, Katniss agrees to utilize the concept of the Mockingjay debuted in Catching Fire by her stylist, Cinna, in order to sway public opinion against the Capitol.

Most of this novel has to do with Katniss’ internal struggles. It’s pretty grisly, as war is in real life. Many of the characters we’ve come to like or even tolerate don’t make it through the story alive. Those that die usually suffer horrible deaths, such as how Finnick dies at the hands of “muttations” while tredging through the Capitol’s sewers, trying to get to President Snow’s palace. Eventually, Peeta is rescued, but he’s been turned against Katniss and the Rebels via a technique called “hijacking”, where the venom of mutated yellow jackets (called “Tracker Jackers”) is put into his blood while he’s focusing on memories of events in his life, twisting and warping his sense of reality.

The story moves very quickly. It’s difficult to follow at times, because you’re unaware whether a few minutes or a few years has passed. The rebellion seems to last a very short amount of time – only a matter of months. I found this difficult to understand, as the fictional story I most commonly associate with rebels overthrowing a totalitarian government – the Star Wars saga – takes almost an entire generation for the Rebels to actually get to the point where they are making progress against the Empire. Most of this novel’s description of the overthrowing of the government happens in the course of 100 pages.

The criticism I have for this part of the series is pretty much the same as the criticism I have for the other two books: There’s no character development. In this novel, though, it’s even worse, as my sister points out so eloquently:

I didn’t particularly love the way that death was dealt with in the book. Several people die in instantaneous – completely unadorned ways (Prim, Cinna, Snow, Finnick). It was very blunt- just death, over. Katniss never reflected on the deaths really nor did she ask herself questions about why/how people died, she just accepted it and moved on (particularly in the case of Snow and Finnick).

My theory on this subject is pretty simple: Katniss didn’t reflect about anything in The Hunger Games, so why should she all of a sudden stop and start reflecting now? Oh, right, because characters should develop over the course of the novel, in order to better attune the reader to them as a person, and give them more depth and dimension than the simple black and white that’s on the page.

In general, the novel moved too quickly for my taste. It lacked subtlety and style. The plot skipped from one action sequence to the next, almost as if the rebellion itself were a series of snapshots or video clips. Or, like a storybook reading to a child, where the narrator is asked to skip the sections which the child cannot understand or appreciate, and therefore are considered “boring.” The most interesting aspect of the whole novel – the possibility that President Coin herself committed the acts of atrocity toward the children at the end of the novel (including, by the way, Katniss’ sister, who was the reason Katniss volunteered for the Hunger Games in the first place, and thus the reason for much of the storyline) – and therefore were not committed by President Snow – was even underdeveloped. It’s almost like an afterthought that perhaps President Coin isn’t the savior everyone thought she was after all, except that in Katniss’ mind, it’s certain enough that she deserved to die.


I understand that the point of the series is that war has an insurmountable cost, but that some things are worth fighting for. This is true even if the price for those things you hold most dear is steep. The problem with this “moral” so to speak, is that it’s not handled with care. All of the things worth fighting for in Katniss’ life are taken away. She’s left with an empty shell of a life – sacrificed so much – that the point of the war becomes unclear at the end. Even Peeta, with whom she survives, is not the same as he was at the beginning of the series. But, that’s due to a sudden and involuntary change – not the change one would expect of a character after going through so much hell.

It’s also unclear, at the end of the series, what the point of the war actually was. The Rebels from District 13 aren’t really any better than the original totalitarian government. President Coin, after the Capitol has been taken, puts an absurd choice to the remaining Hunger Games victors: Either everyone in the Capitol is put to death, or all of the children from the Capitol are taken and put into one final Hunger Games. What? How does this make any sense? Why would the Rebels, who have just fought and died to overthrow a regime that keeps them in constant fear of losing their children actually want to make such a choice? And why is the choice created in the first place? Where did it come from. I mean, that’s ridiculous. There’s no need to just kill everyone off that doesn’t agree with you. Even a child can see that’s how totalitarian regimes begin in the first place. This story just takes an incredibly strange turn as the end approaches – there doesn’t seem to be any heroes or villains left at the end of the novel. It seems almost as though the author got tired of writing and decided to just speed up the conclusion. I feel that a good author needs to carefully choose the themes of the story so that he/she can illustrate the differences and similarities inherent between good and evil, black and white, day and night. A really good author either decides to separate these things completely or blend them together so much as to make it indistinguishable when the line has been crossed from light into darkness. Traditional stories, such as most fairy tales and one of my favorite mythologies that I mentioned earlier, Star Wars, take the former approach. Darth Vader is pure evil. He’s represented in black, and has no problem killing others. Obi Wan Kenobi, Yoda, Luke, and eventually, Anakin Skywalker, refuse to sacrifice others for their own good. They act in very moral and justified ways. An example of the latter approach might be A Game of Thrones or Lost – it’s not really clear why people are doing the things they are, but as the story progresses, it becomes clear that no one individual is completely good or completely evil.

The Hunger Games series disappoints on this account. It initially tries to present a clear demarcation of good and evil, but later in the series decides that it is more interesting to blur the line. The problem is that not enough thought and time were put into how this line is shaded. Instead, in my opinion, it ends up becoming a smudge across the face of an otherwise interesting story.

On a somewhat unrelated note, as I was writing this post, I happened to go and see Sherlock Holmes: A Game of Shadows at my local theater (that movie is pretty good, by the way). Before the movie, there was a preview for the movie version of The Hunger Games, which looked pretty interesting. I’ll definitely go and see the movie version of this story. My hope is that the screenplay writers took the original story and spiced it up a bit – made the dialogue less tinny, enhanced the overall grandeur of the plot, and in general added special effects that make up for some of the shortcomings I see in the original novel. My hope is that this will be one case where the movies are better than the original novels.

[1] Mockingjay

[2] The Hunger Games

[3] Catching Fire

[4] My favorite example of this is the first line of Stephen King’s The Gunslinger: “The man in black fled across the desert, and the gunslinger followed.” This is a very simple, but yet eloquent introduction to the novel. It is short, but yet leaves so many questions unanswered that you must continue reading. I once read that Stephen King thought this was one of the best lines he had ever written. (Don’t quote me on this, though, because I am unable to substantiate from where I retrieved the quote).

Recently, I’ve finished the book The Magician King1, by Lev Grossman. It’s an interesting book, although, in my opinion, not as interesting as his first book in the series, The Magicians. The series is like a combination of Harry Potter and Narnia, except significantly darker, with some mature content. One of the things I always liked about the Narnia series is that it brings up interesting philosophical points of view. In this respect, both The Magicians and The Magician King don’t disappoint.

One of the most interesting areas of philosophy in The Magician King is a conversation between the main character, Quentin, and his rival/friend, Penny, regarding a super-being they are witnessing performing a task that will remove magic from their world:

“Maybe we should talk to him,” Quentin said. “Maybe we can change his mind. We could, I don’t know, prove ourselves worthy of magic or something. Maybe they have a test.”

Penny shook his head.

“I don’t think they can change their minds. When you get to that level of power and knowledge and perfection, the question of what you should do next gets increasingly obvious. Everything is very rule-governed. All you can ever do in any given situation is the most gloriously perfect thing, and there’s only one of them. Finally, there aren’t any choices left to make at all.”

“You’re saying the gods don’t have free will.”

“The power to make mistakes,” Penny said. “Only we have that. Mortals.” 2

This brings in a new and interesting idea that I hadn’t considered before: What if the very nature of how a deity exists prevents such an intelligent, all-powerful being from having free will?

Let’s consider this for a moment based on the faith of Protestant Christianity. (I’m not trying to be offensive here, this is merely for the sake of argument, and is based entirely on my own knowledge faith, which happens to come in the form of Lutheran Christianity). There are a few assumptions that are made by most Christians regarding God:

  1. God is Omnipotent (all-powerful).
  2. God is Omniscient (all-knowing).
  3. God is absolutely good.

Note that #3 doesn’t actually mean “all-good” for an individual. That is to say, what could be good for the universe as a whole, might not be good for me individually. This is usually phrased along the lines of “God has a plan” or “God works in mysterious ways” – indicating that we can neither expect that His plan is individually good for us, or that we can even understand His plan.

Now, if we take the logic that Penny was talking about in the snippet, and apply it, along with these axioms, we come up with the following train of thought (note that ‘virtuous’ and ‘good’ would have to have some definitions in this context. I save the definition of ‘good’ and ‘virtuous’ as an exercise for the reader): If God is all-knowing and absolutely good, it means that He will always take the most virtuous course of action, given a set of actions. Given a set of actions, there is always one action which is more good than the other actions. However, some actions are outside of the abilities of the one making the choice to act. Since God is all-powerful, no actions are outside of his abilities. Thus, there will always be a single choice, given a set of choices, which is absolutely good and virtuous, and which is within God’s power to act upon. It is therefore inherent in these axioms that God has a single choice which He will make at any juncture. Thus, it is impossible that He can choose to do anything aside from these choices. This is pretty much the definition of lack of free will. Thought of another way, since God is perfect, there is, at every juncture, only one perfect choice, given all possible sets of all possible actions. This leads us to the same conclusion as before, only with ‘absolutely good’ replaced by ‘perfect’ in this context.

So, I found this incredibly interesting. More so, because we, as Christian Protestants believe, are created from God. But, we (seemingly) have free will. So, how can an entity that lacks free will create an entity that has free will? Talk about a mind bender. (Of course, there is the possibility that we don’t have free will, and that everything is, at least for us, pre-destined. Perhaps this is a slightly different way of looking at Shakespeare’s famous quote, “All the world’s a stage, And all the men and women merely players.”).

There are a couple of flaws (that I see) in this philosophical argument. One is that we can’t know for certain that there is only one perfect choice. What if there are an infinite number of perfect choices? I suppose, when you’re operating on a plane where you are a supreme being, given a set of infinitely perfect choices, one must ultimately pick at least one of them, and thus, at some level, the deity would require free will.

Another flaw is if there isn’t a single entity – but rather, multiple deities operating in concert (or competition) with one another. In this case, if a deity is going to act, it must perform the most perfect choice available, unless another deity has already made this choice irrelevant (either by performing it itself, or by making a move which would make the previous ‘perfect’ move obsolete). In this case, we get more into a game-theory based philosophical argument. Really, it isn’t a lot different, though, because if the deities are all-knowing, then they will know the moves of one another in advance. It simply eliminates that as a possible choice, and they are back to choosing the most perfect of a set of reduced choices.

Neil Gaiman, one of my favorite authors, has written a lot about gods3 – stories about how gods are really products of human worship, rather than human worship being the product of their actions. I don’t remember seeing an argument to the effect of lack of free will in any of his stories (alebit it may have been treated in passing as part of the existence of The Endless in his Sandman novels – they each have a very specific role, although they don’t seem to lack free will). It would be interesting if he wrote a story or book on this concept.

At any rate, I realize this argument is a bit like the Omnipotence paradox4, but it definitely struck a chord in my mind while reading it. I would, for certain, recommend reading the novel. Although, I really hope Lev Grossman makes the series at least a trilogy, as the ending of The Magician King leaves quite a bit to be desired (in the way The Empire Strikes Back leaves you thinking, “What? That’s the end of the movie!?!?”).

I’m always interesting in a good thought-provoking novel, and in that respect, The Magician King definitely doesn’t disappoint.

Notes and Bibliography

[1] There are some spoilers in this post, and I have tried hard to minimize them, but if you have an intention of reading The Magician King, I would recommend doing so now, then coming back to this post at a later date.

[2] Grossman, Lev. (2011). The Magician King (pp. 303). New York, NY: Viking.

[3] If you’re interested in reading more on the existential question of deities, I highly recommend The Sandman graphic novels, as well as American Gods and Anansi Boys.

[4] Omnipotence Paradox (Wikipedia Entry)

Mysterious February

Today just happens to be my one year anniversary working for my current employer. (I won’t mention the name of the company, but I will say it bears a striking resemblance to the flagship company of Eureka, OR). Now, like most folks, I started on a Monday. Today, (for those of you who may be temporally impaired) is Tuesday. I have often thought how the days of the week for a given date change from year to year. If you’re interested in this (and aren’t afraid of a bit of math), read on.

I now digress into some mathematics.  Pay attention – there will be a quiz later.  There are 365 days in the year. If you divide 365 by 7, you’ll get a remainder of 1. In Mathematics, we say this more concisely by saying 365 is 1 mod 7. Thus, over the course of the year, each week will advance by 1 day. This means that since October 5 (again, for those temporally impaired, this is today) is a Tuesday, next year it will be a Wednesday.

So, time for the quiz.  (You thought I was joking, didn’t you?)  Question 1: If November 22nd is a Monday this year (which, it just so happens to be), what day will it be next year?  If you answered Tuesday, you would be correct.  Question 2: We already discussed that October 5th next year will be a Wednesday, but what will it be in 2012?  Thursday?  WRONG.  It’s actually a Friday.  Yep, yep… I know I told you that 365 was 1 mod 7, and that this meant there was an extra day each year than was accounted for in a week, resulting in the weekday advancing by 1, but what you failed to realize if you answered Thursday is that 2012 is a leap year.  This, of course, means that February has 29 days.  (Seriously.  Look it up on Wikipedia if you don’t believe me.  Every fourth year has 366 days).  So, we have the following formula:

day of week next year = day of week this year + 1, if next year is not a leap year and this year was not a leap year or this year was a leap year and date is before February 28
day of week next year = day of week this year + 2, if next year is a leap year and date is after February 28
day of week next year = day of week this year + 2, if next year is not a leap year, but this year was a leap year and date was before February 28

A little more complicated now, eh?  Basically, what all of this nonsense is saying is that February 28 is the ‘pivot point’ for a year, in terms of the day of the week.  Anything before February 28 on a leap year will stay consistent with the formula we discussed in the very beginning, but this means that it catches up the following year.

Still, this isn’t magic.  Anyone who’s ever taken an introductory Computer Science course, or a course in Number Theory (possibly Discrete Mathematics) has probably seen this before.  But now I diverge from my mathematical analysis and ask the question that has been plaguing me lately:

Who the hell chose February to have the ‘leap day’, and why?

It seems more logical that the calendar would have a December 32nd as a leap day.  That way, everything would stay consistent from year to year (I’m actually glossing over a few things.  Determining whether a year is a leap year is easy, but not as easy as simply determining if the year is evenly divisible by 4.  This is partially because an actual solar year is a bit less than 365.25 days exactly.  For more information, see the Wikipedia entry on leap years). But, it offsets the entire rest of the calendar by one day!  So, why not minimize this chaos and simply choose it to be at the end of the year?

Well, if you read the long story about how the Roman calendar was developed that is given (in excruciating detail, I might add) on the aforementioned Wikipedia page, and are actually able to get through it without losing consciousness and slipping into a deep slumber likely to last until the next ice age, you’ll probably get something along the lines that an ‘intercalary month’ was inserted between February and March each year, prior to 45 BCE.  At that time, Julius Caesar took it upon himself to invent what we now know as the leap year.

So, this still doesn’t really answer my question… Why February?  It seems clear that Caesar chose to make February have 29 days instead of 28 due to the fact that the intercalary month was between two parts of February, but why was this the case?  According to the Wikipedia entry on the Roman Calendar, the Roman Calendar was originally a lunar calendar.  57 days were added to an original 10-month calendar to create January and February.  February was given 28 days, whereas January was given 29 days.  Romans apparently considered even numbers unlucky, and since February was the month of purification, it seemed appropriate.  February was actually split into two parts, with each part having an odd number of days.  The intercalary month was inserted “from time to time”  to keep the seasons equivalent to the man-made calendar.  The first part of February was the end of the religious year.

So, it seems the holy-holies (as my father would say) were the instigators of adding a day to the end of the ‘year’.  It’s a practice that still is held to this day (although in a bit different form).  But, why retain this tradition for such archaic reasons?  I propose that we abolish this Roman nonsense and simplify things by moving to the Scott Calendar, which is identical to the current Gregorian Calendar, except that December has 32 days on a leap year, instead of February having 29.  While we’re at it, perhaps we should even out the days of the months a little more, also.  364 is evenly divisible by 28, so let’s make 14 months of 28 days each, along with one month (the last) having 29 days.  Also, the last month then would have 30 days on a leap year.

Ok, so perhaps this idea is a little half-baked.  But still, could we actually utilize some sense before mindlessly accepting traditions?  You, come to think of it, this reminds me of the time a friend of mine and I created an extra day to the week, ‘Nepday’.  But, that is a tale for another day…