The last (almost) two months have positively flown by! And once again, I've managed to forget about posting to this blog during that time.
So what have I been up to?
Well, after the post on Umberto Eco's book, Colleen and I went to Jamaica for a nice vacation--our very first real vacation. Sure, we've been to Cape Cod, Maine, New Hampshire, and the like, but we had never left the country or gone somewhere on our own.
So we thought it was about time that we do so :)
Vacation was wonderful! We got a great rate at an all-inclusive resort, Breezes Montego Bay, and the weather there was fantastic! It rained for a total of 5 minutes while we were there. The rest of the time, it was about 80 degrees and sunny. The remarkable thing is that even though it was rather warm, it wasn't particularly humid. On some days, the humidity peaked, but for the most part, while we were outside, the humidity was very tolerable. Especially when you were out on the beach by the ocean.
While we were down there, we did a few excursions off-site; a 4x4 safari, an outing to Negril, a catamaran cruise at sunset, and an encounter with dolphins at Dolphin Cove. All told, the trip was $4,000--no small fare, but it included airfare, lodging, and unlimited food and drink at the resort for two people.
Also while we were down there, I proposed to Colleen on the beach, under the moonlight. She said, "Yes!"
Since then, we've been doing a lot of research for planning the wedding, which has consumed a great deal of time for both of us. And while all this was going on, Colleen was still working on her Master's, I was designing two courses to run this summer (Tolkien: Master of Fantasy, and Return from Avalon: Modern Arthurian Legend), and both of us were trying to pick up as many hours at our part-time jobs as we could.
Needless to say, it has been an incredibly busy time. But I am happy to say that I am back, and I am looking forward to sharing more books with you.
Cheers,
Steve
Monday, May 18, 2009
Monday, March 16, 2009
Medieval Murder Mystery
The Name of the Rose by Umberto Eco. Reviewed by Steve on March 16th, 2009.
William of Baskerville, a Franciscan friar, journeys to an abbey in Italy with his assistant, Adso of Melk, as emissaries from the Holy Roman emperor to debate with the papal legation concerning the poverty of Christ and the Franciscan order. After arriving, William and Adso are summoned by the abbot to investigate the mysterious death of one of the monks. The abbey boasts one of the largest and most comprehensive libraries of the 14th century, but the library itself is shrouded in mystery--no one but the librarian and his assistant may enter the library.
As William investigates the death of Adelmo, the illuminator, other mysterious deaths occur under apocalyptic circumstances, apparently foretelling the second coming of Christ. One monk is found dead in a vat of pig's blood, another is found dead in a tub of water, another is found bludgeoned to death, and another keels over during prayers and dies. Rumors about the apocalyptic nature of the murders fly about the compound, whipping all the monks into a fearful religious frenzy.
When William comes close to solving the murders, the abbot asks him to cease his investigation, for one of the monks, Remigio, confessed to all the murders while inquisitioned by Bernard of Gui, the leader of the papal legation and an experienced inquisitor. Despite the abbot's request, William and Adso return to their investigation, seeking to discover the truth about the murders and the mysterious library, but what they discover could cost them their lives.
Umberto Eco's novel combines semiotics, reader response theory, hermeneutics, and postmodernism into this richly complex narrative. It is historical fiction at its essence, but the author has weaved historical fact, fiction, and conjecture so masterfully that it is nearly impossible to separate them. Indeed, part of its success rests on the fact that while not everything is true, the entire novel is historically accurate; meaning that the topics and themes raised throughout the narrative not only fit into the time period, but they were also among the most controvercial and hotly debated issues of the day.
Admittedly, the novel does start off rather slow and it takes some time to work up to an enjoyable pace, but it is well worth the wait. When the pacing does pick up speed, it rapidly escalates to a sprint, and you will find yourself wanting to read faster and faster. I found this to be a pleasant experience, but I did have to force myself to slow down so that I could fully absorb what I was reading.
Additionally, while this is a compelling novel, you do have to have a keen interest in the Middle Ages (or a willingness to learn about the period and develop one) to fully enjoy the story, as there are many allusions and references to other literary works, famous Medieval personalities, historical milestones, quotations in latin, and the like. These can become a burden if you are not familiar with them, since they hold no meaning for you. But if you do have an interest in the Middle Ages, or you are willing to look up the references you are not familiar with, you will be wonderfully delighted by this novel.
5 Stars
William of Baskerville, a Franciscan friar, journeys to an abbey in Italy with his assistant, Adso of Melk, as emissaries from the Holy Roman emperor to debate with the papal legation concerning the poverty of Christ and the Franciscan order. After arriving, William and Adso are summoned by the abbot to investigate the mysterious death of one of the monks. The abbey boasts one of the largest and most comprehensive libraries of the 14th century, but the library itself is shrouded in mystery--no one but the librarian and his assistant may enter the library.
As William investigates the death of Adelmo, the illuminator, other mysterious deaths occur under apocalyptic circumstances, apparently foretelling the second coming of Christ. One monk is found dead in a vat of pig's blood, another is found dead in a tub of water, another is found bludgeoned to death, and another keels over during prayers and dies. Rumors about the apocalyptic nature of the murders fly about the compound, whipping all the monks into a fearful religious frenzy.
When William comes close to solving the murders, the abbot asks him to cease his investigation, for one of the monks, Remigio, confessed to all the murders while inquisitioned by Bernard of Gui, the leader of the papal legation and an experienced inquisitor. Despite the abbot's request, William and Adso return to their investigation, seeking to discover the truth about the murders and the mysterious library, but what they discover could cost them their lives.
Umberto Eco's novel combines semiotics, reader response theory, hermeneutics, and postmodernism into this richly complex narrative. It is historical fiction at its essence, but the author has weaved historical fact, fiction, and conjecture so masterfully that it is nearly impossible to separate them. Indeed, part of its success rests on the fact that while not everything is true, the entire novel is historically accurate; meaning that the topics and themes raised throughout the narrative not only fit into the time period, but they were also among the most controvercial and hotly debated issues of the day.
Admittedly, the novel does start off rather slow and it takes some time to work up to an enjoyable pace, but it is well worth the wait. When the pacing does pick up speed, it rapidly escalates to a sprint, and you will find yourself wanting to read faster and faster. I found this to be a pleasant experience, but I did have to force myself to slow down so that I could fully absorb what I was reading.
Additionally, while this is a compelling novel, you do have to have a keen interest in the Middle Ages (or a willingness to learn about the period and develop one) to fully enjoy the story, as there are many allusions and references to other literary works, famous Medieval personalities, historical milestones, quotations in latin, and the like. These can become a burden if you are not familiar with them, since they hold no meaning for you. But if you do have an interest in the Middle Ages, or you are willing to look up the references you are not familiar with, you will be wonderfully delighted by this novel.
5 Stars
MIA
Hello Everyone,
Sorry I have been missing in action for the past two weeks or so. I was briefly incapacitated by a cold; one that I got from nursing my girlfriend back to health from her cold.
On another note, I am pleased to see N. Vivian back in action after a short absence. Hopefully, we'll be able to continue our semi-regular postings, as I know you all yearn for more insights from these two Reading Enthusiasts.
Cheers!
Steve
Sorry I have been missing in action for the past two weeks or so. I was briefly incapacitated by a cold; one that I got from nursing my girlfriend back to health from her cold.
On another note, I am pleased to see N. Vivian back in action after a short absence. Hopefully, we'll be able to continue our semi-regular postings, as I know you all yearn for more insights from these two Reading Enthusiasts.
Cheers!
Steve
Monday, March 9, 2009
More make-up reviews!
The Winter's Tale by William Shakespeare, reviewed by N. Vivian on March 9,2009
The Winter's Tale is one of Shakespeare's lesser-known plays; though still popular, it isn't one the Big Comedies, Tragedies, or Histories. The Winter's Tale is one of his romances, a genre that appeared much later in his career. The most famous of these is The Tempest (which, y'know, I'm just not really all that fond of), but it also includes Pericles, Prince of Tyre; Cymbeline, and occasionally The Two Noble Kinsmen. While romance does have a role in these plays (most of them ending in engagement or a wedding, as proper comedies ought), they focus more around familial relationships that romantic ones. Prevalent are themes of reunion and redemption/forgiveness, brought about, oddly enough, by the existence of a daughter (Miranda in The Tempest, Perdita in The Winter's Tale, Marina in Pericles, Prince of Tyre). These were all written around the time Shakespeare married off his elder daughter Susanna, so there may be a bit of sentimentality in there for being absent so often during his children's childhoods. For the record, this is me speculating wildly--though if there's any relevent scholarship out there, feel free to point me to it.
Anyway, the romances have a few other themes in common. First of all, they all involve magic and fantastic elements which results in a big old deus ex machina at the end. Second, they also introduce the idea of tragicomedy. These aren't bright, happy romances where everything is wonderful, unicorns shoot rainbows from their horns, and the only strife is who beat who in the hugging contest (though, for the record, not even the happiest of Shakespeare's comedies are like that). Even when bad things happen in comedies, you know that it's all going to work out in the end. You don't ever forget you're reading a comedy. In the beginning of these plays, it's really easy to assume that you're reading a tragedy. These romances feature deaths, injustices, and have plotlines that even the happy marriages at the end cannot entirely wipe away. He raises some dark and profound issues--in the end of The Winter's Tale, for example, sure everyone's happy and reunited, but you can't forget that sixteen long years of separation have gone by, that Mamillius and Antigonus are still dead and Hermione's too old to bear children again.
The Winter's Tale does have the best stage direction EVAR: 'Exit, pursued by a bear'
The play starts in Sicilia, at the court of King Leontes and Queen Hermione. King Polixenes, childhood friend of Leontes, has been visiting for the past nine months. Missing his son and his kingdom, Polixenes plans to leave Sicilia the next day. Leontes isn't able to convince him to stay, so he sends Hermione to try instead. She's successful, and suddenly Leontes is struck by this horrible, jealous, insane certainty that Polixenes and Hermione are sleeping together and the child Hermione's carrying is actually Polixenes's bastard. He sends Camillo to poison Polixenes, but Camillo confesses to Polixenes instead, and he and Polixenes flee Sicilia.
His insanity increasing, Leontes assumes that there's actually a plot against his life, and arrests Hermione, since he cannot get his hands on Polixenes or Camillo. He throws her into the dungeons with a few of her ladies, and refuses to let their older son, Mamillius, anywhere near her. He's fairly certain that Mamillius is his, and he doesn't want his son contamintaed by Hermione's perfidity. All of his councilors tell him he's wrong, that Hermione's never been anything but good and virtuous, but Leontes remains convinced, even though he has no real, solid proof. Hermione gives birth to a daughter, and Leontes orders Antigonus to dispose of the infant, after Antigonus's wife, Paulina, tries to use the baby as evidence of Hermione's faithfulness. Soon after the birth, he drags Hermione to trial, and the Oracle at Delphos pronounces her innocent. Even that's not enough for Leontes; he announces that even the gods in heaven are liars. He no sooner says that then he is shown what happens when mortals sass the gods: he immediately receives word that Mamillius is dead, Hermione swoons, is rushed offstaged, and pronounced dead as well, and he is told that he'll have no other heirs until the lost baby girl is found. Surrounded by the death of everyone he has ever loved, Leontes gecomes sane again, swears that he'll grieve for his dead wife and son every day for the rest of his life.
Antigonus is dropped off on the seacoast of Bohemia (Polixenes's country), where he is to abandon the princess. He leaves gold, some of Hermione's jewels, a note about the baby's identity, and names her Perdita, after Hermione comes to him in a dream. The wrath of the gods fall on him and the ship, too. He's eaten by a bear, the ship he sailed on sinks, and the baby is found by an old shepherd and his son, who assume Perdita's a changeling.
In the next Act, Time enters and announces that sixteen years have gone by. Leontes has spent that time mourning his stupid, Perdita has grown up to be a beautiful young girl, and Florizel, prince of Bohemia, has fallen in love with her. Polixenes and Camillo notice Florizel's been acting weird, so they disguise themselves and follow him to see what he's been up to recently. They attend a sheep-shearing festival held by the old Shepherd, ands discover that Florizel's about to marry this little nobody. Since neither the shepherd nor his son could read, no one knows that Perdita is anything other than what she seems. Polixenes threatens to disenherit Flroizel, and threatens to burn Perdita as a witch and then kill shepherd and his son if they go through with the match. Camillo, who is homesick for Sicilia, sends Florizel and Perdita to Sicilia to visit Leontes, and then runs home and tells Polixenes that they've gone to Sicilia, so he can legitimately go home again. The shepherd and his son don't want to be killed, so they rush home, collect the remainder of the gold and jewels and all the paperwork that they found with Perdita, to prove that they aren't actually related to her and should be spared the king's wrath. Unfortunately, they get violently seasick on the way to Sicilia, and are too busy throwing up to prove anything to anyone until after they dock. Eventually, Polixenes catches up with Florizel and Perdita in Leontes's court, Perdita's true identity is revealed and she reunites with her father. Her royal heritage makes everything better, Polixenes is thrilled to marry his son off to the daughter of his bat-shit best friend, and they all troop down to Paulina's house, to see the statue of Hermione, recently carved by some famous sculptor. There, once Leontes talks about how he was a douche and would give anything to get Hermione back and Perdita is presented as their daughter, the statue comes to life and Hermione is returned to the land of the living. The end.
Perhaps the most intriguing aspect of this play is the language. Now, all Shakespeare language is tough if you haven't practiced for awhile. It's close enough to our own where it feels as if it should be obvious, but the slang, the grammar, the spelling...it's just far enough off to make it hard to dive right into. In The Winter's Tale, however, language is even more obtuse and abused. The language in the first two or three Acts is tough, occasionally reading is more akin to slogging. The footnotes in my version are full of explanations like: "We think it means this, these other scholars say it prolly means that, one guy said it means this other thing, but he's wrong..." Rather than taking away from my understanding of the play, I felt as if the language actually heightened it. True, I didn't grasp every meaning, but the first few Acts are all about a mental disorder to the point of insanity. The language reflects that--it's gets more and more twisted as Leontes's mind does the same. I thought it makes for a great illustration of the disorder of his brain. Then, as his court spirals deeper into craziness, their speeches follow the same pattern. Awesome.
As for characters, the only one I really liked was Paulina. She's this crazy old bat of a courtier, and she's the only one really willing to stand up to Leontes and call him a nutjob. She takes him to task for his behavior over and over again, first when he impugns hermione's honor, then when he denies his daughter's paternity, and again when he orders Perdita to be exposed. She also accuses his other courtiers (including her own husband) or cowardice for not standing up to a tyrant. Even later, after he's repented, she still rides him about it, keeping that grief and regret alive and well. She's also the one who brings Hermione back to life once Perdita comes home. I love ballsy and sassy women. Everone else in the play is either insane (Leontes), or ill-defined. We don't meet our heo and heroine till Act Four, and they barely speak in Act Five. The other big character, Autolycus, is named for Odysseus's grandfather (a reknowned thief), and does his best to live up to the reputation. He swindles the shepherd and his son not once, not twice, but three times. He's pretty cool, but also very much a stock character, showing some signs of wit, but not enough to keep him interesting. I kind of viewed him as an interruption to the play--I wanted to see how the main plot would resolve, not watch him steal yokels blind.
So this is the play I intend to turn into a Gothic novel. It's got almost all the requisite elements in there already--which is why it's so entertaining. Even those that it doesn't have will be easy enough to slip in. I'm very much looking forward to writing it. As for the play, it's difficult to read, which is probably why it isn't more popular, but it's funny and interesting. It doesn't develop the same emotional attachment that the Tragedies do, but it easily stands toe-to-toe with any of the Comedies.
4.5 stars
The Winter's Tale is one of Shakespeare's lesser-known plays; though still popular, it isn't one the Big Comedies, Tragedies, or Histories. The Winter's Tale is one of his romances, a genre that appeared much later in his career. The most famous of these is The Tempest (which, y'know, I'm just not really all that fond of), but it also includes Pericles, Prince of Tyre; Cymbeline, and occasionally The Two Noble Kinsmen. While romance does have a role in these plays (most of them ending in engagement or a wedding, as proper comedies ought), they focus more around familial relationships that romantic ones. Prevalent are themes of reunion and redemption/forgiveness, brought about, oddly enough, by the existence of a daughter (Miranda in The Tempest, Perdita in The Winter's Tale, Marina in Pericles, Prince of Tyre). These were all written around the time Shakespeare married off his elder daughter Susanna, so there may be a bit of sentimentality in there for being absent so often during his children's childhoods. For the record, this is me speculating wildly--though if there's any relevent scholarship out there, feel free to point me to it.
Anyway, the romances have a few other themes in common. First of all, they all involve magic and fantastic elements which results in a big old deus ex machina at the end. Second, they also introduce the idea of tragicomedy. These aren't bright, happy romances where everything is wonderful, unicorns shoot rainbows from their horns, and the only strife is who beat who in the hugging contest (though, for the record, not even the happiest of Shakespeare's comedies are like that). Even when bad things happen in comedies, you know that it's all going to work out in the end. You don't ever forget you're reading a comedy. In the beginning of these plays, it's really easy to assume that you're reading a tragedy. These romances feature deaths, injustices, and have plotlines that even the happy marriages at the end cannot entirely wipe away. He raises some dark and profound issues--in the end of The Winter's Tale, for example, sure everyone's happy and reunited, but you can't forget that sixteen long years of separation have gone by, that Mamillius and Antigonus are still dead and Hermione's too old to bear children again.
The Winter's Tale does have the best stage direction EVAR: 'Exit, pursued by a bear'
The play starts in Sicilia, at the court of King Leontes and Queen Hermione. King Polixenes, childhood friend of Leontes, has been visiting for the past nine months. Missing his son and his kingdom, Polixenes plans to leave Sicilia the next day. Leontes isn't able to convince him to stay, so he sends Hermione to try instead. She's successful, and suddenly Leontes is struck by this horrible, jealous, insane certainty that Polixenes and Hermione are sleeping together and the child Hermione's carrying is actually Polixenes's bastard. He sends Camillo to poison Polixenes, but Camillo confesses to Polixenes instead, and he and Polixenes flee Sicilia.
His insanity increasing, Leontes assumes that there's actually a plot against his life, and arrests Hermione, since he cannot get his hands on Polixenes or Camillo. He throws her into the dungeons with a few of her ladies, and refuses to let their older son, Mamillius, anywhere near her. He's fairly certain that Mamillius is his, and he doesn't want his son contamintaed by Hermione's perfidity. All of his councilors tell him he's wrong, that Hermione's never been anything but good and virtuous, but Leontes remains convinced, even though he has no real, solid proof. Hermione gives birth to a daughter, and Leontes orders Antigonus to dispose of the infant, after Antigonus's wife, Paulina, tries to use the baby as evidence of Hermione's faithfulness. Soon after the birth, he drags Hermione to trial, and the Oracle at Delphos pronounces her innocent. Even that's not enough for Leontes; he announces that even the gods in heaven are liars. He no sooner says that then he is shown what happens when mortals sass the gods: he immediately receives word that Mamillius is dead, Hermione swoons, is rushed offstaged, and pronounced dead as well, and he is told that he'll have no other heirs until the lost baby girl is found. Surrounded by the death of everyone he has ever loved, Leontes gecomes sane again, swears that he'll grieve for his dead wife and son every day for the rest of his life.
Antigonus is dropped off on the seacoast of Bohemia (Polixenes's country), where he is to abandon the princess. He leaves gold, some of Hermione's jewels, a note about the baby's identity, and names her Perdita, after Hermione comes to him in a dream. The wrath of the gods fall on him and the ship, too. He's eaten by a bear, the ship he sailed on sinks, and the baby is found by an old shepherd and his son, who assume Perdita's a changeling.
In the next Act, Time enters and announces that sixteen years have gone by. Leontes has spent that time mourning his stupid, Perdita has grown up to be a beautiful young girl, and Florizel, prince of Bohemia, has fallen in love with her. Polixenes and Camillo notice Florizel's been acting weird, so they disguise themselves and follow him to see what he's been up to recently. They attend a sheep-shearing festival held by the old Shepherd, ands discover that Florizel's about to marry this little nobody. Since neither the shepherd nor his son could read, no one knows that Perdita is anything other than what she seems. Polixenes threatens to disenherit Flroizel, and threatens to burn Perdita as a witch and then kill shepherd and his son if they go through with the match. Camillo, who is homesick for Sicilia, sends Florizel and Perdita to Sicilia to visit Leontes, and then runs home and tells Polixenes that they've gone to Sicilia, so he can legitimately go home again. The shepherd and his son don't want to be killed, so they rush home, collect the remainder of the gold and jewels and all the paperwork that they found with Perdita, to prove that they aren't actually related to her and should be spared the king's wrath. Unfortunately, they get violently seasick on the way to Sicilia, and are too busy throwing up to prove anything to anyone until after they dock. Eventually, Polixenes catches up with Florizel and Perdita in Leontes's court, Perdita's true identity is revealed and she reunites with her father. Her royal heritage makes everything better, Polixenes is thrilled to marry his son off to the daughter of his bat-shit best friend, and they all troop down to Paulina's house, to see the statue of Hermione, recently carved by some famous sculptor. There, once Leontes talks about how he was a douche and would give anything to get Hermione back and Perdita is presented as their daughter, the statue comes to life and Hermione is returned to the land of the living. The end.
Perhaps the most intriguing aspect of this play is the language. Now, all Shakespeare language is tough if you haven't practiced for awhile. It's close enough to our own where it feels as if it should be obvious, but the slang, the grammar, the spelling...it's just far enough off to make it hard to dive right into. In The Winter's Tale, however, language is even more obtuse and abused. The language in the first two or three Acts is tough, occasionally reading is more akin to slogging. The footnotes in my version are full of explanations like: "We think it means this, these other scholars say it prolly means that, one guy said it means this other thing, but he's wrong..." Rather than taking away from my understanding of the play, I felt as if the language actually heightened it. True, I didn't grasp every meaning, but the first few Acts are all about a mental disorder to the point of insanity. The language reflects that--it's gets more and more twisted as Leontes's mind does the same. I thought it makes for a great illustration of the disorder of his brain. Then, as his court spirals deeper into craziness, their speeches follow the same pattern. Awesome.
As for characters, the only one I really liked was Paulina. She's this crazy old bat of a courtier, and she's the only one really willing to stand up to Leontes and call him a nutjob. She takes him to task for his behavior over and over again, first when he impugns hermione's honor, then when he denies his daughter's paternity, and again when he orders Perdita to be exposed. She also accuses his other courtiers (including her own husband) or cowardice for not standing up to a tyrant. Even later, after he's repented, she still rides him about it, keeping that grief and regret alive and well. She's also the one who brings Hermione back to life once Perdita comes home. I love ballsy and sassy women. Everone else in the play is either insane (Leontes), or ill-defined. We don't meet our heo and heroine till Act Four, and they barely speak in Act Five. The other big character, Autolycus, is named for Odysseus's grandfather (a reknowned thief), and does his best to live up to the reputation. He swindles the shepherd and his son not once, not twice, but three times. He's pretty cool, but also very much a stock character, showing some signs of wit, but not enough to keep him interesting. I kind of viewed him as an interruption to the play--I wanted to see how the main plot would resolve, not watch him steal yokels blind.
So this is the play I intend to turn into a Gothic novel. It's got almost all the requisite elements in there already--which is why it's so entertaining. Even those that it doesn't have will be easy enough to slip in. I'm very much looking forward to writing it. As for the play, it's difficult to read, which is probably why it isn't more popular, but it's funny and interesting. It doesn't develop the same emotional attachment that the Tragedies do, but it easily stands toe-to-toe with any of the Comedies.
4.5 stars
Saturday, March 7, 2009
Review #1 of the make-up posts
Beasts by Joyce Carol Oates, reviewed by N. Vivian on March 7, 2009
Words are like bullets.
In writing, I have serious flaws that I'm working on fixing. Specifically, I write too much--this is why drabbles are so good for me. Saying everything I want to say in 100 words...I can rarely contain myself to 100 words exactly, but I do (generally) try to keep them below 1000. It is hard to write a story in 1000 words or less--at least for me. You read my reviews, you know how verbose I can be; I make a three hour tale out of a limerick. I give the set-up, then the punchline, and then go out on to explain the joke. It's not that I don't trust my audience--it's more that I don't trust myself to have told it properly. It's for that same reason that I abuse italics and adverbs. This way I know everyone will understand what I mean.
I am convinced this is one of the reasons I'm not good at poetry.
If words are like bullets, then my words are like buck shot--lots at once, that scatter so when they hit, they don't do much damage or penetrate very deeply.
Joyce Carol Oates, on the other hand, her words are jacketed hollow-tipped bullets shot from a high-powered sniper rifle. Not only does she not bother explaining the joke, half the time she'll give you maybe half the punchline (or none at all), and demand that you figure it out your own damn self. I almost felt as if the book were a race, and I had to run to keep up with her--her prose is so quick and fast that you have to pay attention or it slips right by you. Much the main character, Gillian, I felt lost and disoriented while reading, as if there was so much more going on, hovering at the edges of my senses.
I'm not saying that the book was incomprehensible. Far from it--the narrative is clear, with enough short, declarative sentences to make Hemingway proud. Though the book itself isn't completely linear, but it is symmetrical. It starts in 2001, goes to January of 1976, then to September of '75 up through Jan of '76 again, before ending back in 2001. Jaunts in time aside, it's still very easy to follow, thematically. the "lost and disoriented" feeling comes from the denseness of the text. It's not dense like Judith Butler (her prose is a mortar, nigh-overwhelming when you're hit with it), in fact, it's dense in an opposite kinda way. Butler uses big words and long sentences to get her words out point across; her text is dense because she is describing a complicated theory in a very complicated way. Neither Oates's words nor her meaning are very complicated; however, she uses few words to get that point across. Butler exercises your brain trying to figure out what she means by deciphering what she says. Oates exercises your brain by making it work to put in all the meaning that is implied by her words that she doesn't come out and say. I'm not saying she leaves stuff out, but...reading novels, we're used to having all the information we need spoon-fed to us. There's tons of description and dialogue and interaction and we have more than we actually need to know. I'm not saying that's a bad thing--I'm all over lush descriptions and the like. But it takes a mental shift to go from all that to Beasts, where we're given exactly what we need and no more. My brain had to work to give me everything she wasn't saying.
I'm tempted to give a few more analogies (one about painting, the other about food), but I won't. Either you understand me or you don't. Either way, you should read the book.
Anyway, Beasts primarily takes place on a small college campus in the Berkshires during the Fall semester of 1975. We only get brief sketches of the characters (most only described with a single aspect), but they still feel alive and vibrant. Gillian is the girl we all know--the one who does well at school to please the frigid and demanding parents at home; uptight, nervous, and repressed. Dominique is sultry, Marisa has ash-blond hair, Cassie is emotionally fragile. The main triangle of characters is Gillian, Andre, and Dorcas, so they get the most description, but even with only a few words and bits of dialogue, we know enough about them.
Gillian, a junior, is madly in love with her poetry professor Andre Harrow, just like every other student on campus. He and his scultpress wife, Dorcas, have this whole 1960's bohemian mystique about them. Her sculptures are weird and engrossing and scary and bizarre. His writing workshops can make people cry, but a single word of praise can make a semester of pain vanish in a blink. According to rumor, they occasionally take a student to be one of Dorcas's 'interns' for a bit, and that girl is swept up in their lavish and exciting lifestyle. But no one ever says for sure what happens there, or who's a part of it.
Unsurprisingly, it's a world of sex, drugs, and power. I half-expected this book to contain a supernatural element; that Andre and Dorcas use these girls to fuel crazy-ass blood rituals and call forth demons or something. I'm more disturbed that it doesn't--Andre and Dorcas just seem to enjoy using, manipulating, and exploiting young women. They probably don't even see it that way--even as they dope the young woman and take pictures of them, and send those pictures to various X-rated magazines. These girls are trauma victims and don't even know it--no, instead they go back ask for more until they spiral out of control. They're abused, emotionally kicked and petted, until they can't tell which way is up. Attention, any attention is good. I almost felt claustrophobic while reading it--there's so little but it means so much, and everything is just so...fraught.
Reading this book is like watching the heroine (the smart one, the one you don't hate) go down the basement stairs in a horror movie. You're screaming "Don't do it!" but the pull is inexorable.
I will never write like Joyce Carol Oates. She's a master artist, and the closest I could come would be weak imitation. I don't really want to write like her (I am a lush description kinda girl myself), but it's humbling to read her work anyway. She polishes each word till it gleams and then uses them to cut. It's beautiful, the way really good poetry is beautiful. This book is profoundly disturbing, and only gets moreso the more you think on it. She writes like an iceberg, and only after you put the book down and have time for reflection can you get to most of what's hidden beneath.
5 stars
In books I trust,
N. Vivian
Words are like bullets.
In writing, I have serious flaws that I'm working on fixing. Specifically, I write too much--this is why drabbles are so good for me. Saying everything I want to say in 100 words...I can rarely contain myself to 100 words exactly, but I do (generally) try to keep them below 1000. It is hard to write a story in 1000 words or less--at least for me. You read my reviews, you know how verbose I can be; I make a three hour tale out of a limerick. I give the set-up, then the punchline, and then go out on to explain the joke. It's not that I don't trust my audience--it's more that I don't trust myself to have told it properly. It's for that same reason that I abuse italics and adverbs. This way I know everyone will understand what I mean.
I am convinced this is one of the reasons I'm not good at poetry.
If words are like bullets, then my words are like buck shot--lots at once, that scatter so when they hit, they don't do much damage or penetrate very deeply.
Joyce Carol Oates, on the other hand, her words are jacketed hollow-tipped bullets shot from a high-powered sniper rifle. Not only does she not bother explaining the joke, half the time she'll give you maybe half the punchline (or none at all), and demand that you figure it out your own damn self. I almost felt as if the book were a race, and I had to run to keep up with her--her prose is so quick and fast that you have to pay attention or it slips right by you. Much the main character, Gillian, I felt lost and disoriented while reading, as if there was so much more going on, hovering at the edges of my senses.
I'm not saying that the book was incomprehensible. Far from it--the narrative is clear, with enough short, declarative sentences to make Hemingway proud. Though the book itself isn't completely linear, but it is symmetrical. It starts in 2001, goes to January of 1976, then to September of '75 up through Jan of '76 again, before ending back in 2001. Jaunts in time aside, it's still very easy to follow, thematically. the "lost and disoriented" feeling comes from the denseness of the text. It's not dense like Judith Butler (her prose is a mortar, nigh-overwhelming when you're hit with it), in fact, it's dense in an opposite kinda way. Butler uses big words and long sentences to get her words out point across; her text is dense because she is describing a complicated theory in a very complicated way. Neither Oates's words nor her meaning are very complicated; however, she uses few words to get that point across. Butler exercises your brain trying to figure out what she means by deciphering what she says. Oates exercises your brain by making it work to put in all the meaning that is implied by her words that she doesn't come out and say. I'm not saying she leaves stuff out, but...reading novels, we're used to having all the information we need spoon-fed to us. There's tons of description and dialogue and interaction and we have more than we actually need to know. I'm not saying that's a bad thing--I'm all over lush descriptions and the like. But it takes a mental shift to go from all that to Beasts, where we're given exactly what we need and no more. My brain had to work to give me everything she wasn't saying.
I'm tempted to give a few more analogies (one about painting, the other about food), but I won't. Either you understand me or you don't. Either way, you should read the book.
Anyway, Beasts primarily takes place on a small college campus in the Berkshires during the Fall semester of 1975. We only get brief sketches of the characters (most only described with a single aspect), but they still feel alive and vibrant. Gillian is the girl we all know--the one who does well at school to please the frigid and demanding parents at home; uptight, nervous, and repressed. Dominique is sultry, Marisa has ash-blond hair, Cassie is emotionally fragile. The main triangle of characters is Gillian, Andre, and Dorcas, so they get the most description, but even with only a few words and bits of dialogue, we know enough about them.
Gillian, a junior, is madly in love with her poetry professor Andre Harrow, just like every other student on campus. He and his scultpress wife, Dorcas, have this whole 1960's bohemian mystique about them. Her sculptures are weird and engrossing and scary and bizarre. His writing workshops can make people cry, but a single word of praise can make a semester of pain vanish in a blink. According to rumor, they occasionally take a student to be one of Dorcas's 'interns' for a bit, and that girl is swept up in their lavish and exciting lifestyle. But no one ever says for sure what happens there, or who's a part of it.
Unsurprisingly, it's a world of sex, drugs, and power. I half-expected this book to contain a supernatural element; that Andre and Dorcas use these girls to fuel crazy-ass blood rituals and call forth demons or something. I'm more disturbed that it doesn't--Andre and Dorcas just seem to enjoy using, manipulating, and exploiting young women. They probably don't even see it that way--even as they dope the young woman and take pictures of them, and send those pictures to various X-rated magazines. These girls are trauma victims and don't even know it--no, instead they go back ask for more until they spiral out of control. They're abused, emotionally kicked and petted, until they can't tell which way is up. Attention, any attention is good. I almost felt claustrophobic while reading it--there's so little but it means so much, and everything is just so...fraught.
Reading this book is like watching the heroine (the smart one, the one you don't hate) go down the basement stairs in a horror movie. You're screaming "Don't do it!" but the pull is inexorable.
I will never write like Joyce Carol Oates. She's a master artist, and the closest I could come would be weak imitation. I don't really want to write like her (I am a lush description kinda girl myself), but it's humbling to read her work anyway. She polishes each word till it gleams and then uses them to cut. It's beautiful, the way really good poetry is beautiful. This book is profoundly disturbing, and only gets moreso the more you think on it. She writes like an iceberg, and only after you put the book down and have time for reflection can you get to most of what's hidden beneath.
5 stars
In books I trust,
N. Vivian
Friday, March 6, 2009
Welcome to N. Vivian Appreciation Month!
Sorry folks for forgetting to update this as I should. I know, I know...your lives just aren't complete without my book reviews. I shall try to do better in the future. To make up for my lack of reviewing here, I'll post a review every day for the next few days.
Since it's on everyone's mind, I'll add my review of Watchmen as well. Warning: some spoilers.
The Watchmen by Alan Moore and David Gibbons, reviewed by N. Vivian on 3/6/2009.
Watchmen is a comic about superheroes, but it isn't a superhero comic. Instead, it is Moore's playing with the genre to the point of awesome. Picture New York City 1980's; a New York where people really did (at one point) dress up in wacky costumes and fight crime. A New York (and a world) where superhero comics don't exist, because who wants to read comics about real life (people read pirate comics instead)? Of all the costumed crimefighters, only one is actually parahuman: Dr. Manhattan. Created by a scientific experiment gone horribly wrong (betcha never heard that origin story before, eh?), Dr. Manhattan exists outside of time, and can change the physical world on an atomic level simply by will and thought alone. America is using him to hold the pinko commie bastards Russia in check ("the superman exists and he is American"), leading America to behave like a spoiled brat who is always threatening to take his ball home if other kids countries don't play by their rules, and who keeps talking about his big brother who'll beat everyone up if they don't do what he says.
Yeah, I know, it's an America that defies belief.
The comic opens with the murder of Edward Blake, the alter ego of the superhero "The Comedian," one of the two superheroes who works with government sanction. The other, is, of course, Dr. Manhattan; the rest were forced into retirement back in '77 after the passing of the "Keene Act" which basically just said no to vigilantism. The one costumed crimefighter (a more accurate term [though I use them pretty much interchangeably] than superhero since none of them have powers save Dr. Manhattan) who did not go gentle into that good night is Rorschach. Rorschach is, by my thinking anyway, the most interesting character in Watchmen. First of all, his moral code is awesome. On the one hand, he truly believes that the ends justify the means; breaking the fingers of a small time crook to get information is completely okay, but at the same time, he freaks out on another character for having an unlicensed gun. Rorschach never compromises; his entire outlook is purely black or white, right or wrong. If something is wrong, it must be persecuted to the fullest extent (and not necessarily by the law). Like his mask, which is a never-ending swirl of black and white, his views never mix into a neutral gray. Much like Dr. Manhattan and Ozymandias, Rorschach never questions his actions or his motives--he is action, pure and simple. In order to find a missing girl, he tortures fifteen people for information; upon finding she has been murdered, dismembered, and fed to dogs, he kills the dogs, handcuffs the kidnapper, sets the house on fire, then hands the man a hacksaw and says, "Shouldn't bother trying to saw through handcuffs. Never make it in time." Brutal, man, but chillingly effective. His response to the Keene Act? To murder a serial rapist and dump his body in front of the police station, with a sign that says "Never!" pinned to the corpse.
Rorschach believes himself to be Rorschach; he refers to his mask as his 'face' and sees his alter-ego (who is not revealed for several chapters, but you can pretty much guess his identity right off) as the not-real him. This psychological break occurs during the the kidnapping scene, though it builds on several decades of fucked-uppedness: "It was Kovacs who said 'mother' then, muffled under Latex. It was Kovacs who closed his eyes. It was Rorschach who opened them again....Existence is random. Has no pattern save what we imagine after staring at it for too long. No meaning save what we choose to impose...It is not God who kills the children. Not Fate that butchers them or destiny that feeds them to the dogs. It's us. Only us....Was reborn then, free to scrawl own design on this morally blank world. Was Rorschach." Seriously, his psychology is amazing, and that's before we get into the crazy that was his childhood.
The whole comic book is a deconstructionist text (if there's one thing I can honestly say I've learned at Clark, it's lit. theory. Still don't like it, but at least I [sorta] understand it now), looking at the worth and value of superheroes. First, it looks at the kind of people who would become costumed crimefighters in a modern, fairly realistic setting, at the dark psychology behind such a drive and motivation. It's one thing for Superman and Spiderman to do so--they've got special powers that creates within them a special responsibility. Batman, however? Plain, mortal Batman? Screwed up in the head. It warns of the danger of having a weapon that we place all our hopes and power in because when it goes, or becomes obsolete, we have nothing left and our enemies swarm around us and our newfound (or even newly perceived) weakness. Lastly, this is also a cautionary tale; Moore is warning us about putting all our hopes and trust into powerful beings, either political or paranormal. By doing so, we absolve ourselves of all responsibility and agency. First we give them the power to do as they please, and remove from ourselves the power to protest against them, and then we follow them down into moral decay since, freed from any notion of personal responsibility, we feel empowered to do as we please.
Oh, and let me talk about Tales of the Black Freighter for a moment, Watchmen's comic within a comic. The reader gets to read the story "Marooned," during several points of the comic, as the events in that story coincide with the events in the actual story. "Marooned" is about a sailor who washes up on an island (along with the bodies of his dead comrades) after the Black Freighter (the eponymous ship of evil from the comic) attacks his ship. The sailor realizes that the Black Freighter will be sailing towards his undefended home, and will kill everyone in the town, including the sailor's own family. In order to make it home before the ship, the sailor starts doing the most insane things, slowly stripping away him humanity (and sanity!) in the process. He makes a raft out of the gas-bloated corpses of his friends, catches and eats a raw sea gull, kills and eats a shark that has been drawn to the smell of his raft, and then, once he gets home, begins murdering his friends and neighbors who he assumes are collaborating with the pirate...who never came.
This theme of sacrificing everything to achieve victory has a certain central importance in the main-comic, as you can see if you read the comic yourself (I'm pretty sure that if I spoil the ending, I will be placed on the hitlist of the Geek Mafia). It's not exactly like a Pyrrhic victory--it's more of a deliberate setting out to do insane and horrible things, in order to bring about a "happy ending."
Like Watchmen itself, Tales of the Black Freighter are aspects of the theater of the absurd. They illustrate that life is inherently without meaning, parodying reality, or using seeming absurdity to show the real absurdity that is everyday life (like a comic book about superheroes to hold up a mirror to Reagan-era politics, for example...) It's all about the tragicomedy, yo.
This is a very thought-provoking comic. On the one hand, the story is interesting, the characters multi-faceted, and the gimmicks (comic-within-a-comic, the text afterwords from the Watchmen universe, etc) both enrich and illuminate the story. On the other hand, this comic is a veritable treasure-trove of literary criticism. Two of my students last semester are writing their major papers about Watchmen; the first is looking at Watchmen and comparing it to the Theater of the Absurd, and the second is reading this and V for Vendetta and discussing the concept of 'masking.' It's not a surprise that Watchmen is considered a 'literary' graphic novel. You can peel this text apart like an onion.
4.75 stars
Since it's on everyone's mind, I'll add my review of Watchmen as well. Warning: some spoilers.
The Watchmen by Alan Moore and David Gibbons, reviewed by N. Vivian on 3/6/2009.
Watchmen is a comic about superheroes, but it isn't a superhero comic. Instead, it is Moore's playing with the genre to the point of awesome. Picture New York City 1980's; a New York where people really did (at one point) dress up in wacky costumes and fight crime. A New York (and a world) where superhero comics don't exist, because who wants to read comics about real life (people read pirate comics instead)? Of all the costumed crimefighters, only one is actually parahuman: Dr. Manhattan. Created by a scientific experiment gone horribly wrong (betcha never heard that origin story before, eh?), Dr. Manhattan exists outside of time, and can change the physical world on an atomic level simply by will and thought alone. America is using him to hold the pinko commie bastards Russia in check ("the superman exists and he is American"), leading America to behave like a spoiled brat who is always threatening to take his ball home if other kids countries don't play by their rules, and who keeps talking about his big brother who'll beat everyone up if they don't do what he says.
Yeah, I know, it's an America that defies belief.
The comic opens with the murder of Edward Blake, the alter ego of the superhero "The Comedian," one of the two superheroes who works with government sanction. The other, is, of course, Dr. Manhattan; the rest were forced into retirement back in '77 after the passing of the "Keene Act" which basically just said no to vigilantism. The one costumed crimefighter (a more accurate term [though I use them pretty much interchangeably] than superhero since none of them have powers save Dr. Manhattan) who did not go gentle into that good night is Rorschach. Rorschach is, by my thinking anyway, the most interesting character in Watchmen. First of all, his moral code is awesome. On the one hand, he truly believes that the ends justify the means; breaking the fingers of a small time crook to get information is completely okay, but at the same time, he freaks out on another character for having an unlicensed gun. Rorschach never compromises; his entire outlook is purely black or white, right or wrong. If something is wrong, it must be persecuted to the fullest extent (and not necessarily by the law). Like his mask, which is a never-ending swirl of black and white, his views never mix into a neutral gray. Much like Dr. Manhattan and Ozymandias, Rorschach never questions his actions or his motives--he is action, pure and simple. In order to find a missing girl, he tortures fifteen people for information; upon finding she has been murdered, dismembered, and fed to dogs, he kills the dogs, handcuffs the kidnapper, sets the house on fire, then hands the man a hacksaw and says, "Shouldn't bother trying to saw through handcuffs. Never make it in time." Brutal, man, but chillingly effective. His response to the Keene Act? To murder a serial rapist and dump his body in front of the police station, with a sign that says "Never!" pinned to the corpse.
Rorschach believes himself to be Rorschach; he refers to his mask as his 'face' and sees his alter-ego (who is not revealed for several chapters, but you can pretty much guess his identity right off) as the not-real him. This psychological break occurs during the the kidnapping scene, though it builds on several decades of fucked-uppedness: "It was Kovacs who said 'mother' then, muffled under Latex. It was Kovacs who closed his eyes. It was Rorschach who opened them again....Existence is random. Has no pattern save what we imagine after staring at it for too long. No meaning save what we choose to impose...It is not God who kills the children. Not Fate that butchers them or destiny that feeds them to the dogs. It's us. Only us....Was reborn then, free to scrawl own design on this morally blank world. Was Rorschach." Seriously, his psychology is amazing, and that's before we get into the crazy that was his childhood.
The whole comic book is a deconstructionist text (if there's one thing I can honestly say I've learned at Clark, it's lit. theory. Still don't like it, but at least I [sorta] understand it now), looking at the worth and value of superheroes. First, it looks at the kind of people who would become costumed crimefighters in a modern, fairly realistic setting, at the dark psychology behind such a drive and motivation. It's one thing for Superman and Spiderman to do so--they've got special powers that creates within them a special responsibility. Batman, however? Plain, mortal Batman? Screwed up in the head. It warns of the danger of having a weapon that we place all our hopes and power in because when it goes, or becomes obsolete, we have nothing left and our enemies swarm around us and our newfound (or even newly perceived) weakness. Lastly, this is also a cautionary tale; Moore is warning us about putting all our hopes and trust into powerful beings, either political or paranormal. By doing so, we absolve ourselves of all responsibility and agency. First we give them the power to do as they please, and remove from ourselves the power to protest against them, and then we follow them down into moral decay since, freed from any notion of personal responsibility, we feel empowered to do as we please.
Oh, and let me talk about Tales of the Black Freighter for a moment, Watchmen's comic within a comic. The reader gets to read the story "Marooned," during several points of the comic, as the events in that story coincide with the events in the actual story. "Marooned" is about a sailor who washes up on an island (along with the bodies of his dead comrades) after the Black Freighter (the eponymous ship of evil from the comic) attacks his ship. The sailor realizes that the Black Freighter will be sailing towards his undefended home, and will kill everyone in the town, including the sailor's own family. In order to make it home before the ship, the sailor starts doing the most insane things, slowly stripping away him humanity (and sanity!) in the process. He makes a raft out of the gas-bloated corpses of his friends, catches and eats a raw sea gull, kills and eats a shark that has been drawn to the smell of his raft, and then, once he gets home, begins murdering his friends and neighbors who he assumes are collaborating with the pirate...who never came.
This theme of sacrificing everything to achieve victory has a certain central importance in the main-comic, as you can see if you read the comic yourself (I'm pretty sure that if I spoil the ending, I will be placed on the hitlist of the Geek Mafia). It's not exactly like a Pyrrhic victory--it's more of a deliberate setting out to do insane and horrible things, in order to bring about a "happy ending."
Like Watchmen itself, Tales of the Black Freighter are aspects of the theater of the absurd. They illustrate that life is inherently without meaning, parodying reality, or using seeming absurdity to show the real absurdity that is everyday life (like a comic book about superheroes to hold up a mirror to Reagan-era politics, for example...) It's all about the tragicomedy, yo.
This is a very thought-provoking comic. On the one hand, the story is interesting, the characters multi-faceted, and the gimmicks (comic-within-a-comic, the text afterwords from the Watchmen universe, etc) both enrich and illuminate the story. On the other hand, this comic is a veritable treasure-trove of literary criticism. Two of my students last semester are writing their major papers about Watchmen; the first is looking at Watchmen and comparing it to the Theater of the Absurd, and the second is reading this and V for Vendetta and discussing the concept of 'masking.' It's not a surprise that Watchmen is considered a 'literary' graphic novel. You can peel this text apart like an onion.
4.75 stars
Tuesday, February 24, 2009
Blogger Error
Blogger has reported that for some users, the word verification window will not load. They're working on fixing the bug, but as of yet, it is still listed as a Known Issue. You can read about it here.
Until this is fixed, I have temporarily disabled word verification on my blog. Spam or inappropriate comments will be deleted.
Until this is fixed, I have temporarily disabled word verification on my blog. Spam or inappropriate comments will be deleted.
Monday, February 23, 2009
Watchmen: "They" Require Supervision
The Watchmen by Alan Moore and David Gibbons, reviewed by Steve on 2/23/2009.
For those of you who do not know, The Watchmen is a graphic novel by Alan Moore, one of the most talented graphic novelists of the century. Indeed, TIME even picked it as one of the one hundred best English novels. The novel also won a Hugo in 1988, which is one of the coveted awards of excellence for works in sci-fi/fantasy. Other works by Alan Moore include: V For Vendetta, and From Hell, both of which were successfully adapted to film.
The story takes place in a parallel world set during the 80's in New York City. A man named Edward Blake has been murdered, but the police have no idea who might have committed the crime. Despite the Keene Act, which banned superheroes from taking action and threatened prosecution for transgressors, one superhero, Rorschach, begins investigating Blake's murder. He discovers that Blake was formerly known as The Comedian, one of the superheroes who used to work with Rorschach and four other superheroes. Immediately, Rorschach concludes that he has uncovered a conspiracy to kill off superheroes, and he warns the others: Silk Spectre II, Doctor Manhattan, Nite Owl II, and Ozymandias.
Initially, the other superheroes do not believe Rorschach, who continues his unorthodox investigation in the underground of New York. Meanwhile, Doctor Manhattan, who has become the symbol of American innovation and power, is accused on TV of causing cancer in his friends and co-workers. Doctor Manhattan is horrified, especially when the U.S. government suddenly turns on him, apparently taking the accusations to heart. He then flees--teleports would be the better word--to Mars, leaving behind humans and their politics. Suddenly, Rorschach's assertions that a conspiracy exists to discredit or kill off former superheroes seems to be true, especially when Adrian Veidt (a.k.a. Ozymandias) narrowly escapes an assassination attempt.
Rorscach continues his investigation and gets caught by the police, who arrest him and throw him in jail. With Doctor Manhattan in self-exile, and Ozymandias preoccupied with his business, Dan Dreiberg (a.k.a. Nite Owl II) and Laurie Juspeczyk (a.k.a. Silk Spectre II) decide to don their costumes once more to save Rorschach and find out who is behind the conspiracy, before it is too late.
The Watchmen was the first graphic novel I have ever read, and was recommended to me by my friend, Matt. I was initially reluctant and uncertain about the graphic novel genre: it seemed to me that half of the fun I get from reading is in imagining the setting and characters as I mentally watch the story unfold. I thought that with a graphic novel, that half is more or less done for you; you have an artist's rendition of everything, leaving the reader with nothing to imagine. In some senses I was right, but my prediction that I would not enjoy it could not have been more wrong. I loved it.
The artwork itself is somewhat "dated," at least that's what I have been told and what I have heard from graphic novel connoisseurs. Nevertheless, I do think that the "dated" feel to the artwork is fitting. The story is supposed to be set in the 80's, in the middle of the Cold War tensions between the U.S. and the Soviet Union, which feels like a long time ago even if it was not in actuality. Additionally, I would like to re-phrase things a bit, and say that the artwork is not so much "dated" as it is "classic." Sure, it's not as current and edgy as some of the new artwork out there, but the art still draws you in, just as an older film can. To be sure, if you have predispositions against "old" things, whether movies, art, or any other media, then you probably will not be able to move past this.
While the story itself is fantastic, and does not so much "progress" as it does unfold before you, I had a hard time keeping things straight in the beginning, especially because there seems to be no central character whose perspective directs the story. Initially, it seemed like the main character was Rorschach, because the beginning followed his investigation, but this changes and the story continues as though nothing had changed, which made me feel as though no one was the central character. This is not really a flaw, it's just something unexpected and different.
I am very pleased to say that I honestly loved this book, and I would wholeheartedly recommend it to anyone. If you have not read a graphic novel yet, this is the one to try it out with. I give this 5 stars.
For those of you who do not know, The Watchmen is a graphic novel by Alan Moore, one of the most talented graphic novelists of the century. Indeed, TIME even picked it as one of the one hundred best English novels. The novel also won a Hugo in 1988, which is one of the coveted awards of excellence for works in sci-fi/fantasy. Other works by Alan Moore include: V For Vendetta, and From Hell, both of which were successfully adapted to film.
The story takes place in a parallel world set during the 80's in New York City. A man named Edward Blake has been murdered, but the police have no idea who might have committed the crime. Despite the Keene Act, which banned superheroes from taking action and threatened prosecution for transgressors, one superhero, Rorschach, begins investigating Blake's murder. He discovers that Blake was formerly known as The Comedian, one of the superheroes who used to work with Rorschach and four other superheroes. Immediately, Rorschach concludes that he has uncovered a conspiracy to kill off superheroes, and he warns the others: Silk Spectre II, Doctor Manhattan, Nite Owl II, and Ozymandias.
Initially, the other superheroes do not believe Rorschach, who continues his unorthodox investigation in the underground of New York. Meanwhile, Doctor Manhattan, who has become the symbol of American innovation and power, is accused on TV of causing cancer in his friends and co-workers. Doctor Manhattan is horrified, especially when the U.S. government suddenly turns on him, apparently taking the accusations to heart. He then flees--teleports would be the better word--to Mars, leaving behind humans and their politics. Suddenly, Rorschach's assertions that a conspiracy exists to discredit or kill off former superheroes seems to be true, especially when Adrian Veidt (a.k.a. Ozymandias) narrowly escapes an assassination attempt.
Rorscach continues his investigation and gets caught by the police, who arrest him and throw him in jail. With Doctor Manhattan in self-exile, and Ozymandias preoccupied with his business, Dan Dreiberg (a.k.a. Nite Owl II) and Laurie Juspeczyk (a.k.a. Silk Spectre II) decide to don their costumes once more to save Rorschach and find out who is behind the conspiracy, before it is too late.
The Watchmen was the first graphic novel I have ever read, and was recommended to me by my friend, Matt. I was initially reluctant and uncertain about the graphic novel genre: it seemed to me that half of the fun I get from reading is in imagining the setting and characters as I mentally watch the story unfold. I thought that with a graphic novel, that half is more or less done for you; you have an artist's rendition of everything, leaving the reader with nothing to imagine. In some senses I was right, but my prediction that I would not enjoy it could not have been more wrong. I loved it.
The artwork itself is somewhat "dated," at least that's what I have been told and what I have heard from graphic novel connoisseurs. Nevertheless, I do think that the "dated" feel to the artwork is fitting. The story is supposed to be set in the 80's, in the middle of the Cold War tensions between the U.S. and the Soviet Union, which feels like a long time ago even if it was not in actuality. Additionally, I would like to re-phrase things a bit, and say that the artwork is not so much "dated" as it is "classic." Sure, it's not as current and edgy as some of the new artwork out there, but the art still draws you in, just as an older film can. To be sure, if you have predispositions against "old" things, whether movies, art, or any other media, then you probably will not be able to move past this.
While the story itself is fantastic, and does not so much "progress" as it does unfold before you, I had a hard time keeping things straight in the beginning, especially because there seems to be no central character whose perspective directs the story. Initially, it seemed like the main character was Rorschach, because the beginning followed his investigation, but this changes and the story continues as though nothing had changed, which made me feel as though no one was the central character. This is not really a flaw, it's just something unexpected and different.
I am very pleased to say that I honestly loved this book, and I would wholeheartedly recommend it to anyone. If you have not read a graphic novel yet, this is the one to try it out with. I give this 5 stars.
Monday, February 2, 2009
Reading on the Rise!
I recently came across a press release by the National Endowment for the Arts that reveals some exciting news: the number of readers in America is increasing, especially amongst young adults. You can find the article here.
It seems pretty clear, to me anyways, that authors such as J.K. Rowling and Stephanie Meyer, who have both written a bestselling series that bookstores often have to struggle to keep a quantity in stock, have probably contributed the most to this rising readership in young adults. Additionally, it seems as though being an avid reader as a young adult has lost some of the nerdy stigma that used to come with it. To be sure, there are still teens who scoff at reading, and I see some of them in the bookstore when they reluctantly buy a book for a class they're taking. A young man was at the checkout line the other day and I saw he had a copy of The Great Gatsby in his hand. I nodded towards his hand and commented that it was a great story, to which he replied: "It's for class."
Since there was a long period of decrease in readership before this survey, spanning twenty years from 1982-2002, this sudden increase seems to be a rather sharp contrast, and it is difficult not to conclude that part of this (from 2007 to 2008, in particular) is undoubtedly caused by the sour economy. People seem to have cut back the most on the more costly entertainment sources, while continuing to purchase books, cds, and dvds, which are significantly cheaper. As an example, your average date (let's go with the typical dinner-and-a-movie arrangement) can cost $70 or more, depending on your requirements for the evening. The two movie tickets alone are at least $20, not to mention the popcorn and sodas. That being said, however, I would not say that there has been a boom in this area of entertainment, but it has not suffered as badly.
Although it is likely that the economy has played a part in this trend, I am hoping that a genuine interest in reading has spurred this the most. It would be wonderful to see a dramatic increase in American literacy, education, and readership, and I look forward to the day where almost everyone reads and does so willingly.
It seems pretty clear, to me anyways, that authors such as J.K. Rowling and Stephanie Meyer, who have both written a bestselling series that bookstores often have to struggle to keep a quantity in stock, have probably contributed the most to this rising readership in young adults. Additionally, it seems as though being an avid reader as a young adult has lost some of the nerdy stigma that used to come with it. To be sure, there are still teens who scoff at reading, and I see some of them in the bookstore when they reluctantly buy a book for a class they're taking. A young man was at the checkout line the other day and I saw he had a copy of The Great Gatsby in his hand. I nodded towards his hand and commented that it was a great story, to which he replied: "It's for class."
Since there was a long period of decrease in readership before this survey, spanning twenty years from 1982-2002, this sudden increase seems to be a rather sharp contrast, and it is difficult not to conclude that part of this (from 2007 to 2008, in particular) is undoubtedly caused by the sour economy. People seem to have cut back the most on the more costly entertainment sources, while continuing to purchase books, cds, and dvds, which are significantly cheaper. As an example, your average date (let's go with the typical dinner-and-a-movie arrangement) can cost $70 or more, depending on your requirements for the evening. The two movie tickets alone are at least $20, not to mention the popcorn and sodas. That being said, however, I would not say that there has been a boom in this area of entertainment, but it has not suffered as badly.
Although it is likely that the economy has played a part in this trend, I am hoping that a genuine interest in reading has spurred this the most. It would be wonderful to see a dramatic increase in American literacy, education, and readership, and I look forward to the day where almost everyone reads and does so willingly.
Sunday, January 25, 2009
New Features on Reading Enthusiasts
Take a look around--you may have noticed a couple additions to the blogpage. I've added a blogroll section so you can see what I've been reading on other blogs; a subscription gadget so you can subscribe to this blog and receive notification when the blog is updated; and last but not least, I've added a Fans section so you can see who follows this blog (more or less) regularly.
Cheers!
Steve
Cheers!
Steve
Disappointment in the World of Mithgar
City of Jade by Dennis L. McKiernan. Reviewed by Steve on January 25, 2009.
Dennis McKiernan is one of the most talented fantasy authors I have read, and he is widely known for his Mithgar series, which seemed to be coming to a close with the publication of Silver Wolf, Black Falcon in 2001. The author stated in the foreward to the aforementioned novel that, "This is perhaps--perhaps--my last Mithgar novel." As a fan, I was incredibly saddened by the news that one of my most beloved fantasy series was coming to a close.
Then, in the beginning of December, I stumbled across some news--Dennis McKiernan had published another book! And guess what? It was a Mithgar novel! The way I had come across this news should have alerted me that something was amiss, but my excitement ruled the day, and I eagerly went to the bookstore to purchase a copy.
Let's just say that I was supremely disappointed.
The novel is about the adventures of one rather famous hero of Mithgar, an Elf named Aravan, as he embarks on another quest to explore lands unknown. A tale of a mysterious City of Jade has circulated the lands of Mithgar, captivating the attention of all who hear it. After fighting a long series of battles against Gyphon (the god of evil) and his followers, Aravan seeks refuge with his love, Aylis, at Arbalin Isle, where his ship, the Eroean, and his crew await. Although tired from the war with Gyphon, Aravan is restless with his desire to once again sail in the Eroean, and the rumors of the City of Jade only provokes him further.
After repairing and outfitting the Eroean and its crew, Aravan sets out to discover the City of Jade and untangle myth and legend from truth, if possible. They only find a small, carved jade statue with a short, prophetic poem upon it and a fragmentary reference to the City of Jade in the annals of the royal library. As they follow the source of the legend, they encounter pirates, Rucks, Hloks, Trolls, and other dark powers that seek to destroy Aravan and his crew.
While I had looked forward to reading this new Mithgar novel and reacquaint myself with its heroes, what I found was that this story critically lacked the drive and force of previous stories of Mithgar. At its essence, the tale meanders aimlessly, spending a great deal of time on mundane affairs (like spending a third of the novel on repairs, idle conversation between characters, and other "normal," boring, everyday occurrences) without truly hooking the readers interest. As a case in point, you have to read about halfway through the novel before getting to the plot hook (i.e. the rumors of the City of Jade and Aravan's desire to explore said city).
Additionally, the force that propels us to this point is extraordinarily weak, and you find yourself progressing through the narrative only because the sentences flow from left to right and you wonder when it will "get good." There are little bits of humor and some tiny gems for the diehard Mithgar fan, but these become trite and redundant rather quickly. The farcical humor of Binkton and Pip (two warrows, which are basically halflings or hobbits) is quite amusing at first, but this comedic device is greatly overdone and the humor rapidly degenerates into simply being annoying. Think Jar-Jar Binks from Star Wars: Episode 1--it was funny for the first two minutes, but after that, you'd had quite enough out of Jar-Jar.
What was most atrocious to me was the fact that so many of the characters in this novel were flat, type-casted characters. The two warrows mentioned above are one such pair, but the novel is abound with others. The main antagonist, for example, is the typical evil-wizard-with-dark-machinations-of-world-domination. There seems to be no effort to complicate or break the monotony of this stereotype, which is a real tragedy for such a talented writer as Dennis McKiernan.
Perhaps this is what disappointed me the most--the fact that one of my favorite authors, who had inspired me with his creative genius and his epic storytelling, had written a novel that failed to be, well, novel. Unfortunately, a bulk of fantasy literature tends to suffer from this. There is a huge realm of fantasy literature that simply uses an unoriginal, basic story formula and hits "repeat." I call this plug-and-play fiction: you could basically just insert new characters into the equation and it always comes out the same; it's very cookie-cutter and unremarkable.
Before I read this novel, I had unshakable confidence in the power of McKiernan's stories and his ability to entertain, inspire, and move the reader. But I fear that his fame is becoming an obstacle to the success of his stories. I do not mean to say that McKiernan is arrogant, self-loving, or overconfident. Everything about McKiernan suggests that this is most certainly NOT the case. Even a cursory glance over his website and his media attention would confirm this; the website is rather modest and simple, and McKiernan does not go on world-wide or nation-wide tours. What I am saying is that I think the editors at Roc are relying too much on McKiernan's name to sell the novel. Any editor worth his salt should have encouraged McKiernan to steer away from the blatantly stereotypical character traits, as evinced by the aforementioned wizard and warrows, and to further develop the characters and plot in City of Jade. I would rate this novel at one star, and would strongly recommend that you NOT read this novel, particularly if you are interested in experiencing Mithgar, which is an otherwise very well-crafted and literary series.
Dennis McKiernan is one of the most talented fantasy authors I have read, and he is widely known for his Mithgar series, which seemed to be coming to a close with the publication of Silver Wolf, Black Falcon in 2001. The author stated in the foreward to the aforementioned novel that, "This is perhaps--perhaps--my last Mithgar novel." As a fan, I was incredibly saddened by the news that one of my most beloved fantasy series was coming to a close.
Then, in the beginning of December, I stumbled across some news--Dennis McKiernan had published another book! And guess what? It was a Mithgar novel! The way I had come across this news should have alerted me that something was amiss, but my excitement ruled the day, and I eagerly went to the bookstore to purchase a copy.
Let's just say that I was supremely disappointed.
The novel is about the adventures of one rather famous hero of Mithgar, an Elf named Aravan, as he embarks on another quest to explore lands unknown. A tale of a mysterious City of Jade has circulated the lands of Mithgar, captivating the attention of all who hear it. After fighting a long series of battles against Gyphon (the god of evil) and his followers, Aravan seeks refuge with his love, Aylis, at Arbalin Isle, where his ship, the Eroean, and his crew await. Although tired from the war with Gyphon, Aravan is restless with his desire to once again sail in the Eroean, and the rumors of the City of Jade only provokes him further.
After repairing and outfitting the Eroean and its crew, Aravan sets out to discover the City of Jade and untangle myth and legend from truth, if possible. They only find a small, carved jade statue with a short, prophetic poem upon it and a fragmentary reference to the City of Jade in the annals of the royal library. As they follow the source of the legend, they encounter pirates, Rucks, Hloks, Trolls, and other dark powers that seek to destroy Aravan and his crew.
While I had looked forward to reading this new Mithgar novel and reacquaint myself with its heroes, what I found was that this story critically lacked the drive and force of previous stories of Mithgar. At its essence, the tale meanders aimlessly, spending a great deal of time on mundane affairs (like spending a third of the novel on repairs, idle conversation between characters, and other "normal," boring, everyday occurrences) without truly hooking the readers interest. As a case in point, you have to read about halfway through the novel before getting to the plot hook (i.e. the rumors of the City of Jade and Aravan's desire to explore said city).
Additionally, the force that propels us to this point is extraordinarily weak, and you find yourself progressing through the narrative only because the sentences flow from left to right and you wonder when it will "get good." There are little bits of humor and some tiny gems for the diehard Mithgar fan, but these become trite and redundant rather quickly. The farcical humor of Binkton and Pip (two warrows, which are basically halflings or hobbits) is quite amusing at first, but this comedic device is greatly overdone and the humor rapidly degenerates into simply being annoying. Think Jar-Jar Binks from Star Wars: Episode 1--it was funny for the first two minutes, but after that, you'd had quite enough out of Jar-Jar.
What was most atrocious to me was the fact that so many of the characters in this novel were flat, type-casted characters. The two warrows mentioned above are one such pair, but the novel is abound with others. The main antagonist, for example, is the typical evil-wizard-with-dark-machinations-of-world-domination. There seems to be no effort to complicate or break the monotony of this stereotype, which is a real tragedy for such a talented writer as Dennis McKiernan.
Perhaps this is what disappointed me the most--the fact that one of my favorite authors, who had inspired me with his creative genius and his epic storytelling, had written a novel that failed to be, well, novel. Unfortunately, a bulk of fantasy literature tends to suffer from this. There is a huge realm of fantasy literature that simply uses an unoriginal, basic story formula and hits "repeat." I call this plug-and-play fiction: you could basically just insert new characters into the equation and it always comes out the same; it's very cookie-cutter and unremarkable.
Before I read this novel, I had unshakable confidence in the power of McKiernan's stories and his ability to entertain, inspire, and move the reader. But I fear that his fame is becoming an obstacle to the success of his stories. I do not mean to say that McKiernan is arrogant, self-loving, or overconfident. Everything about McKiernan suggests that this is most certainly NOT the case. Even a cursory glance over his website and his media attention would confirm this; the website is rather modest and simple, and McKiernan does not go on world-wide or nation-wide tours. What I am saying is that I think the editors at Roc are relying too much on McKiernan's name to sell the novel. Any editor worth his salt should have encouraged McKiernan to steer away from the blatantly stereotypical character traits, as evinced by the aforementioned wizard and warrows, and to further develop the characters and plot in City of Jade. I would rate this novel at one star, and would strongly recommend that you NOT read this novel, particularly if you are interested in experiencing Mithgar, which is an otherwise very well-crafted and literary series.
Friday, January 23, 2009
Once upon a very twisted time,
Grimm, Fantasy Flight Games, reviewed by N. Vivian on January 23, 2009.
The story of how I found this game is pretty cute, so I'll relate it briefly. Around Christmas, I was poking around on a friend's Amazon wishlist, when I noticed that many of his books looked very familiar. The little sneak had trolled my wishlist and added a bunch of my books to his own list. I know--the nerve! So, in retaliation, I trolled his wishlist, saw Grimm and decided that I wanted it bad enough to buy it right there. For me, of course, cause I am greedy like that.
Well, I find it cute.
Anyway, moving on, Grimm is a gaming system wherein the players play children (usually 8-12) who are stuck in the land of Grimm's fairy tales. Only these tales are twisted. Well, okay, most of the Grimm's fairy tales are twisted, but these are extra twisted, with a side of crazy. The lands are ruled over by the Rotten King--Humpty Dumpty, who, after his tragic fall, went bad. Reeeeeeeeeeeally bad--as in, the sulfuric miasma that seeps through the cracks in his shell are bad enough, they melted the former king into a puddle of yellow goo. He is married to Cinderella, who killed her previous prince for getting too grabby (she has issues about being touched by men. Dumpty prudently keeps his hands to himself), and anywhere Cinderella goes, she is preceded by her stepmother and stepsisters, who scrub the floor before she walks on it. Also, she's a crazy dominatrix-wannabe, and she carries a cat-o-nine and forces her stepmom and sisters to wear red-hot iron shoes.
Character creation is easy: the first thing you do is pick your archetype (bully, dreamer, jock, nerd, ordinary kid, outcast, and popular kid) which comes with it's own advantages and disadvantages. Each archetype starts out with its own stats, and you have 8 additional points to spend increasing those stats. Stats are divided into three groups: Core, Playground, and Study. Core attributes are just that--attributes you can't really learn, part of your core persona. These are Cool, Imagination, Luck, Muscle, and Pluck, and cost three points to increase by one level, or, in game parlance, one grade. Playground traits are the easy stuff you pick up, probably by the time you start school: Hide, Scamper, Scrap, Seek, and Throw, which all cost two points to upgrade. Lastly, the Study traits are specialized knowledge skills that are picked up through school and activities; all children are at least 1st grade in each Core and Playground traits, but since Study traits represent skills that kids can choose to learn or not, not every child will have a grade in every study trait. The study traits are 4-H, Book Learning, Boy/Girl Scouts, Country Club, Gaming, Home Ec, Industrial Arts, and Juvie. Study traits cost one point to increase. After all the points are apportioned, players chose a few talents (special abilities), then flesh out the character and work with the narrator to figure out how each kid got into the Grimm Lands. In all, it's very quick and easy; no dice, no advanced math, no list of abilities that spans pages. Once a player knows what archetype she wants to play, character creation can probably be done in a less than ten minutes.
Grimm isn't really held up on rules. Unlike some other RPGs I could mention, there aren't pages of rules for movement or distance or attacks of opportunity. My copy of the game is NOT the d20 version (yay!), so for conflict resolution, the player rolls a d6, measuring the grade of the appropriate stat against a level determined by the GM or another character in the case of contested rolls. 2-5 means the character performed at their stat's grade level. A roll of 1 means the character performs one grade below his level, and rolls again: another 1 is another grade lower and another roll, a 2-6 means the player stops rolling. A roll of 6 means the character performs one grade above his level and rolls again; as with a 1, a roll of 6 means a higher grade level and yet another roll, 1-5 means the player stops rolling. there are ways to adjust the numbers, of course, but that's the basic system in a nutshell. Quick, simple, and easy. I like it--it seems like a good system to introduce newbies to, as it focuses less on mechanics and more on the role-playing aspect. I'm fond of it, since it fits in well with my style of gaming; I'm mostly cinematic, which means I could care less about the system in favor of descriptions and how cool an action is.
Another benefit of having basic mechanics is that it leaves more room in the text to explore the Grimm Lands. Of the 200+ pages of the book, less than half are devoted to rules. For example, the way magic works is explained on pages 73-78. Pages 79-88, however, explain the different magical styles of artificers, enchanters, witches, etc. Fighting is covered on pages 52-54. It's great! The, from page 108 on, it's all descriptions of the people, places, and things you'll run into while exploring the Grimm Lands. Of course, you can make up your own stuff, but they include so much richly detailed and intricately textured material, you don't have to if you don't want to.
My favorite tidbit is about Rapunzel. Rapunzel left long ago, living with her husband and children. The tower she lived in missed her very much and was very lonely, so when a colony of spiders moved in, it was happy to see them. Their webs remind the tower of her hair, and they're company at least. One day, however, Rapunzel came back to thank the tower for taking care of her for all those years. The tower was napping when she went in, and so there was no protection for her against the thousands of spiders who attacked her, killed her, and ate her tasty insides. Soon after their meal, the Mama Spider realized just who they'd eaten, and to keep the tower from finding out, she has hundreds of her children climb into Rapunzel's skin, and walk around, pretending to be her. That's right, in Grimm, you can run into a spider-filled Rapunzel skin-puppet. I did say this game was twisted, yes?
Of course, Rapunzel is barely scratching the surface. Grimm contains a bunch of locales and people for the players to be traumatized by. It's not very kid-friendly, either. The game isn't necessarily lethal for the players (though I have no doubt it could be), but it's just one mind-bending, heart-shattering experience after another. In fact, there's a mechanic for Despair in the game, because that can be a real problem for characters in long-term campaigns.
Now, I must be honest and admit I have not played the game, so there may be flaws inherent to the system that I have not yet found. But the book itself is beautiful (lots of lovely and eerie illustrations), the text is funny even as it explains stuff like rules as stats and whatnot (it references the famous card game Sorcery: The Assemblage, for example), and the book itself is packed with details. A lot of thought and creativity went into the creation of this world and it shows. The text is very evocative; it really captures the spirit and feeling of the old fairy tales; this isn't a good place for children and it shows.
4 stars. (I may come back and edit this for playability once I've had a chance to play in (or run) a game.)
As for other books I've read thus far this year, as requested by Steve:
Mistress of Mellyn, Victoria Holt (reviewed)
Grimm, Fantasy Flight Games (reviewed)
Wizards: Magical Tales from the Masters of Modern Fantasy, a collection of short stories edited by Jack Dann and Gardner Dozois
How to Ditch Your Fairy, Justine Larbalestier
Zofloya, or The Moor, Charlotte Dacre
Austenland, Shannon Hale
Nobilis: The Game of Sovereign Powers, R. Sean Borgstrom
The story of how I found this game is pretty cute, so I'll relate it briefly. Around Christmas, I was poking around on a friend's Amazon wishlist, when I noticed that many of his books looked very familiar. The little sneak had trolled my wishlist and added a bunch of my books to his own list. I know--the nerve! So, in retaliation, I trolled his wishlist, saw Grimm and decided that I wanted it bad enough to buy it right there. For me, of course, cause I am greedy like that.
Well, I find it cute.
Anyway, moving on, Grimm is a gaming system wherein the players play children (usually 8-12) who are stuck in the land of Grimm's fairy tales. Only these tales are twisted. Well, okay, most of the Grimm's fairy tales are twisted, but these are extra twisted, with a side of crazy. The lands are ruled over by the Rotten King--Humpty Dumpty, who, after his tragic fall, went bad. Reeeeeeeeeeeally bad--as in, the sulfuric miasma that seeps through the cracks in his shell are bad enough, they melted the former king into a puddle of yellow goo. He is married to Cinderella, who killed her previous prince for getting too grabby (she has issues about being touched by men. Dumpty prudently keeps his hands to himself), and anywhere Cinderella goes, she is preceded by her stepmother and stepsisters, who scrub the floor before she walks on it. Also, she's a crazy dominatrix-wannabe, and she carries a cat-o-nine and forces her stepmom and sisters to wear red-hot iron shoes.
Character creation is easy: the first thing you do is pick your archetype (bully, dreamer, jock, nerd, ordinary kid, outcast, and popular kid) which comes with it's own advantages and disadvantages. Each archetype starts out with its own stats, and you have 8 additional points to spend increasing those stats. Stats are divided into three groups: Core, Playground, and Study. Core attributes are just that--attributes you can't really learn, part of your core persona. These are Cool, Imagination, Luck, Muscle, and Pluck, and cost three points to increase by one level, or, in game parlance, one grade. Playground traits are the easy stuff you pick up, probably by the time you start school: Hide, Scamper, Scrap, Seek, and Throw, which all cost two points to upgrade. Lastly, the Study traits are specialized knowledge skills that are picked up through school and activities; all children are at least 1st grade in each Core and Playground traits, but since Study traits represent skills that kids can choose to learn or not, not every child will have a grade in every study trait. The study traits are 4-H, Book Learning, Boy/Girl Scouts, Country Club, Gaming, Home Ec, Industrial Arts, and Juvie. Study traits cost one point to increase. After all the points are apportioned, players chose a few talents (special abilities), then flesh out the character and work with the narrator to figure out how each kid got into the Grimm Lands. In all, it's very quick and easy; no dice, no advanced math, no list of abilities that spans pages. Once a player knows what archetype she wants to play, character creation can probably be done in a less than ten minutes.
Grimm isn't really held up on rules. Unlike some other RPGs I could mention, there aren't pages of rules for movement or distance or attacks of opportunity. My copy of the game is NOT the d20 version (yay!), so for conflict resolution, the player rolls a d6, measuring the grade of the appropriate stat against a level determined by the GM or another character in the case of contested rolls. 2-5 means the character performed at their stat's grade level. A roll of 1 means the character performs one grade below his level, and rolls again: another 1 is another grade lower and another roll, a 2-6 means the player stops rolling. A roll of 6 means the character performs one grade above his level and rolls again; as with a 1, a roll of 6 means a higher grade level and yet another roll, 1-5 means the player stops rolling. there are ways to adjust the numbers, of course, but that's the basic system in a nutshell. Quick, simple, and easy. I like it--it seems like a good system to introduce newbies to, as it focuses less on mechanics and more on the role-playing aspect. I'm fond of it, since it fits in well with my style of gaming; I'm mostly cinematic, which means I could care less about the system in favor of descriptions and how cool an action is.
Another benefit of having basic mechanics is that it leaves more room in the text to explore the Grimm Lands. Of the 200+ pages of the book, less than half are devoted to rules. For example, the way magic works is explained on pages 73-78. Pages 79-88, however, explain the different magical styles of artificers, enchanters, witches, etc. Fighting is covered on pages 52-54. It's great! The, from page 108 on, it's all descriptions of the people, places, and things you'll run into while exploring the Grimm Lands. Of course, you can make up your own stuff, but they include so much richly detailed and intricately textured material, you don't have to if you don't want to.
My favorite tidbit is about Rapunzel. Rapunzel left long ago, living with her husband and children. The tower she lived in missed her very much and was very lonely, so when a colony of spiders moved in, it was happy to see them. Their webs remind the tower of her hair, and they're company at least. One day, however, Rapunzel came back to thank the tower for taking care of her for all those years. The tower was napping when she went in, and so there was no protection for her against the thousands of spiders who attacked her, killed her, and ate her tasty insides. Soon after their meal, the Mama Spider realized just who they'd eaten, and to keep the tower from finding out, she has hundreds of her children climb into Rapunzel's skin, and walk around, pretending to be her. That's right, in Grimm, you can run into a spider-filled Rapunzel skin-puppet. I did say this game was twisted, yes?
Of course, Rapunzel is barely scratching the surface. Grimm contains a bunch of locales and people for the players to be traumatized by. It's not very kid-friendly, either. The game isn't necessarily lethal for the players (though I have no doubt it could be), but it's just one mind-bending, heart-shattering experience after another. In fact, there's a mechanic for Despair in the game, because that can be a real problem for characters in long-term campaigns.
Now, I must be honest and admit I have not played the game, so there may be flaws inherent to the system that I have not yet found. But the book itself is beautiful (lots of lovely and eerie illustrations), the text is funny even as it explains stuff like rules as stats and whatnot (it references the famous card game Sorcery: The Assemblage, for example), and the book itself is packed with details. A lot of thought and creativity went into the creation of this world and it shows. The text is very evocative; it really captures the spirit and feeling of the old fairy tales; this isn't a good place for children and it shows.
4 stars. (I may come back and edit this for playability once I've had a chance to play in (or run) a game.)
As for other books I've read thus far this year, as requested by Steve:
Mistress of Mellyn, Victoria Holt (reviewed)
Grimm, Fantasy Flight Games (reviewed)
Wizards: Magical Tales from the Masters of Modern Fantasy, a collection of short stories edited by Jack Dann and Gardner Dozois
How to Ditch Your Fairy, Justine Larbalestier
Zofloya, or The Moor, Charlotte Dacre
Austenland, Shannon Hale
Nobilis: The Game of Sovereign Powers, R. Sean Borgstrom
Wednesday, January 14, 2009
The New Year Commences!
Hello Everyone!
I know, it's been a reeeeeeeeeeeeeeeally long time since I've updated this, but I appreciate your patience and understanding. My thanks to N.Vivian for keeping the blog going in the interregnum.
So, how was everyone's holiday(s)?
I had a wonderful Christmas and was able to celebrate it with almost the whole family. It was a little chaotic, and we had several "Christmases" to attend, but I think it was worth it. Let me give you an idea of what I mean. On December 14th, my girlfriend and I went to my mom's house for my birthday (I was born on Christmas eve, but we always did my birthday with immediate family sometime earlier). December 24th, we went to my cousin's house (formerly my aunt's house, before she and my uncle passed away) and had Christmas there with the extended family on my mom's side. We slept over at my mom's house so that we could open our stockings Christmas morning, and then we travelled to see my girlfriend's family for Christmas. On December 26th, we had my brother and his fiance and my dad and his fiance over for breakfast at our house. Since neither my brother or I had seen my dad for Christmas, we held Christmas after breakfast on the 26th. On the 27th, my girlfriend and I went to see my dad for my birthday, where he made a wonderful, hearty, English dinner.
For New Years, we got together with a few friends from college, whom we have not seen in quite some time. It was a very merry occasion and it was great to see all our friends again. It's awful how busy we all get; so much so, that we are often unable to see the people we treasure the most.
After New Years, we went out to Western Ma to see my girlfriend's extended family and have "Festivus" with them (note the Seinfeld reference: my girlfriend's aunts are both Jewish, so they decided to call the family gathering "Festivus").
As you can see, December was a rather busy month, especially around the holidays. Nonetheless, I enjoyed the time I got to spend with everyone, and I enjoyed giving out gifts to everybody.
Like many people, I have made a couple New Years resolutions. One of them is to keep up this blog at least as often as I have been (excluding, of course, that chaotic month of December, where I was grading papers, entering in grades for 35 students, applying to Ph.D. programs, and seeing family for the holidays) and to try out some new gadgets, widgets, and the like to spice things up. Bear with me during the experimental phase. It could get interesting...
So, what has everyone been reading? I have a rather long list of books, all of which will be reviewed, but here's the list:
-City of Jade by Dennis L McKiernan
-The Watchmen by Alan Moore
-The Name of the Rose by Umberto Eco
-Falls the Shadow by Sharon Kay Penman
-All Quiet on the Western Front by Erich Maria Remarque
I know, it's been a reeeeeeeeeeeeeeeally long time since I've updated this, but I appreciate your patience and understanding. My thanks to N.Vivian for keeping the blog going in the interregnum.
So, how was everyone's holiday(s)?
I had a wonderful Christmas and was able to celebrate it with almost the whole family. It was a little chaotic, and we had several "Christmases" to attend, but I think it was worth it. Let me give you an idea of what I mean. On December 14th, my girlfriend and I went to my mom's house for my birthday (I was born on Christmas eve, but we always did my birthday with immediate family sometime earlier). December 24th, we went to my cousin's house (formerly my aunt's house, before she and my uncle passed away) and had Christmas there with the extended family on my mom's side. We slept over at my mom's house so that we could open our stockings Christmas morning, and then we travelled to see my girlfriend's family for Christmas. On December 26th, we had my brother and his fiance and my dad and his fiance over for breakfast at our house. Since neither my brother or I had seen my dad for Christmas, we held Christmas after breakfast on the 26th. On the 27th, my girlfriend and I went to see my dad for my birthday, where he made a wonderful, hearty, English dinner.
For New Years, we got together with a few friends from college, whom we have not seen in quite some time. It was a very merry occasion and it was great to see all our friends again. It's awful how busy we all get; so much so, that we are often unable to see the people we treasure the most.
After New Years, we went out to Western Ma to see my girlfriend's extended family and have "Festivus" with them (note the Seinfeld reference: my girlfriend's aunts are both Jewish, so they decided to call the family gathering "Festivus").
As you can see, December was a rather busy month, especially around the holidays. Nonetheless, I enjoyed the time I got to spend with everyone, and I enjoyed giving out gifts to everybody.
Like many people, I have made a couple New Years resolutions. One of them is to keep up this blog at least as often as I have been (excluding, of course, that chaotic month of December, where I was grading papers, entering in grades for 35 students, applying to Ph.D. programs, and seeing family for the holidays) and to try out some new gadgets, widgets, and the like to spice things up. Bear with me during the experimental phase. It could get interesting...
So, what has everyone been reading? I have a rather long list of books, all of which will be reviewed, but here's the list:
-City of Jade by Dennis L McKiernan
-The Watchmen by Alan Moore
-The Name of the Rose by Umberto Eco
-Falls the Shadow by Sharon Kay Penman
-All Quiet on the Western Front by Erich Maria Remarque
Monday, January 5, 2009
Happy New Year!
Welcome to 2009 people. Change is already on the way, like Galadriel, I feel it in the earth. It does help knowing that we only have 15 more days until the inauguration. I am inexpressably happy about this.
Anyway, on to the first review of the year, yes?
Mistress of Mellyn by Victoria Holt, reviewed by N. Vivian on January 5th.
Mistress of Mellyn is a modern Gothic romance, which means it had a ton of the traditional Gothic tropes, but focused more on the romance aspect, and lost most of the horror/terror aspect. For example, there's nothing particularly scary in the book; no black veils shrouding worm-covered "corpses," no keening voices, no blood-stained clothing, not even a lustful monk. There's a manor on top of a hill overlooking the sea, but the house itself is in perfectly good condition, kept neat and spotless, with nary a cobweb or scuttling rat in sight. The heroine hears odd voices that almost sound like people calling for the previous mistress's name, but she's informed (without any prompting) that it's just the sound of the sea. The master is brooding, but not menacing, the servants aren't stand-offish--they're only too willing to gossip; no dark and dangerous secrets in this house. Hell, the protagonist doesn't even end up lost in the woods, or the moors, or in the sea caves! To be fair, she never visited the sea caves, sea caves weren't even mentioned in the movel, but she COULD HAVE. And the protagonist, the gentlewoman in poverty who chooses to become a governess? Does she swoon even once? No!
The problem is, I don't know enough about Victoria Holt as an author to see if she's serious, or just messing around. If it's parody, then it's more subtle than Northanger Abbey, (which, to be fair, was as subtle as a brick to the face. Austen was having a lot of fun making fun of the genre). The book is well-written enough for me to assume that Holt knew the tropes and was deliberately subverting them, but there is always the possibility that she knew the bare bones of the genre, and added just enough window-dressing to get the novel called 'Gothic.'
Regardless, I really enjoyed this book. It was predictable in the way that most formulaic genres are, but I don't mind that. In fact, I really enjoy those; if the plot is a formula, then the author has to spend more time making the characters real. Well, the good authors do, anyway. Martha Leigh, is a genteelly impoverished woman. She has two options: marry or become a governess. The marriage option didn't really pan out, so it was off to Mellyn to teach. She doesn't really like this option; not because she'd prefer to be married, but because she's prickly and prideful. I can get behind that.
The Master of Mellyn is a widower, of course, his wife had run away with their philandering neighbor, but they had died in a horrible train wreck. The neighbor's body was identified, but the wife was burned too badly for recognition, the neighbor's sister was only able to identify her by the brooch she was wearing. It seems a bitter end to a troubled, stormy, loveless marriage, leaving the not-so-grieving widower free to look elsewhere for love--and all the village gossips about his (probable) mistress, the wealthy, beautiful, and ambitious Lady Treslyn. Could there possibly be something more to his wife's death than meets the eye?
There were some aspects of the book that I really liked. First of all, while Martha does become a little creepily obsessed with finding out what happened to Alice, the first wife, she never lets herself get stupid about it. Sure, there's a time when she thinks she hears Alice speaking (in a dream, conveniently telling her that she should do what exactly the thing that she wants to do), but other than that, Martha stays pretty sensible. She doesn't believe that Alice is trying to contact her from beyond the grave, she doesn't think Alice is haunting the manor house, and she never lets her imagination run away from her (I'm looking at you, Catherine Morland, and you too, Emily St. Aubert). I like to see a practical, no-nonsense woman, especially after the dingbats of the eighteenth century. This may have been more impressive had there been more suggestions of supernatural spookiness, but I still liked it. I also liked how that practicality carried over to her interactions with her employer and their flirtatious neighbor (younger brother of philandering neighbor)--she pretty much remembers her dignity through the entire thing. There are times when she uses her station as a weapon, which disconcerted them highly.
I liked that the villain was a female. Often, at least in the older Gothics, if there was a woman involved, she was two-dimensional. At best, she's a side-kick/helping hand, assisting the villain because she's desperately in love with him and is either willing to give him the heroine so he'll be happy, or working to remove the rival. Either way, she's of secondary importance: acting as a jailer, or delivering a tray of poisoned food. In this book, it's all her, beginning to end. I knew who it was immediately, but I will admit, I misread her motive entirely. That impressed me a lot. The murderess wasn't particularly bright (once she tried to kill the heroine by shoving a boulder down a hill) or amazingly creative, but she was a pretty convincing actress; the protagonists have no idea that she's a killer, and it's not because they are stupid or suffering from the "blind-to-the-obvious-because-the-plot-demands-it" syndrome.
What impressed me the most was the few moments of indecision I had towards the end of the book. There's all sorts of drama and impending doom which may implicate the employer in something shady, and, out of no where, he proposes to Martha, offering her his undying love. I honestly debated for a few minutes whether he was being genuine, or if he was using their to engagement to deflect attention away from him and his activities. Part of my uncertainty came from a lack of visible signs of growing attachment on his behalf. Well, they were there, but, again, it was very blatant: "LOOK HERE IS THE HERO FALLING IN LOVE WITH THE GOVERNESS! HE TOUCHED HER HAND, IT'S SIGNIFICANT!" There was nothing unique about his falling in love, might be the best way to describe it, and their 'courtship' was very bare-bones. Still, to give credit where credit is due, the rest of the uncertainty comes from Holt's setting up that expectation; she deliberately handed out two common tropes and said: "C'mon, guess which one I picked."
As for flaws, I have only two real ones. The first is the ending--the heroine is rescued from the obligatory horrible experience, and then the story stops. Not ends, just sorta...stops. The last real chapter ends with her rescue as she's delirious from shock and fear. What comes next is an afterword, where she relates the details (sparingly) from the future, when she is a great-grandmother. We don't even get to see the lovers' reunion, she's just like, "Yup, I was rescued, villain was punished, I married guy, we lived happily ever after. Wanna hear how many children I had?" I don't see the reason for that. I wanted to see it, not have it related almost second-hand. If I wanted that, I'd've asked a friend how the book ended. Bad form, Victoria, bad form.
My other critique is more pervasive in the novel, but didn't bother me as much. I felt as if the narration was a bit, well, bare-boned, like the courtship. Characters were somewhere between two-dimensional and decently developed, there were descriptions of her surroundings, but I still don't have a real idea of what things looked like, and since it was a first person novel, there was a conflict between showing versus telling sometimes. Holt occupies a very odd space: her books are Gothic (but not), her characters are developed (but not), her narration is descriptive (but not). It almost reads like a very detailed outline--but not. This would possibly be less irritating if I didn't have higher expectations of her--but I've READ Jean Plaidy (both nom de plumes for Eleanor Hibbert) and so I expect lush detail and rich narration.
Of course, this was originally published in 1960, so this might just be an example of her very early work, before she hit her stride. Or, she might just have spent more time and attention on her histories, as they are in a more respected genre.
So, the bottom line? I had a lot of fun with this book. It was interesting and engaging, I like the characters, I never had a moment when I was tempted to fling the book into a wall, and only rarely had to yell at the characters because they were being stupid. True the suspense-to-romance ratio was very low, but I think that's just a characteristic of the 'new' Gothic novel. I know I spent a lot of time pointing out flaws of the novel, but only because it was a good read, and so there were things that jumped out at me that would make it better. If I didn't really like it, I'd have less to say other than, "Well, this was crap. Nothing specific to critique because it was all one uniform lump of suck." Fun book, would read again--I'll probably add another few books of hers to my shelf; books I actually have to spend money on.
Anyway, on to the first review of the year, yes?
Mistress of Mellyn by Victoria Holt, reviewed by N. Vivian on January 5th.
Mistress of Mellyn is a modern Gothic romance, which means it had a ton of the traditional Gothic tropes, but focused more on the romance aspect, and lost most of the horror/terror aspect. For example, there's nothing particularly scary in the book; no black veils shrouding worm-covered "corpses," no keening voices, no blood-stained clothing, not even a lustful monk. There's a manor on top of a hill overlooking the sea, but the house itself is in perfectly good condition, kept neat and spotless, with nary a cobweb or scuttling rat in sight. The heroine hears odd voices that almost sound like people calling for the previous mistress's name, but she's informed (without any prompting) that it's just the sound of the sea. The master is brooding, but not menacing, the servants aren't stand-offish--they're only too willing to gossip; no dark and dangerous secrets in this house. Hell, the protagonist doesn't even end up lost in the woods, or the moors, or in the sea caves! To be fair, she never visited the sea caves, sea caves weren't even mentioned in the movel, but she COULD HAVE. And the protagonist, the gentlewoman in poverty who chooses to become a governess? Does she swoon even once? No!
The problem is, I don't know enough about Victoria Holt as an author to see if she's serious, or just messing around. If it's parody, then it's more subtle than Northanger Abbey, (which, to be fair, was as subtle as a brick to the face. Austen was having a lot of fun making fun of the genre). The book is well-written enough for me to assume that Holt knew the tropes and was deliberately subverting them, but there is always the possibility that she knew the bare bones of the genre, and added just enough window-dressing to get the novel called 'Gothic.'
Regardless, I really enjoyed this book. It was predictable in the way that most formulaic genres are, but I don't mind that. In fact, I really enjoy those; if the plot is a formula, then the author has to spend more time making the characters real. Well, the good authors do, anyway. Martha Leigh, is a genteelly impoverished woman. She has two options: marry or become a governess. The marriage option didn't really pan out, so it was off to Mellyn to teach. She doesn't really like this option; not because she'd prefer to be married, but because she's prickly and prideful. I can get behind that.
The Master of Mellyn is a widower, of course, his wife had run away with their philandering neighbor, but they had died in a horrible train wreck. The neighbor's body was identified, but the wife was burned too badly for recognition, the neighbor's sister was only able to identify her by the brooch she was wearing. It seems a bitter end to a troubled, stormy, loveless marriage, leaving the not-so-grieving widower free to look elsewhere for love--and all the village gossips about his (probable) mistress, the wealthy, beautiful, and ambitious Lady Treslyn. Could there possibly be something more to his wife's death than meets the eye?
There were some aspects of the book that I really liked. First of all, while Martha does become a little creepily obsessed with finding out what happened to Alice, the first wife, she never lets herself get stupid about it. Sure, there's a time when she thinks she hears Alice speaking (in a dream, conveniently telling her that she should do what exactly the thing that she wants to do), but other than that, Martha stays pretty sensible. She doesn't believe that Alice is trying to contact her from beyond the grave, she doesn't think Alice is haunting the manor house, and she never lets her imagination run away from her (I'm looking at you, Catherine Morland, and you too, Emily St. Aubert). I like to see a practical, no-nonsense woman, especially after the dingbats of the eighteenth century. This may have been more impressive had there been more suggestions of supernatural spookiness, but I still liked it. I also liked how that practicality carried over to her interactions with her employer and their flirtatious neighbor (younger brother of philandering neighbor)--she pretty much remembers her dignity through the entire thing. There are times when she uses her station as a weapon, which disconcerted them highly.
I liked that the villain was a female. Often, at least in the older Gothics, if there was a woman involved, she was two-dimensional. At best, she's a side-kick/helping hand, assisting the villain because she's desperately in love with him and is either willing to give him the heroine so he'll be happy, or working to remove the rival. Either way, she's of secondary importance: acting as a jailer, or delivering a tray of poisoned food. In this book, it's all her, beginning to end. I knew who it was immediately, but I will admit, I misread her motive entirely. That impressed me a lot. The murderess wasn't particularly bright (once she tried to kill the heroine by shoving a boulder down a hill) or amazingly creative, but she was a pretty convincing actress; the protagonists have no idea that she's a killer, and it's not because they are stupid or suffering from the "blind-to-the-obvious-because-the-plot-demands-it" syndrome.
What impressed me the most was the few moments of indecision I had towards the end of the book. There's all sorts of drama and impending doom which may implicate the employer in something shady, and, out of no where, he proposes to Martha, offering her his undying love. I honestly debated for a few minutes whether he was being genuine, or if he was using their to engagement to deflect attention away from him and his activities. Part of my uncertainty came from a lack of visible signs of growing attachment on his behalf. Well, they were there, but, again, it was very blatant: "LOOK HERE IS THE HERO FALLING IN LOVE WITH THE GOVERNESS! HE TOUCHED HER HAND, IT'S SIGNIFICANT!" There was nothing unique about his falling in love, might be the best way to describe it, and their 'courtship' was very bare-bones. Still, to give credit where credit is due, the rest of the uncertainty comes from Holt's setting up that expectation; she deliberately handed out two common tropes and said: "C'mon, guess which one I picked."
As for flaws, I have only two real ones. The first is the ending--the heroine is rescued from the obligatory horrible experience, and then the story stops. Not ends, just sorta...stops. The last real chapter ends with her rescue as she's delirious from shock and fear. What comes next is an afterword, where she relates the details (sparingly) from the future, when she is a great-grandmother. We don't even get to see the lovers' reunion, she's just like, "Yup, I was rescued, villain was punished, I married guy, we lived happily ever after. Wanna hear how many children I had?" I don't see the reason for that. I wanted to see it, not have it related almost second-hand. If I wanted that, I'd've asked a friend how the book ended. Bad form, Victoria, bad form.
My other critique is more pervasive in the novel, but didn't bother me as much. I felt as if the narration was a bit, well, bare-boned, like the courtship. Characters were somewhere between two-dimensional and decently developed, there were descriptions of her surroundings, but I still don't have a real idea of what things looked like, and since it was a first person novel, there was a conflict between showing versus telling sometimes. Holt occupies a very odd space: her books are Gothic (but not), her characters are developed (but not), her narration is descriptive (but not). It almost reads like a very detailed outline--but not. This would possibly be less irritating if I didn't have higher expectations of her--but I've READ Jean Plaidy (both nom de plumes for Eleanor Hibbert) and so I expect lush detail and rich narration.
Of course, this was originally published in 1960, so this might just be an example of her very early work, before she hit her stride. Or, she might just have spent more time and attention on her histories, as they are in a more respected genre.
So, the bottom line? I had a lot of fun with this book. It was interesting and engaging, I like the characters, I never had a moment when I was tempted to fling the book into a wall, and only rarely had to yell at the characters because they were being stupid. True the suspense-to-romance ratio was very low, but I think that's just a characteristic of the 'new' Gothic novel. I know I spent a lot of time pointing out flaws of the novel, but only because it was a good read, and so there were things that jumped out at me that would make it better. If I didn't really like it, I'd have less to say other than, "Well, this was crap. Nothing specific to critique because it was all one uniform lump of suck." Fun book, would read again--I'll probably add another few books of hers to my shelf; books I actually have to spend money on.
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