The Mask of Sorrow

The Mask of Sorrow (Russian: Маска скорби, Maska skorbi) is a monument located on a hill above Magadan, Russia, commemorating the many prisoners who suffered and died in the Gulag prison camps in the Kolyma region of the Soviet Union during the 1930s, 1940s, and 1950s.

It consists of a large concrete statue of a face, with tears coming from the left eye in the form of small masks. The right eye is in the form of a barred window. The back side portrays a weeping young woman and a man on a cross with his head hanging backwards. Inside is a replication of a typical Stalin-era prison cell. Below the Mask of Sorrow are stone markers bearing the names of many of the forced-labor camps of the Kolyma, as well as others designating the various religions and political systems of those who suffered there.[1]

The statue was unveiled on June 12, 1996 with the help of the Russian government and financial contributions from seven Russian cities, including Magadan. The design was created by the sculptor Ernst Neizvestny, whose parents fell victim to the Stalinist purges of the 1930s; the monument was constructed by Kamil Kazaev. It is 15 meters high and takes up 56 cubic meters of space.

While I Know This is a Public Library…

…it reminds me very much of a very expansive house I designed when I was in high school. It had wrap-around glass walls and on the interior the various rooms were individual boxes that were normally open to the surrounding spaces but could easily be closed for privacy. I don't have the plans any longer; they were one of many casualties of moves over the years, but I do remember the layout, including a circular elevator and staircase that led up from the underground garage. All very 70s sci-fi.

Life Imitates Art

Last year astronomers at NASA announced they had discovered a sextuple star system, i.e. six stars that perform an intricate dance around a common center of gravity.

I find this fascinating because this is exactly the type of system described in Isaac Asimov's classic work, Nightfall.

In 1941, Astounding Science Fiction magazine published a short story by a little-known writer named Isaac Asimov. The story was called Nightfall, and many years later it has long been recognized as a classic; its author a legend. The Gran Master of Science Fiction eventually teamed with Robert Silverberg, one of the field's top award-winning authors, to explore and expand an apocalyptic tale that is more spellbinding today than ever before—Nightfall: The Novel.

Imagine living on a planet with six suns that never experiences darkness. Imagine never having seen the stars. Then, one by one the suns start to set, gradually leading into darkness for the first time ever. Kalgash is a world on the edge of chaos, torn between the madness of religious fanaticism and the unyielding rationalism of scientists. Lurking beneath it all is a collective, instinctual fear of the darkness. For Kalgash knows only the perpetual light of day; to its inhabitants, a gathering twilight portends unspeakable horror. And only a handful of people on the planet are prepared to face the truth, their six suns are setting all at once for the first time in over two thousand years, signaling the end of civilization as it explodes in the awesome splendor of Nightfall.

Encompassing the psychology of disaster, the tenacity of the human spirit, and, ultimately, the regenerative power of hope, Nightfall is a tale rich in character and suspense that only the unique collaboration of Isaac Asimov and Robert Silverberg could create.

More than one attempt has been made to bring this story to the screen, each time resulting in utter failure. My take on the most recent one is here.