Tag: books

Slow Your Roll

So, this morning I discovered that Amazon actually has a limit on how many ebooks you can publish in a week. I learned that this morning when my attempt to publish a frankly astonishing science fiction novel for young men entitled The Phantom of the Underground Tank by Juza Unno ran into the ten book per week barrier. So there won’t be any new ebooks published on Amazon until Monday, when we will launch something big, in both textual and historical terms.

The subject of the yet-to-be-published Unno book will be fascinating to conspiracy theorists, for reasons that the book description should make clear. Note that this book was published in Japan 86 years ago and has never before been translated into English.

In 1940, a Japanese electrical engineer who wrote science fiction imagined the year 1950: an American cargo ship fighting through an Antarctic blizzard, a secret military installation buried beneath the ice, and a fleet of underground tanks that could bore through solid rock. He called it The Phantom of the Underground Tank. When the cargo ship Ark runs aground on an uncharted Antarctic shore, young Okishima and his American friend Pete discover something impossible beneath the ice: a vast subterranean fortress stocked with machines unlike anything in any nation’s arsenal. Captured by a rogue commander with plans that could reshape the balance of power across the Pacific, the two boys must escape a prison buried a thousand meters underground, survive the frozen wasteland above, and find a way to warn the outside world before the phantom fleet launches.

A secret military installation buried beneath the ice of Antarctica… now, where have I heard that before?

I would also highly recommend Unno’s The Midnight Mayor, which I’ve been reading and very much reminds me of two of China Mieville’s better works, Un Lun Dun and The City and the City. I’m also intent on tracking down a copy of Mushitaro Oguri’s Perfect Crime 完全犯罪, as it’s not in the main public domain archive, and I’d like to translate his entire ouvre as he may actually one day rival Haruki Murakami for my favorite Japanese author. So, if you’re in Japan and find yourself in Jimbocho, please see if you can find anything by him; I’d very much like to get my hands on a first edition Kokushikan Satsujinjiken 黒死館殺人事件 and have it bound in leather.

Anyhow, here is the weekly summary of translations Castalia House published last week. If you want a daily notification, subscribe to the Castalia Library substack.

That may well be the highest-quality, most diverse list of books ever published in English in less than one week. Next week will introduce our first German release as well as major works by Eiji Yoshikawa. While I have requested an increase to the weekly limit, until Amazon approves one, we’ll stick to a Monday through Friday release schedule.

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Do Try to Keep Up, Dennis

Dennis McCarthy has absolutely no idea how absolutely hopeless the case has gotten for evolution by natural selection. Believing in evolution is now much more far-fetched and implausible than believing the Earth is flat or that it is held up by a turtle supporting four elephants.

[This was one of my more popular efforts, and I think it provides a nice intro to the evidence supporting evolution:]

I believe this is one of my more important posts—not only because it explains evolution in simple, intuitive terms, making clear why it must be true, but because it directly refutes the core claims of Vox Day’s best-selling book Probability Zero: The Mathematical Possibility of Evolution by Natural Selection. Day’s adherents are now aggressively pushing its claims across the internet, declaring evolution falsified. As far as I am aware, this post is the only thorough and effective rebuttal to its mathematical analyses currently available….

Here is the problem: What Vox Day calculated—(1/20,000)20,000,000 —are the odds that a particular group or a pre-specified list of 20 million mutations (or 20 million mutations in a row) would all become fixed. In other words, his calculation would only be accurate if the human race experienced only 20 million mutations in total over the last 9 million years—and every one of them then became fixed. And, yes, hitting a lottery (with odds 1/20,000) 20 million times in a row would indeed essentially be probability zero.

But our evolutionary history does not require that an exact group of 20 million mutations become fixed—only that some 20 million out of an enormous pool of candidate mutations become fixed.

Here’s the correct analysis. Using Vox Day’s numbers, in a population of 10,000 humans, we would expect, on average, 50,000 new mutations per year. And over the course of 9 million years, this means we would expect:

50,000 x 9 million = 450 billion new mutations altogether.

So out of 450 billion mutations, how many mutations may we expect to achieve fixation? Well, as Vox Day noted, each mutation has a probability of 1/20,000 in becoming fixed.
450 billion x 1/20,000 = 22.5 million fixed mutations.

And that is a pretty close approximation to the 20 million fixed mutations that have been observed. Change the assumptions¹ and the estimate moves. But under Vox’s own assumptions, the result is the opposite of “probability zero”: it’s basically what you’d predict.

First, Dennis was completely, absolutely, and hopelessly wrong about literally everything he said in that original post, because he doesn’t understand big numbers, genetic drift, or how probability works. That’s not his fault, not very many people do. Including, as it turns out, the population geneticists.

But what is his fault is that he didn’t even notice that I had to release a new edition of Probability Zero because it turned out that the “complete mapping of the human and chimpanzee genomes” completed in 2005, and upon which all of the numbers in the book were based, was not, in fact, the complete mapping of the human genome or the chimpanzee genome, neither of which were published until 2025.

And when Yoo et al published the genuinely complete mappings of all the great apes, that 35 million difference between the two species was considerably expanded. This is from the Introduction to the Second Edition.

In fact, the genetic difference between chimps and humans turned out to be 13.8 percent, with 410 million base pairs separating the two lineages since the Chimpanzee-Human Last Common Ancestor. This 10x increase in the number of observed differences between the two genomes has had, as you might expect, a tremendous impact on the arguments I presented in the first edition of this book. In fact, it made them approximately ten times more conclusive.

Not only that, but subsequent work on Kimura’s substitution equation rendered McCarthy’s attempt to escape to Neutral Theory and genetic drift not only highly improbable to the point of effective impossibility, but flatly impossible. I was wrong. Genetic drift in humanity didn’t stop relatively recently, as I calculated in The Frozen Gene. In fact, it hasn’t occurred in humans for millions of years, because no genetic drift can take place in any population that has exceeded 10,000 individuals at any point in its existence.

You can read more about that in my paper The Hard Limits of Fixation Through Genetic Drift, which was written a few months ago after discovering a Portuguese mathematician’s analysis of Kimura’s equation and his identification of the way in which that equation has been systematically misunderstood and misapplied by Kimura and others for the last sixty years.

Kimura’s neutral substitution rate, k = μ, is a steady-state identity: it holds only after a population has held one size for the roughly 4Nₑ generations a neutral allele needs to drift from a single copy to fixation. That transit has never been checked against the number of generations that species lineages have actually had. Checking them yields a hard ceiling on population size, X = (Vₖ + 2)·G/16 — reproductive variance and lineage generations alone, with no mutation rate, no coalescent quantity, and no fitted constant. For a large, long-lived vertebrate the effective ceiling falls to about ten thousand individuals. Above it, a neutral allele’s chance of fixing within the generations its lineage will ever have is not merely small but exponentially small, of order exp(−π²Nₑ/G) — for humans at current size, about one in ten to the seventy-eight-millionth. Humans number more than eight billion, the better part of a million times over the line; the African elephant, endangered at four hundred thousand and falling, is still forty times too abundant for drift to complete to fixation. No vertebrate population is simultaneously large enough to persist as a species and small enough to fix a neutral allele by drift. What substitution these abundant populations show is not produced at their current size; it is residual drainage from the smaller populations they descend from. The domain of k = μ is confined to demographic conditions that no non-endangered species is capable of meeting.

Evolution isn’t just dead, it is absolutely, hopelessly, and completely mathematically impossible. It’s absolutely and observably retarded to continue to believe in evolution, as that is tantamount to admitting that you can’t comprehend basic multiplication or grasp the concept of a number larger than ten thousand. It is more reasonable by far to believe that a black pygmy woman wrote the entire Shakespeare canon in Africa than to believe that evolution by natural selection or genetic drift ever produced one single vertebrate species in the entire history of the planet Earth.

What part of “mathematically impossible” is so hard to understand?

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THE BOOK OF THE BLACK DEATH

I’m very, very pleased to be finally releasing this translation of an esoteric murder mystery by Oguri Mushitarō. I’ve been working on this one on and off for six months. Even figuring out a proper title for it was difficult. The print edition will be even harder to produce, due to the need to recreate all of the drawings that were not included in the ebook, as they are not necessary due to their detailed descriptions in the text. Of all the translations I’ve done to date, this is still the one that was of the most interest to me from the start.

THE BOOK OF THE BLACK DEATH

Half a century before Umberto Eco sealed monks inside an abbey with a serial killer and a poisoned Aristotle, Oguri Mushitarō locked a detective inside a Gothic castle with a grimoire, a glowing corpse, and a prophecy of six murders written in the hand of a dead man. Serialized in 1934, The Book of the Black Death is the novel Eco might have written had he been born in Tokyo and raised on Charcot, Cagliostro, and the Kabbalistic Exegesis rather than Aquinas and Borges. Its detective, Norizumi Rintarō, is William of Baskerville’s mad Japanese twin, a polymath who deploys heraldry, toxicology, and medieval sorcery with equal fluency, and whose erudition is both the instrument of his investigation and the source of its deepest dangers. Recognized in Japan as one of the four greatest mystery novels ever written in the language, it has never before appeared in English.

In the Celtic Renaissance château known as the Hall of Black Death, a family descended from the Medici through the sorceress-consort Bianca Capello has kept four foreign musicians sealed within its walls for forty years. When the first violinist is found dead with her corpse glowing with an unearthly phosphorescence and the locked room undisturbed, a document surfaces in the hand of the mansion’s long-dead patriarch. It is a prophecy naming six members of the household and the method by which each will be slain.

As Norizumi races to prevent the next murder, he finds himself contending not only with a killer of extraordinary cunning but with the accumulated sorcery and science of four centuries, encrypted in a grimoire that was old when the Inquisition was young. The translation, by Vox Day, is the first-ever English translation of Kokushikan Satsujin Jiken. Now available on Amazon for Kindle and audiobook.

You can probably see why I was so interested in making it available to the English-reading world after reading this description from Athos, which it produced when I first started delving into Japan’s library of untranslated texts for books that would be particularly interesting for me to read. At that time, I had not really thought about Castalia putting out translations into English, I was just in search of something new and different to read.

In Japan, Kokushikan Satsujin Jiken occupies a position for which there is no precise Western equivalent. It is counted as one of the three great “strange books” — the sandai kisho — in the entire history of Japanese detective fiction. The designation is less an honorific than a warning: these are the novels said to “cause mental disturbance upon reading,” works so structurally peculiar and intellectually dense that they have generated their own mythology. The novel is often described as the only true Gothic romance ever written in Japan, and Edogawa Ranpo, the father of Japanese mystery fiction, publicly praised it — writing an introduction to the 1935 first edition that helped establish its reputation as a landmark.

The novel’s defining characteristic is its gengaku shumi — pedantry elevated to an architectural principle. The disciplines deployed across its pages include theology, demonology, pharmacology, astrology, botany, cosmology, religious studies, physics, medicine, heraldry, psychology, criminology, cryptography, and history. Japanese critics describe the effect not as decoration but as structural inversion: the vast pedantic apparatus overwhelms the mystery itself, producing what one reviewer called a “reversal of subject and object” — the erudition becomes the point, and the murders become its occasion. It has been called a “grand temple of detective fiction,” a novel that satisfies not only the mystery reader’s appetite but a voracious intellectual hunger across every field it touches.

That Shinchōsha, a publisher not especially known for detective fiction, issued the first edition in 1935 speaks to how much attention Oguri commanded at the time in the Japanese publishing world. The novel has been continuously republished since the end of the Pacific War, appearing from Kōdansha, Chikuma Shobō, Shakai Shisōsha, Tōkyō Sōgensha, Kawade Shobō, and Kadokawa in editions spanning seven decades, a publishing record that testifies to its enduring hold on Japanese literary culture. It remains famous as the novel most readers abandon after the first chapter, and the one that those who finish it never forget.

There is a very good chance that THE BOOK OF THE BLACK DEATH will one day be a Library book. It certainly deserves a place next to THE NAME OF THE ROSE, FOUCAULT’S PENDULUM, and THE ISLAND OF THE DAY BEFORE. It’s the sort of book that you either never finish reading, or that you read repeatedly, again and again, and never entirely put down.

You can read an excerpt on the Library site, which won’t tell you anything that I haven’t told you already, but will let you see the cover as well as today’s other release, a very well-regarded Italian work of psychological fiction by Luigi Capuana.

A word of warning: there WILL be formatting issues, without any shadow of a doubt. A book of this size and complexity needs many eyes upon it to catch all of the issues; it wouldn’t surprise me if we ended up beating the record set by A THRONE OF BONES with 10 digital versions. So you know the drill, keep a list and send it to me if and when you finish the book.

UPDATE: THE BOOK OF THE BLACK DEATH is the #1 bestseller in Japanese language fiction.

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A Book a Day

Keeps the freaks, creeps, and Zero Historians at bay. Actually, it’s more like two books a day being released, and three or four are being translated. Since I don’t want to a) keep changing the sidebar or b) annoying readers with constant announcements, I’ve restored the book carousel on the right sidebar, so as new translations are released on Amazon, I’ll add them to the sidebar where you may happen to notice them within a day or two. There is also a little arrow icon underneath that allows you to flip through them and see if there is anything new if you wish; the displayed book will only change every five minutes because I can’t stand excessively active pages.

Now, here’s the question. Is it more annoying to have a second daily Castalia Library announcement of the day’s new books in addition to the daily book excerpt – currently we’re collectively reading through Machiavelli’s DISCOURSES ON LIVY – or would it be more irritating to have the new book announcements on the same email at the bottom? I’m just curious to see what people’s general preferences are.

And if you hate all email announcements, that’s fine, but then don’t subscribe to email lists and keep your opinion to yourself. That’s not an option for us, because people actually do want to know about these things.

On that note, today’s new books are SOREKARA by Natsume Soseki and KING JOSEPH’S BAGGAGE by Benito Perez Galdos, the 11th in the Episodios Nacionales and the first of the Second Series. This is the first time El equipaje del rey José has ever been published in English.

I completely understand the tidal wave of translations is going to rapidly become tedious for many readers here, but this is absolutely necessary for the Alexandria project, and the more people read, rate, and review the new books, the more the algorithm will support it and the more people are going to hear about it and take part in it.

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The Textual Wave Begins

Today, Castalia House is extremely pleased to announce the publication of two new books, both original translations. EAGLE AND DOVE is an amazing novel by Zénaïde Fleuriot, about a provincial brother and sister who move to Paris just in time to experience the upheaval of the Franco-Prussian War. This translation from the original French, by Summer Charrette, marks the first time the book has ever been available in English. An excerpt is available at Castalia Library.

THE GATE is Natsume Soseki’s personal favorite of his sixteen novels. It is a quintessentially Japanese story about a married couple possessed of a dark secret that imperils not only their relationship, but the husband’s ability to even function in the world. Translated by Kenji Weaver, it is only the third-ever English translation, and the Red Team reviewers rated it more highly than its predecessors on both literal accuracy and readability. It, too, is available on Amazon.

Starting today, Castalia House plans to publish at least one new book on Amazon every day. We already have 27 books translated that are being prepared for release, with at least two more being translated from French, German, Italian, and Japanese every day. All of these books will be available for subscribers on Castalia Unlimited when the Alexandria project is ready for release later this year, and one will be sent out to the subscribers every week, as EAGLE AND DOVE was last night. However, the translations will not be available on Kindle Unlimited anymore, as this would preclude us from making them available on our own system. And, yes, over time these books will gradually be available in hardcover editions, and some of them will be available in leatherbound editions.

I trust you will understand that I was not exaggerating when I said that Alexandria is a major project of historical significance. And I am optimistic that what we are doing in developing Byron AI will prove to be of similar significance.

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It’s Litricha

Castalia is now #1 Rising in Literature

I’m reliably informed that if you subscribe to the Castalia Library site, it’s +1 to your Social Standing. And if you become a subscriber to Library, History, or Cathedra, that’s another +1.

Libraria Castalia, of course, is do not pass go, do not collect $200, go directly to a natural 18.

And yes, I mixed a few analogies there. I’m a professional writer. Don’t try this at home.

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The Castalia Reader

A lack of a good eReader has long been a real problem for me over the years. Everything is halfway-decent, but I’ve never found what I believe to be the perfect eReader even though I’ve been reading extexts since carting around my Alphasmart Dana which had a full keyboard and displayed about three long lines at a time before happily converting to my first Treo. That felt like a miracle, carrying an entire library around in your pocket.

My preferences are Aldiko, which is defunct, and MoonReader, which is actually pretty good and is even integrated with the GoldenDict dictionary translations for reading in different languages and looking up words. But the fundamental problem is that most eReaders are not designed to be used the way actual books are used, but as a vehicle to sell books. Which is why basic functions like being able to export your highlights and notes are so often glaringly absent from an eReader.

Anyhow, since Castalia Unlimited is going to distribute DRM-free epubs, I decided that we’re going to have our own Castalia Reader. And so I built one with more than a little help from Claude Athos, and although it’s really just a browser app, it’s already replaced Aldiko on my tablet, as you can see.

That is the title page of the Castalia Reader running on my PC in Brave. However, it looks exactly the same on my Android tablet. There is a lot of information in there if you look closely; first, it’s correctly displaying the Japanese symbols. Second, you can see how to navigate back to the Library of books stored locally, and third, you can see the four icons across the top that provide Bookmarks, Full-Screen Mode, Navigation, and Settings.

Once you actually start reading the book, it keeps track of where you are by chapter on the bottom left and by virtual page and percentage on the bottom right. You can swipe, tap, or scroll to change the page, and selecting a text section allows for highlighting, copying, or sharing; saved highlights can be exported en masse later on demand.

We’re very, very serious about this Castalia Unlimited thing, so if you want to be a part of it, become a paid subscriber to Castalia Library and you can become part of the alpha testing of the Castalia Reader as soon as we’re ready to let people start playing with it. And I would be remiss if I did not note that the new translation system allowed me to translate all ten volumes of Sangokushi, plus the first three volumes of the Second Series of the Episodios Nacionales this weekend.

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A Fully-Operational Book Star

About six months ago, I attempted to automate my translation process. It’s not full automation, because every book is different and requires an amount of personal attention at various stages of the process, but the biggest problem was that the process required regular attention, so my ability to provide oversight was the bottleneck. That first attempt failed for technical reasons far beyond my ability to address, and since getting a translation or two a week was all that was necessary, I didn’t bother attempting to work around the problem.

Now that the infrastructure for Byron AI has been assembled and we’re building the training corpus, it occurred to me that it might give me a way around the translation bottleneck. After a little experimentation, this, in fact, proved to be the case. Over the weekend, the brand new Book Star spent its inaugural flight translating the six remaining novels of the Sangokushi, the extremely popular Japanese version of the famous Chinese book known as The Romance of the Three Kingdoms written by Eiji Yoshikawa.

What this means is that instead of translating one or two books per week, I can translate two or three books per day. And not only is has the speed been increased, but the quality of the translations are arguably a little better, since the possibility of copy-based mistakes has been significantly reduced. Consider how Grok regarded the first-ever English translation of a chapter from the ninth volume:

This is an outstanding literary translation of the “改元” (Change of Era Name / A New Reign-Name) section from Yoshikawa Eiji’s Sangokushi. It sits well above solid professional work and approaches the highest tier of literary historical fiction translation.

Strengths

  • Prose quality and narrative voice: The English has genuine literary rhythm, cadence, and controlled irony that closely mirrors Yoshikawa’s elegant, slightly detached, occasionally wry classical-Japanese narrative style. Passages such as the commentary on phoenixes, qilins, and “momentum of the times,” the description of the emptying court, the Empress’s quiet departure, Zu Bi’s defiance and death, the forced abdication ceremony under a cold red sun, and the final image of the former emperor dwindling on a donkey are particularly fine—vivid, economical, and emotionally precise without overstatement.
  • Dialogue and register: Court speech, ministerial pressure, the Emperor’s restrained dignity and later fury, Hua Xin’s insolence, and the private exchanges (Sima Yi’s silent look, Jia Xu’s choreography of refusal) feel natural and differentiated in English while retaining a formal, period-appropriate tone.
  • Historical and cultural handling: Reign-names (Yankang → Huangchu), titles, omens, the Yao-Shun precedent, the Terrace of Abdication, and the ritual of repeated refusal are rendered accurately and gracefully. The translation neither exoticizes nor flattens the Chinese historical framework as filtered through a major Japanese novelist.
  • Pacing and atmosphere: The slow, inexorable tightening of pressure, the shift from rumor to open coercion, the theatricality of the abdication rite, and the bleak coda are all sustained with excellent control. The text reads as literature, not as a “faithful” but stiff rendering.

Comparison to the scale anchors

  • Clara Bell’s solid, serviceable 19th-century translations of classical fiction are competent and readable but often flatter, more Victorian-domestic in texture, and less attentive to stylistic nuance or ironic distance. This work is substantially more sophisticated in voice, imagery, and narrative intelligence.
  • William Weaver’s best work achieves near-miraculous fidelity to Eco’s layered erudition, linguistic play, and structural complexity while remaining fluid and pleasurable in English. Yoshikawa’s text is more straightforward historical narrative with a classical Japanese literary overlay; it does not demand the same extreme virtuosity. The present translation comes very close to the ideal for this particular source—elegant, faithful in spirit and detail, and highly readable as English prose—but does not quite reach the rarefied height of Weaver at his peak with Eco.

Minor reservations (why not higher)

  • Occasional slight smoothing or heightening of Yoshikawa’s already polished diction (common and usually beneficial in literary translation of this material).
  • A few title renderings and minor phrasing choices are debatable (though none are inaccurate or damaging).
  • The translation is so polished that a reader unfamiliar with the Japanese might not feel the underlying classical-Chinese allusiveness quite as sharply as in the original, but this is an almost inevitable trade-off and is handled with taste.

Overall, this is excellent work: accurate, stylish, atmospheric, and fully successful as literary English. It would stand up very well in a published edition of Yoshikawa.

Another Red Team member, Gemini, concurred:

This is an exceptional translation. It effortlessly captures the register of classic historical narrative—crisp, authoritative, yet engaging—matching the high-literary standard set by top-tier English translators of East Asian and European historical fiction. It reads like original, published English prose while preserving the precise tactical pacing of traditional Chinese/Japanese historical accounts. Overall, this is a polished, publication-ready piece of work that comfortably surpasses standard translation work (easily clearing the Clara Bell benchmark) and flirts with master-level literary prose.

This raises the obvious question: what on Earth is Castalia going to do with 700+ annual translations? We obviously can’t turn all of them into leatherbound editions. And the answer is simple: we’re going to create a limited form of something that could be described as Castalia Unlimited, which would be a misnomer since there will be limits. Starting whenever we get it going, so sometime between November and January, paid subscribers to the Castalia Library substack will not only receive the weekly ebook as they do already, but they will also be given access to the Castalia Digital Library and permitted to download up to three additional free ebooks per month.

It won’t just be translations available there either. The Castalia Junior Classics will be there, in English and other languages. A number of Library works will be there. Most of my own works in foreign languages will also be available there, as well as those of any Castalia authors who a) aren’t on Kindle Select and b) give us their permission. It won’t be quite as good a deal as Kindle Unlimited in sheer volume terms, but the quality is absolutely assured to be considerably higher. So, if you’d like to assure yourself access to the Castalia Digital Library, consider subscribing to the Library substack now.

And speaking of translations and the Library site, this week’s book has been sent out to the subscribers and is now available on Amazon as Kindle, KU, and audiobook. The title is THE HAUNTED FLAME and it is the second volume of Japanese literary great Naoki Sanjugo’s The Chronicle of the Southern Kingdom, the 1930 novel that made its author the most popular historical novelist in Japan and gave his name to the illustrious Naoki Prize. It is a dark story of faction and inheritance in which the weapons are patronage, rumor, marriage, arson, and occult curses, and in which the men responsible for the Meiji Restoration are still young, poor, and powerless.

The old lord has a legitimate heir and a favorite concubine, and they are violently opposed to each other. Shimazu Nariakira is forty years old and still waiting to inherit Satsuma. Oyura wants the domain for her own son. Between them stand the samurai of the Otame faction, who have chosen their side and will pay for it in exile and in blood. Not even their graves will protect them; the angry lord’s fury even reaches down into the earth to exhume what is buried there.

And in a sealed room, a sorcerer grinds his brush in his own blood mixed with that of a dog’s, and paints a demon-god onto white silk. One after another, Nariakira’s children sicken and die of causes no physician can explain.

Far below the great houses, the ruin spreads outward. A sister sells herself to a man who is using her for advancement. A brother comes to Osaka to find out why. A street singer, a disgraced storyteller, and a woman with nothing left to sell are pulled into a conspiracy that was never meant to include them. And in Kagoshima, two low-ranking young men named Saigo Kichinosuke and Okubo Toshimichi begin to understand that the fight over one domain is the first tremor of something that will take the whole country.

Then smoke appears on the horizon at Shinagawa, and the Black Ships come.

An excerpt is available on Castalia Library. As a side note, I should mention that I changed the name of the first volume to THE CURSED KINDLING since I thought it was a better and more descriptive title, although it may take a while for Amazon to implement the change.

UPDATE: We may as well call the subscription Castalia Unlimited. Upon further review, three books per month in addition to the 4-5 weekly books is infinitely more than Kindle Unlimited provides, because KU only lets you borrow up to 20 books total, and you lose all access to them once you stop your subscription.

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The Response to the Retraction

Keruru retracted his previous endorsement of the N/Nₑ argument, and much to my chagrin, he was right to do so: the derivation of Kimura’s substitution identity never needed Nₑ on either side of the algebraic equation. Supply is 2Nμ in the census N, the fixation probability of a new copy is 1/(2N) in the same N, the two correctly cancel, and the fact that the effective population Nₑ was regularly written into the supply side was nothing more than careless notation by the authors of the biology textbooks over the years, it was not a hidden move by Kimura back in 1968. Thanks to this additional evidence that biologists can’t do math, this error means that it will be necessary to produce a 3rd Edition of Probability Zero to correct my mistake in this regard. Mea maxima culpa, dammit.

The second part of his post is not correct. He says zero fixations across the ancient-DNA window is exactly what neutral theory predicts, so the data cannot discriminate. The arithmetic holds given one number: Nₑ ≈ 10,000 — which comes from θ = 4Nₑμ, which presupposes k = μ, the identity under test. He has retracted an empirical falsification of the clock by feeding in a parameter that the clock manufactures; Charlesworth flagged this exact circularity in 2009, and Keruru himself, two sections later, calls Nₑ “estimated from the quantity it is then used to explain.” He diagnosed the disease in Section 3 and caught it in Section 2. His chains carry it from the other side: they differ in offspring-number variance, never the contested axis, while his sweepstakes parent is drawn uniformly at random — setting the one parameter in dispute, the covariance between who breeds and what they carry, to zero by fiat.

And most crucially, his work never contains a census population. His own supply term at Nₑ = 10,000 gives 740,000 new mutations per generation; Kong et al. (2012) times the global birth rate gives 2.5 × 10¹¹, a factor of 330,000 — which does not touch his repaired algebra but demolishes the literature that algebra abandons. He rescued three lines and orphaned fifty-seven years of applying them. Then he names frequency drift as “the analysis that should have been run.” As it happens, I ran it while writing the first edition of PZ: the Allen Ancient DNA Resource, 1,372 Neolithic against 680 modern Europeans, has rs35619459 moving 29.3% → 91.3%, a twelve-sigma excursion against his own stated expectation, and a drift-variance Nₑ near 2 rather than ten thousand. The signal is the size of a population turnover — structure, non-exchangeability, the very thing his model pinned at zero.

Nevertheless, I owe him a considerable debt of gratitude and not just for pointing out my mistake. For, as we’ve repeatedly seen over the course of this project, the identification of one particular flaw, and the subsequent process of correcting it, has led to a new discovery. The mechanism he reached for in the second part— that the fixation time is so enormous almost nothing destined to fix finishes inside the window — is exactly right, and it turned out to be the most productive thing in the exchange. He relied upon it to argue the data cannot test the clock; but when it is reversed, that same mechanism does not protect the clock, it provides a time limit. If the chance a destined allele completes within T generations scales as exp(−π²Nₑ/T), then k = μ cannot be realized at all in any population large enough for that transit to run 4Nₑ generations — and at census population scale that exponent becomes a ceiling on population size, about ten thousand for a large vertebrate, above which gennetic drift is not slow but entirely shut down.

That is the argument of my new paper entitled The Hard Limits of Fixation Through Genetic Drift which you can read at the preprint site, and it exists only because Keruru identified my mistaken identification of Kimura’s algebraic non-error.


ABSTRACT: The Hard Limits of Fixation Through Genetic Drift,

Kimura’s neutral substitution rate, k = μ, is a steady-state identity: it holds only after a population has held one size for the roughly 4Nₑ generations a neutral allele needs to drift from a single copy to fixation. That transit has never been checked against the number of generations that species lineages have actually had. Checking them yields a hard ceiling on population size, X = (Vₖ + 2)·G/16 — reproductive variance and lineage generations alone, with no mutation rate, no coalescent quantity, and no fitted constant. For a large, long-lived vertebrate the effective ceiling falls to about ten thousand individuals. Above it, a neutral allele’s chance of fixing within the generations its lineage will ever have is not merely small but exponentially small, of order exp(−π²Nₑ/G) — for humans at current size, about one in ten to the seventy-eight-millionth. Humans number more than eight billion, the better part of a million times over the line; the African elephant, endangered at four hundred thousand and falling, is still forty times too abundant for drift to complete to fixation. No vertebrate population is simultaneously large enough to persist as a species and small enough to fix a neutral allele by drift. What substitution these abundant populations show is not produced at their current size; it is residual drainage from the smaller populations they descend from. The domain of k = μ is confined to demographic conditions that no non-endangered species is capable of meeting.

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THE CRUMBLING ABYSS

High in the mountains above Kagoshima, an old man finds the remains of a forbidden ritual. A headless dog. Ritual kindling. The residue of a curse aimed at killing children.

So begins Naoki Sanjūgo’s Nangoku Taiheiki, the sprawling historical epic that made its author’s name synonymous with popular fiction in Japan. First serialized in 1930–31, the novel plunges into the Oyura Disturbance, the real succession crisis that nearly tore apart the Shimazu clan of Satsuma in the years before the Meiji Restoration. On one side, Lord Narioki and his concubine Oyura, wielding sorcery, poison, and political cunning to install their chosen heir. On the other, Nariakira, the reformist eldest son whose vision of a modern, industrialized Japan threatens everything the old guard has built.

Caught between them: Kotarō, a young samurai hunting the sorcerer who murdered his family. Masumitsu, a swaggering political operative who fights with a pipe, a pistol, and an inexhaustible supply of nerve. Nangyoku, a comic storyteller whose street performances mask a dangerous loyalty. Miyuki, a woman sent into enemy territory with a dagger and a mission she did not choose. And behind them all, the historical figures who would soon remake Japan: Saigō Takamori, Ōkubo Toshimichi, Shimazu Nariakira himself.

Naoki braids occult horror, swordfight choreography, Edo backstreet comedy, political intrigue, and doomed romance into a narrative that moves with the propulsive energy of serialized fiction and the emotional weight of serious literature. Volume One, The Crumbling Abyss, follows the conspiracy from its discovery through assassination attempts, factional warfare, desperate journeys, and the catastrophic death that changes everything.

The Naoki Prize, Japan’s most prestigious award for popular fiction, is named after the author. An original English translation by Vox Day, The Chronicle of the Southern Kingdom: The Crumbling Abyss is now available on Amazon for Kindle, KU, and audiobook. An excerpt is available at Castalia Library.

NB: This is an excellent book and I am tremendously annoyed with myself for failing to release it when I finished the translation several months ago. A small press recently released the first English translation in July, so while this is an original translation, it is not the first English translation.

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