The Aspiring Jedi

Cannonball Read Book 11: Peter and Max- A Fables Novel

2010-02-21T16:01:00.000-08:00

For those unfamiliar, Bill Willingham is the author of a series of comic books called Fables, which are based on the idea of characters from fairy tales and nursery rhymes crossing over into our world, seeking refuge from the war-torn, cursed, etc. realms of their origin. Willingham has branched out with this idea, writing novels about these characters as well. Peter and Max is the story of two brothers, Peter and Max Piper, whose centuries-long enmity comes to a head in our own time and world.

Throughout the novel, Willingham bounces back and forth between the present, human-dominated (called Mundy, short for Mundane) world and the Fabled realm of long ago. This is highly effective for setting up LOST-esque questions about the characters' personal histories. For example, why these two brothers hate each other so much, or why Peter's wife, Bo Peep (yup, that Bo Peep) is bound to a wheel chair, unable to use the lower half of her body. Throughout the flashbacks covering the brothers' history, each question or mystery is gradually addressed and answered. The current, Mundy setting covers Peter's quest to find his brother for what will hopefully be their final confrontation. While this approach definitely has its perks, I found the disconnects a bit jarring at times. I found myself having to flip back to previous chapters to refresh my memory regarding small, yet important details.

Another interesting touch Willingham used was his approach to Max (who turns out to be the Pied Piper of Hamelin in the darkest version of the story). The Fabled are a race full of characters who live in a moral gray area, which I always find interesting. I have a thing for characters with questionable motives, or quests for redemption that may or may not be sincere. However, as the main antagonist, Max is just out and out evil. He starts off as a selfish, greedy, lazy, spiteful boy, yet you still have a shred of hope for him. By the end of the book's first quarter, he is driven to full on evil by a combination of loss, trauma, and his own hateful nature. There's no justifying a single awful thing he does, and even when he tries to do so, his self-serving arguments are just laughable. Having just come off of Lolita, I did find this a refreshing change on a certain level. However, I still found myself much more intrigued with the harder-to-pin-down supporting characters, such as a powerful witch of questionable loyalties, or Bigby, the Big Bad Wolf himself, who seems now bound and determined to earn his redemption.

While I dug the story for light, fluffy entertainment, something about it just failed to really grab me. I guess I would describe the author's overall tone as Gaiman-lite. Perhaps I would have liked it more if he spent less time describing and mapping out every single character and location in painstaking detail, and more time weaving a more complex narrative, or going a bit deeper with Max's antagonism. Even when considered as a book for younger readers, I'd have to say that Gaiman's The Graveyard Book packs much more of an ideological and emotional wollop. But I'm not turning my nose up at this book, either. It was enjoyable. I think I was just hoping it would be more.

Cannonball Read Book 10: A Picture of Dorian Gray

2010-02-16T13:42:00.000-08:00

Alternate title: Kate writes a book review with a powerful migraine. Seriously folks, I'm on Day 6 of this sucker (though it was come and go throughout the weekend, to be fair). Now it's full-on, nonstop pain comparable to a railroad spike through the skull and it's getting to the point where the simplest words are escaping me. I just had to ask a coworker what it's called when a landlord kicks someone out of their apartment. I knew it was a word similar to "exhibition" but I couldn't get any further than that. I'm seriously considering asking my neurologist to give my MRI another look.

So, Dorian Gray. It didn't move me on a profound level, but I enjoyed it immensely. Now that I think about it, it's pretty much on par with how I usually feel about most of Wilde's work. It's full of clever witticisms, about half of which I agree with, and social satire that periodically lightens the horror story's gothic, foreboding tone.

It starts with a benevolent, compassionate painter who has taken on an idolatrous admiration for his latest subject, a stunningly beautiful youth by the name of Dorian Gray. More than just a pretty face, he also possesses an extremely charming character, being warm, frank, playful, and open-hearted. The painter reluctantly introduces Gray to an old friend, a cynical dandy with "dangerous ideas," who corrupts the youth over the course of a walk through a garden. Yes, the biblical reference is hard to ignore. Afterward, the painter completes Gray's portrait, which is to him, the ultimate labor of love. As he gazes upon it, Gray is so overwhelmed by his own beauty and muddled with "dangerous ideas" that he declares he would sell his soul to retain such youthful beauty forever.

Soon after, Gray's character changes for the worse. It comes on gradually, but he becomes increasingly cruel, selfish, petty, remorseless, and hedonistic. For every sin he commits, and for every year that goes by, his portrait grows not only older, but much uglier as his soul corrupts and degrades. At the same time, Gray himself retains his spotless, youthful physical beauty, not aging a day over the next twenty years or so. He is quick to hide the picture away (apparently not realizing that the whole eternal youth thing might be suspicious by itself), but retains a fearful paranoia throughout the story that it will be discovered. His attitude toward the portrait changes frequently, from disgust to fear to delight to pity to loathing. It can be confusing at times, but mirrors well the changing attitudes each of us carries toward our own wrongdoings and shortcomings.

What I found particularly interesting is how Wilde assaults and satirizes the very cynicism that many of his admirers seem to appreciate him for. One character in particular reminded me of Hamlet's Polonius, who is often quoted by people who wish to seem erudite...despite the fact that Polonius is the play's chief idiot. The cynic who fills Gray's head with "dangerous ideas" is plainly stated to be an egotistical, callow, solipsistic jerkface; yet he says the most delightfully clever things. Wise, right or true? No. But clever and amusing, yes. In fact, I'm sure many of his sayings are included in a friend of mine's much-referenced book of Oscar Wilde quotes. I wonder how Wilde would feel about that, when I feel certain this character was meant as a target for much of his vitriol. Or I could be wrong. If I've horribly misinterpreted the book, please blame the migraine.

Cannonball Read Book 9: Lolita by Vladimir Nabakov

2010-02-08T09:23:00.000-08:00

This is me officially starting to get lazy. I've found in CBR that it usually isn't the reading that holds me up so much as the sweating over how I'm going to approach my review. Add to that me being burnt out from work and a slew of unfortunate luck, plus needing to memorize 14 lines of iambic pentameter for this weekend, plus having a headache the size of Cleveland from yesterday's Super Bowl related festivities. And I really, really, want to start on my new book, but don't feel comfortable doing that until the review for the previous book is done and over with.

I also gave up sweating over this one because it is notoriously challenging and often misinterpreted. In fact, my copy includes an essay by Nabakov pretty much slamming everyone who's ever offered an opinion or interpretation of this book. Which made me think, "Hell. No matter what I write about this book, I'm bound to piss someone off." At which point I promptly stopped worrying.

The first time I heard about this book, a schoolmate in a local coffee house (ain't that always the way?) raved about it as her favorite book of all time. Her interpretation was, "This man falls in love with a little girl, but he's not the bad guy! The little girl totally manipulates him, and society punishes him wrongly! It's like, all about how unfair society is!!!"

Now that I've read the book myself, I'm pretty certain she was dead wrong. Of course when we read this, we get the sense that he's the victim, that he's treated unfairly, etc. But that's because the book is told solely from his point of view. Throughout the book, he wrestles with feelings of guilt, but he almost always manages to assuage them by rationalization or laying the blame elsewhere or playing the victim. In that sense, Nabakov pulls off an effective satire or parody (head hurts too much to decide which) of your prototypical despicable human being. Or, putting it this way, throughout the book a thought kept popping into my head: Whether he likes it or not, we have Nabakov to thank for the Colbert Report.

There are of course loads and loads of literary devices he employs throughout the book to fill out the character. Repeated refrains, running gags, invented words, personality ticks (Turns out Palahniuk owes Nabakov a debt of gratitude as well) so meticulously used that they come to communicate volumes with each turn of phrase. In many ways, it was as if e.e. cummings had written narrative prose.

There are two passages near the end I found particularly moving. Where the satiric veneer was rubbed away to reveal a raw, sensitive, tender matter beneath, and they broke my heart. But since this is also a Pajiba book club selection, I don't want to go spoiling the ending. Sure, its a classic, and its been around for decades, but I was still pretty peeved when the introduction in my copy gave away pretty much every major plotpoint. I don't want to be responsible for that happening to anyone else.

With all of it's richness, and all the possibilities for interpretation, I do think this makes an excellent choice for a book club read. I was dreading writing a review for it, but I'm actually really looking forward to discussing it with several other people and comparing notes, ideas, favorite passages, etc. All in all, I'll admit the read was a challenge, but a highly enjoyable one that surprised me in many ways.

Cannonball Read Book 8: Come Closer

2010-01-22T22:15:00.000-08:00

Firstly: Many thanks to my wonderful roommate Ameni for lending me this book. Please do not take anything that follows as a lack of gratitude for your recommendation or a slam on your taste. This is definitely a well-written book, and I highly respect your taste in horror. Also, regardless of what follows, please do not feel bad. I assure you my current state of creepin' heebeejeebees will pass, and I will be right as rain tomorrow. :-)

That said, I want to start this review with a caveat: this will not be my most well-written review ever. I've just put the book down. While I could not bring myself to take a break from reading it, I needed copious amounts of wine to see myself through to the ending. That is because Sara Gran's Come Closer gives a fictional (yet hella convincing) first person account of the one thing guaranteed to scare me out of my brainpan: demon possession.

Hey, don't laugh! As I've mentioned elsewhere, ghosts are essentially harmless. Zombies are slow (unless they're RAGE infected, but I figure you'd get used to having to fight even those suckers off after a while), vampires can be dispatched of with garlic and pointy wood. Demon possession is another matter. It starts off subtley enough, its symptoms innocuous or vague enough to be explained away by a plethora of alternative causes. Once any connections are made to possession, the victim is pretty much screwed. Much like those obscure, almost-impossible-to-diagnose-yet-gruesomely-deadly diseases that are the reason I don't read science magazines anymore.

And it's not that you've been eaten or beaten or gnawed on or had "boo" whispered in your ear. Like the weeping angels in the Dr. Who episode "Blink," human-possessing demons rob you of your life and yourself without technically killing you. Once past the point of "aaaaaand now you're fucked," the victim is forced to share his/her body with an evil entity, watch all the hope and happiness of his/her old life slip irrevocably away, and accept the consequences of unspeakable actions commited by the entity that's decided to stake its claim on him/her.

Not that I actually, you know, believe in any of that stuff. Of course not. Heh-heh. How silly that would be...So what if I'm visiting a new church on Sunday? An agnostic can go to church if she wants to, right???

...right?

Okay, so needless to say, this book scared the crap out of me. So much so that I skipped the usual 24 hour period I usually give myself to mull a book over before writing about it. I want any and all thoughts I'm having about this book out of my head now, so I don't have to think about it ever again. You hear that, scary thoughts??? You're not welcome 'round these parts! Git! Scram! Shoo! You don't have to go home, but you can't stay here!

Sorry. Back to the book. I found the first-person aspect refreshing, and deeply moving. I face->palmed every time she rationalized or laughed off an odd occurance that clearly spelled D-E-M-O-N to the reader. At the same time, Gran makes these occurances banal and seemingly innocuous to make the reader question all the times they've acted out of character, shrugged off an unexplained noise in their home, spotted things out of the corner of their eye that seemed to vanish as soon as they were noticed.

Gran ratchets up the gut-wrenching factor of her story by adeptly juxtaposing the narrator's genuinely sweet nature, her good intentions and love for her husband, with the awful actions she commits under the demon's influence. As the story escalates, the narrator's sense of helplessness, that her body and soul are no longer her own, that perhaps nothing can help her, evokes a heartwrenching pathos to accompany the fear. As readers, we feel her life slip away from her with each chapter. Near the end, she lists many of the hopes and dreams she once carried that now seem irretrievably lost.

There's probably much more I should say, and what I have said could probably have stood to be much clearer and more coherent. But as I mentioned before, I'm in coping mode. I've had wine, and all I want is to get these thoughts out and to not have to revisit them anytime soon. This is why I like my horror campy. If you like to be genuinely disturbed, saddened, and haunted by your horror, this book should be right up your alley. For my part, Come Closer tops the list of Best Books I Never Ever Want To Read Again. (Really, Ameni--It was a really impressive book and I appreciate you lending it to me!) Never ever again.

Cannonball Read Book 7: Looking for Alaska

2010-01-21T20:36:00.000-08:00

First, I want to extend my thanks to my work buddy Anna for A) recommending this book and B) lending me her copy. I tend not to read young adult fiction because honestly, it's been a while since I've been a member of the target audience. Even when I was, I was a bit of an oddnik who spent her time with fellow oddniks, so things designed to appeal to the masses in my age group generally did not appeal to me. It wasn't any kind of judgement against the genre or the people who dug it, I just didn't feel like I could really relate to the stories being sold. When Anna lent me John Green's Looking for Alaska, I wasn't entirely convinced that the book would speak to me on the same level it spoke to a friend several years my junior. I'm still not sure it did. I can say that I did enjoy it immensely, and became more involved and inspired by the story than I expected to.

Perhaps this is because the narrator is not a typical American teen. He is exceptionally bright, a little eccentric, and struggles with social awkwardness. Dissatisfied with being the token friendless nerd at his public high school, he requests to be sent to a boarding school, so he may seek out his "Great Perhaps." Once there, it is not long before he falls in with a tightly knit circle of exceptionally bright, mildly eccentric teens like himself.

The first half of the book sets up these characters and their relationships in a romanticized, almost sentimental light, but the worldliness and humor of the teens prevents it from becoming cloying. I was relieved that the author didn't talk down to an audience younger than himself, that he expected his readers to be familiar with his obscure literary/historical/philosophical references (or at least to look them up), and that he treated smoking, swearing, drinking, and teen sex with a respectful dose of non-judgemental realism.

Around the halfway mark, the story takes a sharp, unexpected turn as the students experience a heartbreaking tragedy. The book about an exceptional group of young friends becomes a tale that examines grief and loss with an emotional honesty and rawness that would give Six Feet Under a run for its money. As erudite as these kids are, they suddenly realize how green they are emotionally, and they struggle for a frame of reference to help them cope with a wholy unfamiliar form of pain.

In the course of their dealing with this tragedy, the narrator takes wisdom from his friends and from what he has learned through books and his teachers. He is far from an apple shiner (school pranks are more glorified in this book than the academic structure itself), and he is equipped with a healthy sense of irreverence. However, his intellectual curiosity, his philosophical leanings, and his ability to apply new knowledge to his day to day life help guide him into an emotional and spiritual maturity that would put scholars and poets twice his age to shame. Like many characters in the film Wings of Desire, he bears a realistic worldliness infused with the ability to ask the kind of questions that mostly children and angels ask, but forget about as they grow up and/or become assimilated into their surrounding culture. The narrator balances on a cusp of earthly concerns and desires and otherworldly ideas. This balance makes the book not just moving, but inspiring as well, for readers of any age.

Cannonball Read Book 6: Jane Eyre

2010-01-14T10:11:00.000-08:00

If nothing else, the Cannonball Read is teaching me that the more I care about a book, the harder it is for me to write about it. In the light of recent personal events, I was having a hard time delving into Jane Eyre's love story without my own romantic baggage weighing my interpretation down. At the very least, I can still say that I bristle whenever someone compares the Twilight series to Charlotte Bronte's best known novel. However, I didn't want to spend the review going on and on about how one version of ideal love is better than another, mainly because I don't think Meyers' series deserves so much of my time and energy. There is one difference I can mark without hesitation, and something I don't think is discussed enough when Jane Eyre is brought up. Unlike Twilight or most other romantic novels, Jane Eyre is much more than the author's romantic fantasy transcribed onto paper. In fact, the title's subheading reads, "An Autobiography," not "A Love Story." While it's tempting to think mainly of the novel's love story (admittedly, it is pretty swoon-worthy), to focus only on that is to give short shrift to a complex and broad-scoped tale. In many ways, Jane Eyre is Bronte's autobiography. I wouldn't call it strictly factual, but the heroine's story touches on the variety of struggles, concerns, pet peeves, and wishes of an educated, imaginative, single woman without money in 19th Century England.

In the first few chapters, we focus on Jane's childhood as an orphan living first as a dependent with unsympathetic relatives, then at a religiously affiliated boarding school. Through Jane's relatives, the Reed family, Bronte makes her first attacks on an unfair social structure of her time, illustrating through her characters that money and a good family line do not necessarily make better individuals. This may seem pretty elementary to many 21st century readers, but linking money and status with personal worth was a surprisingly common mindset in Bronte's time (even more so than today). When Jane enters Lowood School, run by the cruel and hypocritical Brocklehurst, Bronte takes the opportunity to condemn those whose faith inspires false piety and heartlessness (Pat Robertson would do well to read those chapters). On the other side of the coin, Jane learns through a close friend that though some Christians behave monstrously in the name of their faith, it is not worth condemning the faith itself altogether. A belief in a benevolent, loving, supreme being can inspire serenity, compassion, forgiveness, and courage. This is the faith that Jane adopts. Combined with an almost pantheistic belief in Nature, whom she deems a spiritual "Mother," it guides her principles and actions throughout the story.

The narrative flashes forward several years, leading Jane to Mr. Rochester and their well-known love story. While it is undeniably moving, passionate, and charming (they really do make a wonderful couple), there are elements to their initial courtship that make even the heroine uneasy. He is secretive, domineering, possessive, and takes a disconcerting pride in being Jane's only loved one in the world. Loving him as intensely as she does, Jane worries that he is becoming an idol to her, and that she may fall under a sort of passionate bewitchment where her will is no longer quite her own. When circumstances make it clear to Jane that she can not stay true to both Rochester and herself, she chooses herself. (You hear that, Ms. Meyers?) The choice to leave him is excruciating, but she goes. The heartbreak, combined with the physical hardships she encounters, quite literally almost kills her.

It is only much later, when Jane has developed a life, a will, and loved ones of her own, that she is ready to love romantically again. When she does marry, it is as an "independent" woman with money to care for herself, and a position that frees her from personal obligation to others. She has discovered and bonded with distant relatives, creating a loving family life of her own, plus an intimate circle of friends. (Seriously Ms. Meyers, I hope you're taking notes.) When she finds love again, she is thus able to approach her partner on a more equal footing with him. In fact, circumstances make her husband dependent on her for a little while. This brief period evens the scales between them, making them lifelong equals and peers. As such, they become best friends "at once as free as in solitude, as gay as in company." This bolsters their romantic relationship, making it richer and more fulfilling for both partners as the marriage progresses.

This last point may seem like common sense to many readers today. However, in the 19th century, taking such a stance on romantic love was quite unusual. Transcending the dichotomy of love and autonomy was a step very much ahead of the author's time. Throughout the book, Bronte also manages to reconcile reason with passion, Christianity with Paganism, and scathing social critique with a forgiving idealism. Though it is often written off as a girly, romantic novel, it is actually a highly fictionalized autobiography, written by an insightful, though lonely, female Transcendentalist. Through the heroine's life (especially through her romantic involvements) Bronte proposed ideas and confessed truths about individuality in regards to womanhood that had previously been ignored or unconsidered by her culture. With the widespread popularity of romances like Twilight and reality shows where individuals compete with one another for attention and affection, I'm concerned that such ideas are slipping out of our cultural mindset. I'm almost tempted to keep a stash of copies of Jane Eyre at the ready. Anytime a girl or young woman intimates that the Twilight romance is the ideal love story, or gives signs of wrapping up her self-worth in how much (particularly male) attention she gets, or lets her life revolve entirely around an individual or cultural mindset without taking the time to make up her mind for herself first, I'd really, really like to give them a copy of Bronte's novel.

Unexpected Culinary Success Files: Chicken Andouille With Lentils and Tomatoes

2010-01-13T16:36:00.000-08:00

Because I'm genuinely thrilled and pleased when a kitchen experiment turns out well:

Chicken Andouille and Lentils with Tomatoes

You will need:
2 tbs olive oil
2 bratwurst-sized links Chicken Andouille sausage, cut into 1/4" slices*
1 shallot, chopped
7 garlic cloves, chopped
1 large can diced tomatoes
2 tightly packed cups of cooked brown or black lentils
Crumbled goat cheese (optional)

*If you can't find Chicken Andouille, the regular kind should be fine. I think keilbasa would work too, but then I'd recommend adding a little crushed red pepper to compensate for the missing bite.

In a soup pot over medium heat, sautee the shallot, garlic, and sliced sausage in olive oil. When the shallots and garlic are tender, but not yet brown, stir in the diced tomatoes. Next, stir in the lentils. Reduce heat to low, cover, and simmer for about 20 minutes, stirring occasionally.

Serve over rice or on its own in a bowl. If you like, garnish with crumbled goat cheese. Enjoy!

Cannonball Read Book 5: Pride and Prejudice and Zombies

2009-12-24T14:29:00.000-08:00

Okay, this one is a bit tricky for me. I really wanted to love this one. Aside from the fact that the author is a friend of a friend (Ooooooh...), the book was basically a combination of two of my favorite things. It says so right in the title. Jane Austen + Zombies = Awesome. Right?

I think the first problem may have been that I psyched myself out. I mean it had been praised to the moon and back by people who share my taste. Given the concept, I was absolutely giddy with anticipation until I could get my hands on a copy. In that time, it's very possible that I worked out a certain set of preconceived notions regarding what the book would offer.

As many people have said before me though, the concept doesn't have that much horsepower. It's brilliant and funny, no doubt. In order for it to work, however, it must be carried with consistency throughout the story. As a result, the book's humor plays out like a long series of variations on the same musical theme. It may be interesting on a certain detached level, but it's not particularly moving. There were certain elements I enjoyed, such as the woman who marries for security over love becoming a zombie. Sure, it's a bit obvious, but it stays true to one of the original author's central themes. I'm sure even Ms. Austen would have been pleased.

Now that I think about it, my main problem with the book is probably my own damn fault. I'm not a purist to the extent that I can't see one of my favorite authors tinkered with, but it is important to me that the book stay true to the themes that were key elements in the author's work. Something I particularly love about Austen's books is the empathy you feel for characters trying to gracefully maneuver their way through a broken sociocultural system without sacrificing their integrity or individuality. When Zombies and Shao Lin training are added to the mix, this theme gets tossed out the window.

The Bennet sisters, Elizabeth in particular, are not just warriors, they're almost sadistically blood thirsty. Seriously, it's enough to make Beatrix Kiddo look like Little Bo Peep by comparison. Rest assured I do "get" the the joke, and the concept of black comedy as a whole. There was nothing offensive in the book's violence as far as I was concerned, but I just didn't find it all that satisfying. I relish seeing Austen's heroines rely on subtlety, resourcefulness and wit to resolve their conflicts. Elizabeth ripping out a still-beating heart and taking a bite just seems, well...dull by comparison.

Maybe it's because our culture is so chock full of violence and yet deficient in wit. The thing is, while I can enjoy a well choreographed fight scene (I really did enjoy the Kill Bill movies), and swords and guns and 'splosions and such, their use in entertainment is undeniably commonplace. Seeing young people deal with universally recognizable idiots, misogynists, and hypocrites with admirable intelligence and grace...not so much. I've seen it happen, but not as many times as I've seen an impressive martial arts showdown.

So when Austen's subtlety and innuendo was tossed aside in favor of gun blasts and beheadings, it just felt watered down to me. I wasn't offended or appalled, just...disappointed. I undersand the author has a Lincoln-related story in the works. That may appeal to me more, because I think more liberties can be taken with an iconic President of the United States than a specific piece of literature. Or maybe that's just me being a book whore. My God. Maybe I have turned into my freshman literature professor.

Successful Kitchen Experiments: Cranberry Compote

2009-11-25T16:08:00.000-08:00

Holy crap, folks! My experimental cranberry compote turned out great! Sorry for lack of specific measurements...I'm more of a throw-stuff-in-until-it-works kind of cook. :-)

You will need:
1 bag of cranberries
1 cup (loosely packed) of dark brown sugar
powdered cinnamon
powdered cloves
1 whole orange
1 carton of orange juice
1 large apple, grated with its skin still on

-Empty bag of cranberries into a saucepan.
-Sprinkle dark brown sugar over them
-Dust heavily with powdered cinnamon
-Dust moderately with powdered cloves
-Add about a teaspoon of zest from the orange's peel (eat orange later for vitamin C)
-Add a splash of cognac or port, depending on whichever you happen to have on hand
-Pour in orange juice until berries start to float (think milk:cereal ratio) and stir everything up

-Cook over medium heat
-When the OJ bubbles and the cranberries start to pop, add grated apple
-Reduce heat to medium-low and simmer, stirring frequently
-When stirring, make sure you scrape the edges of the pan, as wayward apple bits will try to stick to it.

-Compote is done when the sauce soaking the berries takes on the consistency of runny apple butter.
-Especially good on white meat turkey and/or biscuits!

Cannonball Read Book 4: The Mist, by Stephen King

2009-11-25T14:09:00.000-08:00

I know many people who love and adore Stephen King. I've tried twice now to see why, and twice I've come away thinking, "Well, he's all right..." The first time was Firestarter. Upon hearing this, many King fans insist that I simply started with the wrong book. I'm wondering if they would say the same for The Mist. It wasn't a bad book--- it was a quick, engaging read and spooky enough to make me put it down a couple of hours before bedtime. What I think spoiled it for me was having seen Darabont's film adaptation. It's usually the other way around, but this time--for me, anyway-- the book pailed in comparison to the movie.

I think one of the main reasons for this is the book's first person narrative. The story is told only through David Dreyton's point of view. The character is sympathetic enough, a touch grumpy and at times even crass, but ultimately caring, brave, and forgiving. The problem with getting only his point of view is that many characters who were well fleshed out in the film get short shrift. From seeing them through the eyes of another character, we only see and hear of them as he does, and any insight into their motives, hopes, and fears is limited to his speculation. This works for many stories, but in a novel about a diverse group of people sharing the same terrifying situation, each handling it in their own way, the choice of singular first person narrative feels like a great, big wasted opportunity.

There is also the repeated mention of the narrator's fear, dread, rage, etc. If done more sparingly, this device would have been much more effective. But the repeated mention of Dreyton's intuitive dread at the beginning, his terror at the crux, along with his hopelessness and rage, seems annoyingly heavy-handed. Like a manipulative film score, King seems to be trying too hard to tell us what to feel. It's as if he doesn't trust his own material to achieve the desired effect in his readers.

It's a shame too, because even with these problems The Mist is still frightening and engaging. I may have problems with some of his choices, but it's clear from this book that King knows how to tap into the darkest regions of his readers' collective unconscious. The vulnerability that comes with being trapped, knowing nothing of the threat one faces, watching helplessly as your would-be allies lose their senses and turn on you are all terrifying scenarios. For my part I've seen them rarely in recent horror, so to have those fears drawn up in my imagination felt like the summoning of a subconscious nightmare, dreamed before but long forgotten. If King's other work achieves this, I'd be more than happy to give him another chance. Given the choice however, I'd still be more likely to pop Darabont's adaptation of The Mist into my DVD player.

Cannonball Read Book 3: A Little Princess, by Frances Hodgson Burnett

2009-11-24T13:57:00.000-08:00

"...it has nothing to do with what you look like, or what you have. It has only to do with what you think of, and what you do." --Sara Crewe (on being a princess)

For many reasons, Frances Hodgson Burnett's A Little Princess was a favorite of mine growing up. When I found myself woefully behind on the Cannonball Read, I thought revisiting it would be a good way to catch up while seeing how well a childhood favorite held up over time. Much to my relief and delight, I was not disappointed. Burnett's style, while florid, is intelligent enough to appeal to adult readers as well as children. Like Dickens' work, her story pulls no punches, either. The often fatally harsh living conditions for impoverished English children of the early twentieth century are brought painfully to life, as well as the capriciousness of fortune. Within the bleak narrative, Hodgson provides a stoic little heroine whose methods of coping provide valuable lessons to children and adults alike.

One of the things I loved most about the book as a child was that it didn't flinch from sharing ugly truths with me. It is a common and understandable habit in grown ups to try to shield their children from unpleasant ideas or unhappy stories. However, this is not always helpful for some children. As the child of a bipolar alcoholic with a volatile, violent temper, I was frustrated by storytellers who sugar-coated their interpretation of the world and the people in it. At best, it felt like they were trying to distract me with a poorly wrought illusion. At worst, they left me feeling even more isolated, as if I was solitary in my predicament and resulting unhappiness. It made me feel different, odd, and full of self-doubt.

Read at age 8, A Little Princess was a revelation for me. Its heroine, Sara Crewe, is well-loved by her kind, wealthy father, who sends her to a school for girls while he pursues a mining investment in a distant jungle. On her eleventh birthday, the school's gold-digging headmistress Miss Minchin receives word that Sara's father has died penniless from a sudden illness, leaving the girl an orphan with no money or prospective guardians. Upon this news, Miss Minchin makes Sara a servant, takes away all of her belongings save for a few shabby, outgrown dresses, and sends her to live in the cold, dilapidated attic. From there, it only gets worse. Miss Minchin starves Sara, denies her fire or decently warm clothes in the wintertime, works her past the point of exhaustion, calls her abusive names, and beats her. Whats more, she encourages her staff and pupils to shower abuse upon her as well.

Miss Minchin has never liked Sara. Sara is not the bouncy, blonde, dimpled cutey so often leading little girls' stories. Rather, she is dark haired, with large, green eyes and a thin frame. Her manner is quiet and gravely thoughtful. She is also extremely bright, fluent in multiple languages and far ahead of her fellow students in other subjects. On top of this, she is unusually clever, possessing a wisdom and insight far beyond her years. Such things are unnerving to Miss Minchin, who can only feel powerful and self-secure when she is domineering or bullying others. Girls like Sara are difficult to bully. Regardless of the cruelties heaped upon her, Sara meets them with a brave, stoic resolve. Hodgson points out that it does not come easily for her. The little girl often struggles to stay brave, reminding herself of soldiers in battle for inspiration. Although it is difficult, she chooses to strive for an attitude of courage and quiet pride, knowing they're the only weapons she has against those who would break her will. In the face of bullying, her grave stoicism confuses, unnerves, and bewilders those who wish to make her suffer.

Sara seldom cries, but when she does, it's usually for the sake of others. She is an unusually empathetic person, befriending those whom others would despise due to their disadvantages in social class or intellect. Her temper rarely flares, but when she does, it's triggered by the bullying of a social outcast. She is not an angel, and acknowledges this herself. What is truly remarkable about Sara is that she knows she has it in her to be either good or wicked. Yet she consciously chooses, time and again, to be a caring, brave, thoughtful person, even when it isn't easy.

Unlike the film adaptations, her father does not magically reappear in the end. Her beloved father dies, and she must cope with that. She must find a way to deal with starvation, exhaustion, emotional and physical abuse with little to no help from others. Until she finds a more material salvation, Sara sustains herself through imagination, empathy, and a resolve to be courageous. Through Sara Crewe's unhappy story, Hodgson tells her readers, especially those in difficult or painful circumstances, that yes, sometimes terrible things happen to good people, even children, for no acceptable reason. However, she also tells us that when the unthinkable happens, we have it within each of us to sustain ourselves. Even without means, prospects, or friends with the power to help us, we can turn to our own imagination, strength of will, and a resolve to keep a loving heart. As a child, I learned from this book that I could not control what happened to me, but I could control how I faced it. To this day, I consider it the most valuable lesson of my childhood.

Cannonball Read Book 2: The Amazing Adventures of Kavalier and Clay

2009-11-23T09:34:00.000-08:00

It's hard to know where to start with Michael Chabon's sprawling, multi-faceted epic centering on two Jewish cousins living in 1940's New York City. The book covers multiple themes, including hope, sacrifice, redemption, misplaced guilt, and revenge, introduces us to a multitude of characters (some fictionalized versions of real people), and takes us from a working class neighborhood, thru wealth and fame, then down to Antarctica (!!!), then to suburban, post-war America. While Chabon can be a touch pedantic, he redeems himself through the creation of his main characters, Sam Clay, Joe Kavalier, and Rosa Sax, discussing them with such detail and insight that they feel less like book characters than actual acquaintances by the end of the story.

Having many friends who are crazy about Chabon, I want to make clear that I did enjoy the book. Very much, in fact. However, I'll admit I also had a few problems with his writing. Chabon can be a touch long winded, and yes, pedantic at times. He takes what sometimes feels like self-indulgent glee in interrupting the narrative with rambling sections of exposition detailing the culture of comics at the time, or New York, or Europe of that era. While these sections, written in a charmingly academic tone, do much to breathe life into cultures many readers only know through history textbooks, there were times I caught myself skimming. Chabon loves listing things, especially comic book titles, and his lists can take up over half a page written in paragraph form. While he peppers his narrative with mention of actual films, artists, comic books, and movie stars of the time, he intermingles them teasingly with briefly-mentioned characters and titles of his own imagining. It almost feels taunting at times, as if Chabon is dropping a trail of bread crumbs leading to his bibliography.

As annoying as this can be, the author more than makes up for it with the story itself. It's difficult to summarize without giving away plot points, which I do not wish to do here. One of the chief joys of reading this was to approach it from a state of total ignorance and let the story unfold, leading me by the hand through the lives of its characters. Sam, Joe, and Rosa are each endearing and sympathetic in their own way. Imaginative and big-hearted, Sam struggles to come to terms with his homosexuality in a time where men who shared his orientation were commonly beaten, sexually assaulted, and "disappeared" by homophobes in positions of power. The dreamy and impossibly clever Joe, having escaped Nazi occupation, struggles with the guilt of having left his family behind. In addition, he both clings to and fears the impulse to hope for their safe escape from Europe. The beautiful and insightful Rosa, loving both men in different ways, provides a grounding, nurturing presence in their lives, struggling to balance her tremendous capacity for love with a strong desire for autonomy and independent purpose.

Through his work, Chabon makes clear his love for imagination, creativity, and especially writing itself. Using the characters' thoughts as a voice, he speaks to his readers of the joys of creation as well as the frustrations of building a livelihood from it. He discusses unrequited love, family, the nobility of self-sacrifice, and the occasional need for blatant selfishness. I'd certainly be interested in reading more of Chabon's work in the future, but probably not on a tight deadline. Like a fine whiskey, he's the kind of writer to be enjoyed slowly. In trying to knock him back in rapid gulps, I couldn't help but feel like I was missing the finer points in my intoxicated, giddy haze.

Cannonball Read Book 1: A Room With A View

2009-11-07T17:23:00.000-08:00

A Room With a View is E.M. Forster's brilliant coming of age novel disguised as a love story. While the romance between Lucy Honeychurch and George Emerson is undeniably moving, it is essentially a vehicle through which the heroine learns to stop putting the opinions of others ahead of her own personal truths. In exploring a theme that still carries weight for today's reader, Forster surrounds the heroine with characters who both help and hinder her, each bearing qualities that may be uncomfortably familiar.

Since I'm a sucker for intelligent romance, it was George and Lucy's first kiss in a field of violets that drew me in. However, the kiss itself would not have born the same power without a genuine, emotionally honest love story to support it. Lucy is a bright, passionate woman torn between a childlike wish to please those around her and her own adventurous, independent spirit. George has already chosen to yield to the latter, but like Hamlet and many of Salinger's heros, he is so at odds with the ways of the world he is plagued by melancholy. After witnessing a murder in an Italian square, the two young people find kindred spirits in one another. George naturally wishes to pursue their relationship. Lucy, uneasy with his counterculturalism and reputation as a bohemian, has considerable trouble coping with her attraction to him. Forster builds the tension between them with patience and insight, making their eventual kiss not just believeable, but inevitable.

The fact of this kiss being witnessed by Lucy's chaperone, Charlotte Bartlett, catalyzes a fateful choice for Lucy: to follow her heart or to let the supposed opinions of others guide her. A fretful, passive-aggressive train wreck with a martyr complex, Miss Bartlett represents those who have yielded, and continue to yield, to the latter. Obsessed with appearances, she has long forgotten what makes Charlotte, well, Charlotte. She simpers, coos, worries, and over-apologizes. She consistently misinterprets people, rather than connecting with them. From Lucy's point of view, Forster points out that while "it is possible to be kind" to such people, one "can never really love them." For such people live in the author's interpretation of a personal hell, a "muddle" or perpetual state of self-delusion which destroys almost everything true and good in a person, and from which few people ever awaken.

Much of the book's latter half shows Lucy following Miss Bartlett's influence (at times, not even consciously). As a result, she furthers her own unhappiness with each passing day. Ironically, this path makes those around her unhappy, as well. Many troubles she causes for those around her could easily be avoided by a healthy dose of honesty and self-awareness. As events come to a head, she only digs herself in deeper, until she is actually compared to Miss Bartlett herself.

What's really interesting is that when Lucy finally regains her senses and follows her heart, many of her loved ones do become angry with her. A few even abandon her. But it is not her love for George that they condemn. What they can not forgive (at least easily) is the deception and hypocrisy with which she tried to conceal her feelings from them and herself. Forster can not seem to drive home the point hard enough: try to disguise your heart and mind to protect others, and you're guaranteed to hurt them even worse.

I often come back to this book. At political/cultural odds with my family, trying to be an actress in Hollywood-- where the powers that be are constantly trying to "improve" you, and healing old war wounds that tell me that I must be A, B, or C, to please the people I really care about, I find myself consistently struggling against Forster's "muddle." When I find myself in danger, I know I can rely on Lucy's journey as both a cautionary tale and a source of inspiration.

And, yes...it's on the list.

It Begins!

2009-11-01T17:57:00.000-08:00

For Book #1, I've decided to revisit an old favorite. You know how sometimes, you realize that you just need to read a book--- the way you need Nyquil when you have a cold, or the way you need lots of water and ibuprofen after a night of heavy drinking?

That's how I need this book. So by this time next week, my review of E.M. Forster's A Room With a View will be up for your perusal.

Wishing luck and happy reading to my fellow Cannonballers!

Barring any unforseen craziness worth writing about beforehand, I'll see y'all next week. :-)

Reading List!!!

2009-10-27T11:35:00.000-07:00

Okay, folks. So the Cannonball Read begins in earnest this Sunday. I already have a dozen or so books lined up, but I long for suggestions.

Any titles recommended in the comments section below will be considered, and your input greatly appreciated.

Thanks!

The Graveyard Book by Neil Gaiman

2009-10-15T13:48:00.000-07:00

As a child, I was an avid but picky reader. I hated books that sugar-coated or dumbed down stories for me, as it always felt like the author didn't trust me to be able to figure things out, or handle the dark truth of the story, whatever that might be. As I got older, my favorite books and teachers were the ones that encouraged me to think for myself, to look into things I didn't understand, and to not shy away from hard truths, dark humor, or odd characters. Sometime in college I started teaching and working in educational theater, and these convictions only grew stronger. I respect that there's a place for bubblegum and fluff, regardless of the audience's age, and that not everyone likes their entertainment as dark or strange as I do. But lately, I feel like there's an overabundance in vapid, formulaic kids entertainment that insults the intelligence and imagination of its intended audience. When I come across a children's book or film that encourages thoughtfulness, cleverness, imagination, and compassion, I add it to my unwritten list of books I'll someday read to my kid...if I ever have kids.

I wasn't even halfway through The Graveyard Book when I realized it had made the list. I got into Neil Gaiman several years ago through a combination of his Sandman comics and the Tori Amos connection. His originality, insight, and humor have never failed to amaze me, and his knack for imagery and realistically constructed, complex characters make his stories impossible for me to put down. I was pleased as punch to hear he'd won the Newbury for The Graveyard Book, and put it on my reading list.

And now it's on my future dream child's list, whether he/she likes it or not. The book covers the childhood of an orphaned boy raised in a graveyard by the spirits of the dead, with considerable help from his self-appointed guardian, a mysterious man named Silas. All of Gaiman's winning narrative qualities are present here, but in addition, there are all of the elements that made a book worth reading to me in my childhood. He doesn't shy away from hard plot points, opening the book with the murder of the boy's family. He doesn't go into detail, or revel gratuitously in the violence of the act. But in order for the story to progress, this dark, awful thing must happen. So Gaiman explains the circumstances lucidly, unwaveringly, and without showy theatrics, demonstrating an honesty and insight that pays a high compliment to his readers.

He refrains from insulting their intelligence as well. He references everything from 19th century poetry to European history to world folklore, confident that if his younger readers want to know more about these things, they can look them up. In fact, this intellectual curiosity is encouraged throughout the book through the young hero, Bod (more on him later). When we are introduced to a new spirit of the deceased, Gaiman mentions the contents of their headstone, allowing the epitaph to provide clues to the character's original time period, passions, and personality. Instead of stating simply that one of the main characters is a vampire, he leaves subtle hints and clues throughout the story. The matter-of-fact statement that the character "only ate one food, and it wasn't bananas" is hands down the funniest, if not the clearest.

In Bod, the orphaned boy, Gaiman creates a spectacular young hero. He is adventurous, clever, and kind, repeatedly exhibiting faith in himself, a shrewd insight into other people's motives and desires, and a tireless sense of curiosity. Having been raised among the dead, he knows that being a ghost, a vampire, or a werewolf does not necessarily make a person evil or even frightening. Bod understands that a person's character is defined by their motives and actions, not the quirks of their personalities or physical characteristics. It helps tremendously that as brilliant as he is, Gaiman allows the boy to be imperfect. Bod and other living children in this book have their stories told from their point of view, allowing the stresses, fears and insecurities we all experience to lead organically and believably to the tantrums, pouting sessions, and poor decisions we all make, both as children and adults.

All of this is set in a world where men can be more frightening than monsters, where the dead continue---but without the boundless potential that makes corporeal existence a blessing, where witches and vampires can be good, and where living between the realms of life and death can be lonely and confusing, but also an extraordinary adventure. Gaiman's story works every bit as effectively for adults as it does for children, making it more than a bedtime story or required library reading. He has constructed a treasure that many children would be likely to carry with them into adulthood, to be cherished and passed down to future generations.

Introduction

2009-10-14T14:00:00.000-07:00

I've been interested in blogging for a while now, but two things have long stood in my way: a stubborn case of technophobia and a paralyzing fear of shooting my mouth off without having anything valid/important/funny to say. I've tried to get past these obstacles a few times before, but have always scurried back to my candle-lit cave, my tail between my legs.

Then came the opportunity to participate in Pajiba's Cannonball Read: Year 2. Conceived by Brian Prisco and the late, great Amanda Amos (aka Alabama Pink), it presents the challenge of reading and reviewing a book a week (minimum 200 pages), every week, for a year. For each completed review, the Pajiban Powers That Be will make a contribution the college fund of Alabama Pink's young son.
Now to participate, you need a blog for book review posting. Hence this shiny little blog you see before you. I'm starting the read with Neil Gaiman's Newbury Award Winner, The Graveyard Book. By the end of this weekend, I hope to post the first of many reviews. I hope to make them entertaining, insightful, funny (if I'm lucky), and to inspire others to take a little more time to pick up a book now and then.

Thanks for reading everyone, I hope to make it worth your while!