by Tom Miller
“Give them hell, Danielle,” I said.
She smiled tightly and turned to watch over the party. I tried my damnedest not to look back at her so that she couldn’t see me crying.
“There are only seven possible topologies,” Unger explained as he dragged me out to the club’s front room, where the regular dinner crowd was sipping drinks from double glasses that coiled around each other. “And this should be the fifth confirmation, I believe. I do hope we haven’t missed it.” He consulted his pocket watch.
“What aren’t we missing?” I asked.
Unger pointed at the ceiling, which depicted the same front room, albeit nearly empty, with only the hostess making a note at her station and the barmaid folding napkins. The bottles shone like gemstones in a hundred different colors, but the rest of the image was murky and lightless. We watched as the reflected door opened. In walked Unger, cool and collected, and me, gawking about. My image turned its face up to the ceiling, staring almost directly at where I was standing in the present moment.
My reflection, younger than me by one hour, looked drained and tense, but its anxieties melted away as it gazed upon this fresh wonder, at a new corner of the world that seconds before had been beyond any imagining.
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
THIS STORY HAS BEEN many years in the writing.
My thanks to: Let’s Go, Inc. for sending me to New Zealand, where Lennox Murchison and smokecarving came to me while I was lost on a five-day hike; my fellow writers at Notre Dame’s MFA program, especially William O’Rourke, Valerie Sayers, and Steve Tomasula, who met Lucretia Cadwallader in 2005 and didn’t send me straight back to the farm; and my colleagues at the University of Wisconsin Department of Emergency Medicine, who encouraged me to continue writing, particularly Dr. Mary Westergaard for engineering a soft landing.
Thank you to my early readers for their enthusiasm and advice: Kay Miller, Jarrett Haley, Jim McCarthy, Thomas and Patricia Miller, Brian Suffoletto, Sumner and Lucy Brown, and Dan and Nate Carlin.
Thank you, Alexandra Machinist, my agent, to whom I owe a blood debt. Thank you to my three extraordinary editors, Sarah Knight, Ben Loehnen, and Zack Knoll.
Thank you most of all to Abby, who was Robert’s first fan and staunchest supporter. And thank you, Owen, for riding in the backpack and listening while I mow the lawn and talk about imaginary people.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
© ABIGAIL CARLIN
TOM MILLER grew up in Wauwatosa, Wisconsin. He graduated from Harvard University and went on to earn an MFA in creative writing from the University of Notre Dame and an MD from the University of Pittsburgh. While writing The Philosopher’s Flight, he worked as a travel guidebook writer, EMT, and college English instructor. He’s now an emergency room doctor in Madison, Wisconsin. This is his first novel.
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APPENDIX
Adapted from Robert Canderelli Weekes, Pilar Desoto, Michael Nakamura, Edith Rubinski. A Primer for Practical Sigilry. Matamoros University Press. 1937.
EMPIRICAL PHILOSOPHY IS BEST learned from another practitioner. However, in the current political environment, finding a mentor is increasingly difficult, obtaining high-quality powder has become prohibitively expensive or outright illegal, and actually practicing sigilry may involve substantial risk to life and liberty. As a result, we’ve written this book in hopes of introducing the adult learner to the fundamentals of several basic sigils so that she can learn basic practical philosophy in the privacy of her own home. (Children may prefer a less complicated text such as Sigilry 1-2-3 or Miss Goodbody’s Book for Girls.)
We’ve begun with a brief overview of eleven useful sigils, each of which has its own chapter devoted to more advanced topics.
While the written word can never hope to fully capture the subtleties of counting and hand position which are vital to drawing sigils, understanding the broad movements and shape of each glyph is an essential first step. Practice with pen and paper or with a powder pencil (see Chapter 4—Improvised and Homemade Equipment) has helped many students to progress rapidly when they begin formal instruction. And in many cases, it really is possible to learn a sigil with only a printed description and a good deal of practice.
KORU
THE DISCOVERY OF THE koru glyph in 1873 ranks among the most serendipitous moments in empirical philosophy. The eight-year-old daughter of wealthy amateur sigilrist Bertha Moss often drew ornate figures in the steam that condensed on the frosted glass door of her bathtub. One day, Mrs. Moss noticed that a potted philodendron in the opposite corner of the bathroom had grown to enormous size. Correctly deducing that a novel sigil must be the cause, Moss and her daughter spent several weeks attempting to re-create the glyph, eventually calling in the entire four-woman faculty in empirical philosophy at nearby Radcliffe College to assist. The famous photograph in the Boston Globe of the six women standing in the bathtub peering through the glass has come to embody the unexpected nature of many philosophical breakthroughs.
METHODS AND MATERIALS
Coat a square piece of glass (typically three-by-three inches) with a fine mist of water, then draw the figure with bare finger on glass, aiming at the nearby plant or seedling. Avoid using glass with a wooden frame or other ergonomic “improvements” as these often trap water droplets, making the sigil unreliable. Any mister is suitable for home garden use, though philosophers working on a commercial scale or with particularly delicate plants (e.g. citrus trees, figs, vanilla orchids) may wish to invest in a high-quality adjustable atomizer. Distilled water is strongly preferred, as minerals in groundwater can cause sigil failure. As appealing as many of the heavily-advertised “elixirs,” “tonics,” and “patented anti-smear solutions” that claim miraculous effects on the sigil can be, they all perform worse than plain water, often at a cost of several dollars per quart.
Koru is among the most widely researched sigils, with thousands of customizations for latitude, soil quality, plant age, agricultural goal (larger fruit or faster maturation), and expected rainfall. These modifications generally involve adding loops, drawing certain lines more heavily or decorating the tail end of the glyph. Though the possibilities can seem overwhelming, Canul’s Annual Koru Advisor is an invaluable guide that will allow you to quickly arrive at the right figure for your individual circumstances. The glyph shown above is the standard starting point; for most crops, it will decrease time to harvest by roughly 65 percent and increase yield by 150 percent. However, results may vary dramatically.
COUNTING
Koru is drawn on the four-count, with two beats for the upper spiral, one count for the transitional line, and one count for the lower spiral. This requires smooth deceleration into the transition and decisive acceleration into the final spiral.
SMOKECARVING (COHERENCE)
WITH LUCRETIA CADWALLADER’S INVENTION of smokecarving in 1843, empirical philosophy advanced from a tradition-based, frequently superstitious discipline to one fully invested in the scientific method. Today, smokecarving remains a vital technique for medicine, high-rise construction, fashion design, and hundreds of other industries.
METHODS AND MATERIALS
All smokecarving begins by cohering a cloud of smoke into a persistent mass. The left hand is held cupped over the smoke source—tallow candle, smudge pot, or lampblack vaporizer—and the coherence sigil drawn with the right hand. In the Originalist American style, the glyph is drawn on the gaseous smoke with a jackknife or scalpel; in the German style, with knitting needles; and in the New American style, with a fingertip. Cohering is a messy but necessary first step; the inevitable smoke stains have led most smokecarvers to dress in gray, as Cadwallader did. Bottled smoke varies tremendously in quality, but if you find a reliable supplier, having ready-made condensed high-soot material can dramatically speed larger constructions.
COUNTING
The
usual teaching is “agitate for three, tease for one, draw in zero,” with the repetitive, diminishing strokes of the agitate drawn parallel to each other, the linear zig-zagging motion of the tease drawn perpendicularly to the agitate, and the three strokes of the main glyph drawn as rapidly as possible with sharp, slashing strokes. Most experienced smokecarvers perform the first two steps so quickly that they slur into the first slash; beginners should not imitate this style.
MESSAGE
PRIOR TO THE ESTABLISHMENT of the Federal Glyph Registry, American sigilrists had chosen their own message glyphs for nearly 200 years, often using several different glyphs for communication with different people—for example, two lovers might develop their own set of figures for private communication. Nearly all personal glyphs were abstract, nonrepresentational symbols, though they possessed a handmade artfulness that has been lost in the era of mass-produced glyphs created by lock and tumbler machines.
METHODS AND MATERIALS
On a plate of glass backed with silver leaf, pour out a thin layer of sand and level it with a board scraper. To send, the originator draws her own personal glyph in the left upper corner using a finger or blunt stylus, draws the recipient’s glyph in the right lower corner, writes the message, and finally draws the transmit glyph center-right. To receive, the steps are reversed; the transmit glyph is drawn first in the right lower corner, followed by the recipient’s personal glyph in the left upper.
COUNTING
While a personal glyph is usually counted in four, what matters most is that the timing be consistent. The transmission glyph is also drawn in four, with each segment drawn faster than the last.
STASIS
STASISRY IS A RELATIVELY new discipline, first described in 1891 by anthropological philosopher G.H. Wilson and traditional healer Namagiri, in Madras, India, after the two women traced simplified Hindu mandalas on research subjects with over 2,100 different compounds. These early experiments are now widely viewed as unethical for using inmates in a local insane asylum as “volunteers,” as well as for failing to report dozens of adverse events including strokes, permanent paralysis and death. (Wilsons’ refusal to include her co-investigator on her enormously valuable American patents is also the subject of multiple ongoing lawsuits more than four decades later.)
Nevertheless, the sigil has done enormous good in the world. More elaborate forms of the stasis glyph can numb individual nerves to provide anesthesia, terminate seizures, slow the growth of tumors, and stop the flow of blood in targeted parts of the body, allowing for bloodless surgery. These advanced figures are notoriously difficult and require years of dedicated study. Most sigilrists who earn a doctor of medical philosophy (DMP) train in both smokecarving and stasisry. The proper title for a woman holding a DMP is “doctor,” not “miss.”
METHODS AND MATERIALS
Fresh, high-purity silver chloride is essential, as is use of smoked glass tubes for storage, since sunlight causes the powder to decompose into elemental silver and chlorine. Powder can be synthesized in a home laboratory from silver nitrate (which is more stable) and sodium chloride; this is a classic test for an aspiring amateur chemist. Gloves should be worn when handling silver chloride (except when drawing the glyph itself), as it stains the skin. For advanced figures, a dissecting microscope or loupes are mandatory to accurately place the glyph, as is a sub-milligram flow regulator—these are not sigils to be attempted lightly.
For a standard wide-spectrum stasis, the chest is the most reliable spot to place the glyph; the neck, head and upper back are also acceptable. The three-and-three-petal figure above is the most widely used form, as it balances ease of drawing with effective full-body stasis. Longer effect for similar powder mass can be achieved with an eight-petal figure (the so-called “Corps four-by-four”), though it is more difficult to draw. The simplest form, the two-petal “propeller” or “two-by-none,” can be drawn in under a second and is a useful defensive technique for incapacitating an attacker, though it lasts only a few minutes.
While drawing, it is essential to smoothly interrupt the powder flow when switching from the first circuit of petals to the second. If the sigil fails, this is almost invariably where a philosopher has gone wrong.
COUNTING
Each stroke of each petal should be drawn in an equal length of time. The glyph is traditionally counted in four (three four-counts for the glyph above), though advanced forms vary.
HOVER
THE AUTHORS WOULD DISCOURAGE readers in the strongest possible terms from attempting to fly for the first time without the supervision of an experienced hoverer. As the adage among hoverers goes, Mary Fox was the only woman who ever taught herself to fly and even she crashed into Lake Erie thirty-three times. (It is illustrative that while Fox did not require her first class of hoverers to have any prior philosophical experience, they did have to pass a one-mile open water swim test while wearing full hover kit.)
METHODS AND MATERIALS
Harnesses, bags, and regulators are covered in detail in Chapter 9, as are grinding your own corn powder with a hand mill and selecting sand/desiccant mixes for stabilization. The hover sigil is drawn with the regulator held between the thumb and forefinger in a pencil-grip. The terminal spiral should trail in the opposite direction of the thrust vector, as if the sigilrist is pushing herself in the desired direction of travel.
COUNTING
The hover glyph is the only sigil drawn on a six-count, which may explain why experienced philosophers who have practiced mainly four-count sigilry often struggle to learn it. One beat is devoted to each of the three sawtooth crescents, one to the transitional line, and two counts for the terminal spiral.
TRANSPORT
Destination sigil placed in downtown Boston, February 1918.
DUE TO THE EXTRAORDINARY physical risks to passengers, nearby buildings (as exemplified by the Battle of Berlin during the closing minutes of the Great War), and the sigilrist herself, transporting remains one of the most highly self-regulated forms of philosophy. The sigil should be learned after the onset of puberty from an expert practitioner.
METHODS AND MATERIALS
Because finely milled aluminum powder oxidizes quickly, it is generally sealed in an ampoule, which is itself sealed inside a second tube filled with nitrogen. Increasing powder mass increases the radius of the bubble; longer point-to-point jump distance results in greater weight loss for the philosopher.
By convention, destination glyphs are drawn with all lines starting at the left side of the figure (nine o’clock position), proceeding anticlockwise. To transport to that position, the transporter draws the same lines in clockwise order. Thus, it is vital that the original destination glyph be drawn with correct line progression and accurately logged.
COUNTING
As all destination sigils are unique, they are drawn on an open count with precision and line progression as paramount goals; counting is of minor concern.
EUPHEUS
SIGILS TO SUMMON THE east wind first came into prominence in 1843, when a caravan of sail-powered wagons made the trip from Independence, Missouri to the Willamette Valley in Oregon in only 10 days, thanks to hurricane-strength philosophical winds. One badly jostled settler remarked upon disembarking, “Had I been stuffed in a sack and beaten by devils for a week, I should be less thoroughly bruised. Surely no one shall ever attempt this again.”
That proved not to be the case. Over the next four decades, as aerodynamic wagons with advanced leaf-spring suspensions were developed and steerable traction kites replaced sails, wind-powered vehicles easily reached sixty miles per hour over flat terrain, with a much smoother ride. Kite coaches were used by prospectors during the California gold rush, Mormon pioneers during the settlement of Utah, and for regular passenger service throughout the American Southwest. Kite-bandit attacks on wagons carrying US Army payroll inspired the creation of the US Kite Marshallry, which paired sigilrists and lawmen to make long-distance patrols across the West. Chief Marshall Edw
in Fitzenhalter’s aphoristic eighty-four-page memoir Fresh Gale on the High Sonora is an excellent account of this era. Despite widespread rumors of immorality and sexual depravity on these extended missions, the marshals were fiercely protective of their female counterparts; Fitzenhalter famously shot a cowboy who fondled his longtime philosopher, Mrs. Gower.
Unfortunately, the eupheus sigil suffered from several serious flaws: it could only create winds that blew from east to west (meaning that kite wagons were packed up in California and shipped back east by sea); the glyph required pure crushed silver, making it relatively expensive; and it failed in humid climates or near water. Kite coaches disappeared almost overnight after the establishment of the National Transporter Chain. Eupheus did enjoy a resurgence after 1905, when the crushed silver powder was amended with 90 percent graphite, making it suitable for use on the high seas. Since then, large windjammers hoisting dozens of sails and kites have become a practical means of hauling bulk cargo on easterly routes from America to Asia.
The name “eupheus” is believed to be a corruption of the classical Greek name for the east wind, eurus, considered an unlucky wind since Biblical times.
METHODS AND MATERIALS
The glyph is drawn with a tube of crushed, untarnished silver, which may be cut with graphite up to a 9:1 ratio. It is a difficult sigil despite its structural simplicity, as small distortions can cause brief-lived, weak or choppy winds that make propulsion impossible. Contrariwise, wind fronts that fail to break up and die on schedule mean that hurricane-force winds may continue unchecked for hundreds of miles, causing considerable destruction. The Great Texas Dust Bowl of 1880 was one such disaster.