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Books
I deal best with stress by ignoring it.
1
I could write about how just two weeks ago my wife, out of the blue, got offered her dream job in Seattle (we currently live in So. Cal., for those keeping score) and now we are moving next week. I could go on about how we don’t actually have a place to live in Seattle…with much detail on the two days the wife and I spent their only to see our first choice fall through, and even more detail on how she was in the Pacific Northwest yesterday (flying home today) again, trying to locate a place for us to live. I could go on about how, as yet, I am unsure about my prospects; re: making money. Thursday is my last at the current bookmines so… And then last night, Bella says that she doesn’t want to leave our house where, in her words, “everything is perfect.”
(more…)
The Incredible Shrinking Man
0815 days
by D. Composition
in Books
“A hero is a man who does what he can” – Romain Rolland
I’ll take the opportunity to use this week’s theme as a means to write about a great classic that I recently read for the first time.
“The Incredible Shrinking Man” is the best horror story I’ve ever read. I suppose that’s not saying a whole lot since I haven’t been very heavily through the genre, but when you read it, you can feel its potency. I saw the old film adaptation (1957) a few years ago. It was good in the way a lot of old black and white sci-fi movies are, but was also lacking in a way those movies tend to. I also noticed something online that said there’s going to be another version being made with Eddie Murphy *shudder*.
Scott Carey, by way of extremely unfortunate chance, is exposed to elements that make him begin to shrink 1/7th of an inch, daily. Seems like a fairly straightforward sci-fi theme, right? I thought so for a long time too. You add the infamous black widow to the mix and maybe the family cat (giants now), and you’ve got two monsters that push the story into the realm of horror. This is what the story is like when you watch the movie. It’s all (more or less) left this way. The book gets into Scott’s mind, body, and soul.
The chapters in the book jump back and forth between tiny Scott’s survival tactics in the basement and the events (starting with the beginning of his shrinking) leading up to them.
The more Scott shrinks, the more self-conscious, paranoid, and defensive he becomes. On top of that, everything becomes a life or death situation. In all his frustration, he can’t even safely take a walk down the street. Soon after, he can’t go outside at all. Sexual frustrations also take their toll, making for a couple of rather uncomfortable, yet plausible scenes. Scott’s alienation from the world he once knew is so sudden and horrifying and written so thoroughly and convincingly that it almost seems a relief for him to spend his time doing something as simple as hiding from a spider that wants to eat him.
Scott has the problems with his wife, money, and people wanting to treat him like a sideshow replaced by things like becoming deafened by the water heater kicking on, being eaten by a giant black widow, and starving to death (amongst tons of other horrifying possibilities). Scott keeps things in order though. He creates makeshift clothing and a place for sleep and shelter. He marks his height on the wall daily, knowing the day will come that he will shrink that last 7th of an inch into nothing, and thinking about what he needs to accomplish before he becomes too small to accomplish it (and if it’s worth the effort at all). It becomes such an immense strain for him though, that he continually asks himself why he doesn’t just give up and die. Even when he convinces himself that he has had enough horrible luck and he doesn’t care about anything anymore, he continues to try to survive. All he has left in life becomes about what he can do…what he must do for survival.
Despite overwhelming heartbreak, terror, and misfortune, Scott Carey does not give up. That’s what makes him a hero.
5/5 - Punched in the face by AWESOME!
Lev Grossman’s “The Magicians,” or More Inventiveness than I Have
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I have long been aware of who Lev Grossman was, author of the bestselling novel The Codex, and general “nerd” blogger for Time, he seems to have, essentially, the life I desire.
That said, I had not read any of his fiction until a promo copy of his newest novel The Magicians came my way (thank you, again, gods of the bookmines). I glanced at the back and my interest was piqued by the odd Harry Potter comparison made by George RR Martin. Opening the book to a random page, as is my custom when considering if I will take a book home or not, I came across both the words “prefect” and “4th year” in the same paragraph. The Potter comparison, then, was not overblown.
Well, I like books about magic, and schools, and magic schools. While I didn’t think there was much to be done with the subject, in a post Potter world, I still took it home. My book hoarding instincts often trump all other considerations.
I did begin to read it, though. Grossman has an unassuming style; almost conversational without being annoying or overly stupid. The main character, Quentin, an over achiever with no discernible confidence, sense of self worth, or familial relationships of note was fairly relatable…to me at least. Now I’ve never been recruited to go to a secret test session for a remote and highly selective magical college but I sure did understand the psyche of Quentin.
So, again, the Potter comparisons begin. Harry gets into Hogwarts, essentially, because of genetics. He is a wizard because he is a wizard. Well, Brakebills (the college in The Magicians) doesn’t work that way. You might have the potential, but unless you can pass the entrance exam, you don’t get in…or even remember that you took the exam in the first place. And there begins the differences that are dramatic between Potter and The Magicians. It would be easy to say that this novel is like Potter, but American, and since the characters are in college, there’s a lot more sex, alcohol, drugs, and nihilism. But that description short changes the true depth that Grossman understands the depression that can affect the highly gifted. Imagine, you dream your whole life that you can achieve something more than is “planned” out for you. You find out that, in fact, you can learn to use real magic…really could walk naked through the antarctic for days and survive, for instance…but then you realize that your life is still meaningless. How much worse would you feel, knowing you have such power but it doesn’t change the fact that your life means nothing? The understanding Grossman demonstrates of human consciousness coming to terms with the apparent arbitrary nature of the universe is both deep and disturbing. Probably more disturbing, in fact, in light of the fact that these characters really could fly to the moon if they so wished.
Besides taking a premise that was made popular by another (magic school) and turning it on its head, Grossman also pays homage to one of the foundations of fantasy literature: Narnia. In his book Narnia is replaced by a land known as Fillory. The Fillory books, favorite reading of Quentin even after he starts doing real magic, were written in the 1930′s by a man named Christopher Plover and starred a varying cast of children from the Chatwin family. The books, the reader discovers in time, are more than just childrens reading, though, and play an integral role in Quentin’s life after he leaves Brakebills.
The New York Times review of the book states that, “Perhaps a fantasy novel meant for adults can’t help being a strange mess of effects.” This demonstrates a serious lack of understanding on the reviewer’s part. Either he believes that fantasy must be cut and dry (i.e., good v evil, black v white) or that it can only be for children (and, again, fall into strict categories). The best fantasy, the best fiction, is fuzzy…like the world. If magic were a real force that humans could control (though have little real understanding of, as expressed in the book) then Grossman has given the reader the most true to life rendering of it possible. Of course it is messy because life, and humans, are messy.
In the end, I did not feel overly sympathetic toward Quentin, and I’m not sure I was supposed to. Yes, eventually, he winds up understanding that his story was nothing more than the by-product of another character’s attempt to right a terrible wrong. But even that, as is most often the case, was only the outcome of an even earlier evil… But, sometimes, we are just tools in someone else’s story. Were there moments when I felt sad for Quentin, certainly. Would I have made his choices at the end, maybe. Does that make me want to be him, not necessarily. But isn’t that what adulthood, and humanity, is all about? Whether or not one can perform feats of astonishing power, don’t we all hope to empathize with the pain of others, even if we choose to deal with that pain in a different way?
I’m Told There is a Storm, and That It May or May Not Be Gathering
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I bought Knife of Dreams the day it came out in 2005. Even though I was in graduate school, and should have been reading my homework, I finished the book in just a few days. I had been waiting for its release, literally, for years. To prepare, I spent dozens of hours, in the weeks leading up to its release, re-introducing the Wheel of Time series to my memory with the help of EWoT (the Encyclopedia Wheel of Time for the unintiated).
When I was done with the book (#11, mind you, in the Wheel of Time series…not counting the one prequel) I realized that almost nothing, save for in the last 50 or so pages, actually happened in that damn book…and it was 800 fucking pages! Even the actual Knife of Dreams, the item for which the BOOK WAS NAMED, only made a minor appearance. I mean, seriously!?
I vowed, then and there, to never again subject myself to pain of reading a Wheel of Time novel.
And then Robert Jordan was diagnosed with a rare disease.
I’ll admit that my first thought wasn’t “oh god, I hope he’s OK” so much as it was “oh god, how will he finish the series.” I’m not exactly proud of that, but you know, I doubt I was the only one to think it. Yes, it is tragic that he died just a year and half after publicly revealing his diagnosis. I like to think, though, that my reaction was in no small part because of how much Jordan’s work had cemented itself in my mind. Yes, I had “sworn” not to finish the series, but when presented with the actual possibility of not being able to finish the series I freaked the fuck out.
I’m not saying there is a causal link between my worship of an author and serious health issues, but I will say that after Douglas Adams, Jordan, and Terry Pratchett, well…Neil Gaiman, Tim Powers, and James P Blaylock should all see the doctor.
By all accounts, Jordan fought the disease hard, but in the end, as these things generally turn out, the disease won.
So this guy Brandon Sanderson was chosen to finish the series.
Jordan, apparently, left very detailed notes on how the story was to finish. His claim that he would finish the series in 12 books, even if he had to write a 2000 page book for installment 12, was not far from the truth and Tor (the publisher) and Sanderson, decided to break the final arch of the story into three average size WoT books.
And so, as I write this, I’m just over 200 pages into the 766 that make up The Gathering Storm.
There was quite a bit of consternation amongst WoT fans over who would finish the series (before Sanderson was chosen). I, too, worried about who would step in to finish a 10,000 page series with 3000+ named characters.
Is Sanderson the equal of Jordan?
Shit, I don’t know. 200 pages in and I’d say the book reads like the rest of the series, all the main characters have, thus far, not done a whole lot and annoyed me with their overly complicated thought processes.
Sometimes I wonder why I kept reading past book 2.
On the one hand, every single character, even my mostest favoritest in the series (Mat, in case you were curious), is his/her own greatest obstacle. No two characters ever seem to have any meaningful communication. Even those who are all working toward the same goal…like defeating the Dark One in the Last Battle…work at cross purposes more often than not. After nearly 10,000 pages it can get really, really, really, fucking annoying.
But then again…isn’t that just how people are? I probably communicate effectively with my wife like 30% of the time and we aren’t on separate ends of the continent, being tortured, running into battles, fighting dark and foul monsters from the north…we just deal with dirty diapers and temper tantrums. The real genius of what Jordan did was take actual people that you might know in real life, the good and the bad, and throw them into some crazy ass fantasy world that is near its end. Even the most well intentioned WoT characters are selfish at times, make mistakes (even when trying to do what is right), and fail. But they also do some drastically heroic things, sacrifice (even their own lives), and fight and scrape. As a complex psychological study of humanity, I doubt I’ve read anything even remotely equal, in fiction, to the Wheel of Time.
It occurred to me, recently, that books are possibly the only form of entertainment where we, as fans, would worry so much when a new author takes over a series. There are, of course, things like D&D and Star Wars that are just written by loads of people by default. But something like WoT, which came from the mind of a single writer, and was shaped by that writer over the course of 10,000 pages, becomes less a series of fictional works and more an extension of that person. Novel writing in general, but long fantasy series writing in particular, is an iconoclastic endeavor the likes of which exists no where else in art.
Would the series be more satisfying if Jordan had finished it himself? I don’t know. At some point I believe works like this belong more to the fans than the creator and so we, the fans, are owed are closure.
The Staying Power of a Never-Ending Story
0834 days
A person’s memories are powerful things. The naturality of aging and maturing forces us into a constant state of change. I read something once about how close to an illusion all of life (as we know it) is. It stated that since the past and the future are not things we are experiencing, and that the present is not a stationary thing, it is very difficult to grasp things that we perceive as important in our lives. Memories are all we have. Being things of the past, memories seem like landmarks for the people we were at those times. Buoys drifting in a vast ocean of forgotten hours, days, and weeks. Memories alone tend to be rather static though. Physical inputs are what really electrifies memories. Movies, books, photos, and songs are some of the most common and easily accessible of these sensory inputs.
Though I remember events that happened in my childhood, what is difficult to remember is exactly how I felt at any given time. A fragment of it might return though, with the right physical input. A good example is the He-Man theme song. I used to watch that show all the time when I was 4 or 5 years old. One day, the show vanished. I didn’t hear or see anything of the original show for about 20 years. Then one day, I looked it up on Youtube and the opening theme was there. It felt weird to see and hear it (to say the least). Even now, just the “Filmation” sound effect at the beginning is like someone poking around in my brain with a popsicle stick. But above all the weirdness, it reminded me of simpler times.
I am not completely mature. I hope I never will be. And I find it unsettling when I see evidence that other people are. I find kids to be the most interesting, genuine, and creative people that exist. To lose all of that by growing is one of the most depressing things I can imagine, but some people can’t seem to help it. This is not to say that adults cannot be these things, but these are aspects commonly sacrificed to better conform to the adult world. They let their inner children die, or lock them away in the forgotten chambers of their hearts, often times becoming perpetual sourpusses.
I didn’t read much as a kid. I suppose I just wasn’t raised that way. I remember reading being encouraged in elementary school, but in a vague, disconnected way. No one told me about a specific book or why reading was a good thing, they just told me that reading was GOOD and reading a LOT was BETTER. So I mostly watched movies. One of the movies I loved the most as a kid was The NeverEnding Story. My family rented it a ton of times and I never got sick of it. So when I was in high school and had finally taken to reading, it was an obvious choice.
Something about watching the movie when I was little and reading the book when I was in high school really intensified the power of the story for me. Since the end of the movie is only the halfway point of the book, I got the opportunity to pick up where I left off with all of these characters I had already loved for years. It was an opportunity that is rarely afforded. It all reminded me of those nights watching the old vhs tape long before the many stress of high school and growing up. And I enjoyed it. On top of the obvious anti-stress memories attached to the story for me, it was really good. I have such a passion for intensely imaginative things, and the book is definitely of that category.
Bastian is a kid that likes to read and finds himself uncharacteristically swiping a book from an old bookstore owner. You read about Bastian, and as he reads The NeverEnding Story, you do too. Atreyu is the book’s protagonist. He is called upon to find a cure for the Childlike Empress, though he doesn’t know what he’s looking for. All he knows is he is to travel in one direction with no weapons and find the answer for himself. As Bastian reads the story, he realizes that certain characters in the book are aware of him, and eventually call upon him to help their world and become a part of the story. It is stated to Bastian that as he has shared the experiences of the characters in his book, others have shared his experiences in their book, and so on. Hence, “NeverEnding Story”.
In the sequel to the movie, Mr. Coreander (the bookstore owner) suggests something that had intrigued me. When Bastian scoffs and says that he has already read the NeverEnding Story, Mr. Coreander smiles and says “Ah, but have you ever read a book twice? Books change each time you read them” When I first saw this, I figured it was just a plot gimmick. I didn’t think about it much at first. Later on though, I understood that it isn’t the book that changes (like it does in the movie) it’s the reader that has changed. Everything seems different because of the changing way that you understand things. It took me a while to really understand how growing and learning changes your perception. Sometimes this can really kill a good sensory input for nostalgia, but it really depends on the amount you have learned and changed. I’ve found that even though I’m a bit different now, I can still remember how I perceived something when I was little.
As much as I enjoyed the book, I don’t remember a great deal of it now. I did begin to read it again though. I can only hope that reading it will continue to reawaken all the old memories. And so far, it has.
The Magic & Mystery of Miss A.K.
0858 days
by D. Composition
in Books
Frank Portman has a thing for names. In his first released book, the delightful “King Dork”, the protagonist is a teen named Tom Henderson, although I don’t think he is called this even once in the whole book. Tom’s one-of-a-kind personality coupled with a hellish and hostile day-to-day experience known as “high school” afford him many a creative moniker. A couple of which are: Hender-fag, Chi-Mo, and Sheepie (among numerous others).
Another sweet running joke in “KD” is the continual re-naming of Hender-mo’s band, based on either something related to his current situation, or perhaps from nothing more than a vivid imagination and sense of humor on Portman and Henderson’s part. A couple of these gems include: “The Underpants Machine, The Stoned Marmadukes, Oxford English, and Balls Deep.”
I read KD abot a year ago, and recall it being a rather simple, enjoyable read with a sharp wit. There was some kind of blurb on the book about Portman’s next book, entitled “Andromeda Klein” and even a few pages of the beginning of it in the back of KD. I remember reading the sample, but not getting any concrete idea on what it would be like. I read “Andromeda Klein” recently, and it is like KD, except instead of having a high school-loser-punk-rock-mystery theme, It has a high school-loser-occultist-mystery theme, and if you haven’t already guessed, it’s about a girl named Andromeda Klein.
The first thing that comes to mind about the book is how very dense it is on the prominent subject matter of the occult. Andromeda surrounds herself with old and musty books written by the likes of Aleister Crowley and A.E. Waite. AK’s knowledge of tons of kinds of spells (of which I’ve already forgotten all of the names) really hits you in the face for the first quarter (or so) of the book. You can tell Portman did extensive research for this book, and he shows it. It’s a little overwhelming, but for the most part, remembering everything isn’t necessary.
When you couple the deluge of mystic names and rituals and books and spells (etc) with Portman’s humor and seemingly endless plays on words, it gets rather fun.
AK gets her fair share of alternate names, such as Man-dromeda and No-ass, but another lovely little play-on-words device is that AK can’t hear so well. And it leads to instances of people saying things like “bagel worm agony” (naked girl magazine), and her enemies calling her a “toe-ass butter sucking fish” ( fairly obvious). Atop all of this, there is AAK or “alternate Andromeda Klein”, better known as AK’s more confident and sarcastic inner monologue, which later becomes a full fledged character named “Huggy” (I think). And then there are the dreams, self induced and otherwise.
As complex as minor details in the story are, the major elements stay rather simple. AK is a misunderstood girl who is (very) into her own unique interests, and she’s trying to figure out reasons for things happening to her by utilizing those interests (tarot cards and various other mystical means). And she must attempt all this amongst a mom who is a chronic barger, an absent-for-no-clear-reason-ex?-boyfriend, a friend that continuously tries to set her up on dates, an evil book-abducting organization, a deceased best friend’s psychotic mom, and numerous other perilous entities and situations.
I read another review that said the book takes hold after the initial quarter or so. I agree with this. With the mystic info avalanche safely behind you, you might well become riveted by this slickly-written YA high school occult mystery.
4/5 - Nearly classic!
To War Against The Decline Of His Meridian
3890 days
by Mustardseed Cochrane
in Books
The Phantom Cart by Salvador Dali (1933), used as the cover image for the first edition of Blood Meridian, Or The Evening Redness In The West.
Blood Meridian could have been nothing more than a catalog of violence, rather than a terrifying meditation on the atrocities committed by the Glanton Gang. Save for one, its characters revel in the murders they commit, and while writer Cormac McCarthy imbues their acts with a certain warped eloquence through his use of beautiful and highly descriptive prose that reflects this macabre celebration, he does not do so to merely glorify the violence. Nor does he judge it as a mindless act. His central proponent for violence, Judge Holden, informs us that war is the only true game, for risking death, it is the only game that “swallows up game, player, and all.” His meditations and explanations of the methodology he uses to vindicate himself and the rest of the scalp hunters’ acts, thereby liberating them from any apprehension they might have in committing them, is perhaps the most terrifying part of the book.
The book is based on the true story of a group of men led by John Joel Glanton, a former member of the U.S. Army during the mid-19th century, who was hired by Mexican governors to kill and scalp Indians on the borders of the United States and Mexico during 1849 and 1850. It follows a nameless protagonist only referred to as ‘the kid’ after he runs away from rural Tennessee at the age of fourteen, meeting up with the Glanton Gang two years later. McCarthy tells us that the kid can “neither read nor write and in him broods already a taste for mindless violence,” something we see in the second page as he has nightly fights with sailors in a bar until he’s shot in the back, just below his heart. He is essentially the perfect initiate for Judge Holden’s philosophy. Yet, that is the central conflict of the book, for while the kid rides and murders with the gang, his conscience is not completely free when he performs these acts. When given the duty of killing an injured member of the gang after everyone else has left, he cannot bring himself to do so. His reluctance undermines everything the Judge believes in.
Judge Holden is described as being about seven feet tall, lacking any hair growth and with the complexion of an albino and the face of an infant. He has traveled the world, speaks numerous languages, including an understanding for ancient and cryptic ones. An accomplished fiddler and dancer, it appears there isn’t anything he cannot subjugate and nor master; even time, as he hasn’t appeared to age when years have passed. He carries notebooks into which he sketches and makes notes of a variety of things he finds along the gang’s journey—a piece of armor, birds, insects—and after he’s done with them he destroys them. When asked why he does so, he explains that he wishes to remove the existence of these things from the “memory of man.” Only the Judge will hold the knowledge and understanding of their existence. As he explains later on, “Whatever in creation exists without my knowledge exists without my consent.” His desire is to be suzerain, or overlord, of the world. Nature is the only thing that can undermine him, because it is the only thing that exists independent of man’s will and desire. Nature, and as McCarthy demonstrates, the kid’s refusal to be seduced by Holden’s views and be carried off like a bride, as one of the characters remarks. Since it’s implied that the Judge rapes children, this is perhaps not to be taken as a flippant remark.
If you wish to be disturbed, then in the spirit of our “bring the pain” theme, here is a book whose characters not only “bring the pain,” but are also acutely aware of why they do so. Of some who enjoy it, and of some who are faintly disturbed by the prospect of it. A conversation with violence, so to speak.
5/5 - Punched in the face by AWESOME!