A Summer Reading Series: "Game of Thrones," and Why I Hate George RR Martin

I have never been a big reader of epic fantasy. It's not that I dislike the genre, necessarily; I'm just not that interested in it. I have never read the Lord of the Rings books (though I have seen the movies) and do not care to. It wasn't until I heard a lot of my friends talking about Game of Thrones--and raving about it--that I decided to give it a shot. More on that in a minute.

Reading Game of Thrones made me think about why I don't read epic fantasy. It's not because those stories are relegated to the genre ghetto (I still read some genre books)--though that factors into it a bit. But typical epic fantasy takes place in other realms modeled after Medieval Europe--a period of time in that place to which I'd rather not return. The notion of absolute monarchs and nobility is so outdated, and both sexes are allowed so little flexibility in their predetermined roles. And the focus on the higher classes, while a decent escapist route for other people, does not appeal to me in the least. What about all the people they allegedly rule over? And why are the Middle Ages so intriguing? I don't even want to pretend about it. It was a terrible, shameful period in the history of Europe. The promise of magic isn't really enough for me--I can get plenty of magic in Harry Potter-like fare. Even more socially conscious epic fantasy stories don't especially intrigue me--I guess any Medieval trappings in general are bound to turn me off.

So then why, you ask, did I decide to read Game of Thrones? This fantasy world resembles Medieval Europe even more closely than other epic fantasy stories, and even more blatantly racist and misogynistic--to a point teetering on the brink of problematic. And though I found a lot of such content in the first volume, I was nevertheless enthralled in the characters and ever-evolving intrigue as the story progressed.

A brief synopsis, for those who don't know: Game of Thrones follows the Stark family as each member gets pulled into national politics (in modern terms) and uncover a plot to kill the king and secure the cunning Lannister family into greater power. Each chapter follows a different point of view, most of them members of the Stark family, with the exception of the dwarf Lannister son Tyrion and the tangential story of the last Targeryen (the family that had been deposed by the current king) Daenerys, who at 14 is married to a Dothraki khal by her brother and whose experiences compel her to help bring back the age of magic and monsters.

Game of Thrones is obviously meticulously constructed (fyi, I'm obviously just referring to this first book, of course), with each chapter advancing the plot and pov character's arc in some way. Even the seemingly pointless deaths, for which many claim are pervasive in the book, serve the greater narrative in one way or another. And with each event (or almost every event) serving such a purpose, the tension rapidly rises and the stakes raised. And as I got to know each of the p.o.v characters, I came to like them more, or else my feelings toward them changed over the course of the narrative. By the middle of the 800-page tome, I had characters I was rooting for, characters I loathed, and characters I felt pity for.

But George RR Martin seems especially cruel, not just with the grim portrait of a Medieval-esque land, but also in how he constantly beats down his characters the second they have something to hope for. Whether it's murdering characters they care about, allowing them to be tricked or make mistakes for an inordinate amount of time, have them lose, and lose again, or laying bare the misogynistic culture that seems to respect women as much as cattle, Martin is one cruel god. This is not necessarily a bad thing, as it sustains narrative tension, but all the hardship makes me want to put down the book after a while. Sometimes, it gets to be too much.

Another reason to put down the book? It's too long. Now, it's not that the book is uninteresting, but there were moments later in the book where something that happened earlier is referenced and for a second I'd thought it was a previous book. Too much happens--and I'm sure the overall word count could have been reduced in other ways. I can certainly appreciate a lengthy novel that meanders slowly through the plot and soaks itself in details and character studies, but this is epic fantasy we're talking about here. It's meant to be consumed quickly--and for that it was too damn long.

So, while Game of Thrones may not be the best that epic fantasy has to offer, or even my particular cup of tea, but it is an entertaining and often thrilling read. 3.5 stars out of 5.

Paddy Clarke Ha Ha Ha ain't so funny

Roddy Doyle's Booker prize-winning novel isn't your typical novel, even among the literary types in which Paddy Clarke Ha Ha Ha fits so well. There's no real overarching plot tying all the episodic occurrences together, rather, a thin thread of feeling and a sense of security that changes over time--a length of time that is imprecise and imperceptible, as we are given only a vague sense of the order of events that occur in the novel. It is also all told from a 10-year-old boy's perspective, who learns a lot but still is very ignorant about much of the world. This structure may be off-putting to a lot of people, but if you take your time with this subtly pensive tale, you may find the story absorbing and enjoyable.

The story takes place in 1968 Barrytown, Ireland, a very specific time and a very specific place, but Doyle presents the context--even in the eyes of a ten-year-old boy--quite adeptly, so one gets a fairly accurate impression of the setting, and even the prevailing attitudes of the time. The titular protagonist gets into fights, picks on his little brother, participates in gross and masochistic dares, steals from certain shops, and looks down upon the boys who live in the newly constructed corporation housing. Like all his friends do. But slowly, over the course of the novel, the boy changes, and no longer fits in with his boorish peers. Coincidentally, or not so coincidentally, his parents' fights come to a breaking point and his father leaves the household for good, and he is drawn to one of the more aloof Corporation boys, Charles Leavy. The change is not much, but profound.

The story is strongest with its authenticity in detail and in Irish manners of speech, transporting to you to this very distinct setting. Roddy Doyle is nothing if not authentically Irish. That said, you'll need to put your context clue sleuthing skills to the test at times if you're not familiar with a lot of Irish-isms, or else have Google handy.

The structure of the novel is a major weak point, however, as each (mostly short) section is individually compelling, and not so much builds up a collectively compelling read. Though the book is under 300 pages, it took me longer than usual for a book of its length to read, largely because I wasn't dying to read more, only reading a few sections in a sitting and satisfied with that. It could be a purposeful device, allowing for deeper ponderation and a more true-to-life look at Irish boyhood, but a few sections likely could have been cut out without impacting the overall story very much. But to each their own.

In sum, Paddy Clarke Ha Ha Ha is an engaging, sometimes funny, and occasionally shocking portrait of one Irish boy's life at the age of ten. 3.5 stars out of 5.

Thoughts on the new season of "Arrested Development"

At long last, I've powered through the debut season of the new Arrested Development. I've been a fan of the show since a year after it went off the air and discovered its wonders from my peers (did somebody say "wonder"?). Now I'm as big a fan as they come, and AD remains one of the greatest comedies of the 2000s. I expected it to be a little different this time around, what with the different format and the longer episodes. I think it's well-suited to the style of AD, with the interwoven narratives that close the knot (and leave some open for another season...which we may in fact have!). It unfolds much like a novel, with unanswered questions that will get you to read the next volume. On a related note, if this format catches on, we could replace the word "season x" with "volume x" like graphic novels.

Old promo image...

Warning, spoilers....

In this season, each episode focuses on a different character, and at this point the Bluths have gone their separate ways, more or less. Not all of the Bluths are in every episode, so you may miss a character from time to time (I did), but then you'll also realize which characters you missed the most. (Mine: George Sr. and Lucille, GOB,  Maeby, George Michael) The episodes are also longer than 22 minutes, which sometimes bogs down the funny in service of the story. So it's a little slower-paced, with some overextended gags and yet a great deal of information packed in...with some intriguing incomplete moments acting as missing pieces of the puzzle, as it unfolds. The season definitely starts to pick up as it goes on, though, and it's most fun the moments those pieces fall into place.

There are some moments that are a little silly, like Lindsay's beau the Ostrich Man (and his farm), Maeby staying in high school a few years longer than when she should have realized it was a fruitless endeavor, and Michael's downward spiral (as of right now) feels a little far-fetched. But there are some classic Bluth moments, and the new format, in which we follow the story of a single character (and where their paths cross) works quite well considering the fact that all the characters are inter-linked and will interact with one another from time to time. But don't worry, you'll laugh: I laughed out loud quite a few times every episode, and will probably laugh more the next time I get around to watching this season.

New promo image

A lot of critics have mentioned how dark it is, and how unlikeable Michael has become in this season. And I wonder, have they not been paying attention? This family is as unlikeable as they come, and haven't been able to mask it well over the course of the original series. It would only be a matter of time before each of them "got theirs". On the one hand, we feel bad for them, because thanks to the brilliant writing and acting, we actually kind of like these characters, even if they're selfish and racist and generally horrible people. They redeem themselves every once in a while. But on the other hand, the Bluths as a whole are horrible, and do horrible things to others for their own gain, each Bluth varying on levels of pitiability and horriblility. And in this season, the more things change, the more the Bluths stay the same--to a degree. I do feel bad for Maeby and George Michael, though, since they didn't ask to be a part of this dysfunctional family.

The idea that Michael would turn out to be a failure when he struck out on his own and then get into the movie business in a meta-arc is a stretch, but not entirely implausible--like a lot of the situations presented in this season. Michael has made many Bluth-worthy mistakes in the past. I found George Michael and Maeby to be the more relatable characters, anyway, though maybe that's because I'm a young'un. But the dark, cringe-worthy comedy is hardly alien to intelligent American viewers, and sure, it's not everyone's cup of tea, but you would think the critics would get that.

"Fear" Keeps the Suspense Going

Five books in, Fear retains all the great qualities of the previous four books, even as the red shirt, climatic battle with Drake and death of some other baddie starts feeling repetitive. Clocking in at over 500 pages, this is one of the longest books in the series by far, and Grant maintains the mounting suspense, surprising (and shocking) twists, and realistic character development that has made the series so compelling. However, beneath all the action, horror, and suspense, one can sense that the author was running out of steam, making this book a little more uneven than the first few.

I can never figure out who the kids on the cover are supposed to be...

The looming crisis in this volume is the impending darkness of the sphere, stemming from the gaiaphage and blackening the barrier, eventually obliterating all sky light in the FAYZ. Astrid has exiled herself from the new communities as a form of punishment for her desperate act of the previous book--and she is easily one of the best-written characters in this volume. Sam and his crew have set up a new community at the lake they had found, and enjoyed four months of relative prosperity. Things in Perdido Beach are not as peaceful, however, as one of Quinn's fishermen is sentenced to being tortured by the visions of Penny, who herself begins to plot a coup against "King Caine" when he is pressured by Quinn to get rid of her. Meanwhile, Drake is on a mission for his master: to bring Diana, and her baby, to its lair, and Petey has become a disembodied spirit with the ability to manipulate living things--often with horrific results.

Things go south fast in this book, but not before a good deal of time is taken to catch up the reader on the past four months and spend some time with each set of characters, which slows down the momentum of the book. It's a lot more quiet and pensive in the beginning, which ain't a bad thing. We also get a glimpse of what has happened in the outside world after all this time--and a plot to destroy the sphere forever. The greatest strength remains to be the complex character development, strongly evidenced in this volumes by Astrid, Dekka, Sam, and Brianna--with Quinn and Caine revealing new sides of themselves, as well. Astrid's was by far the most profound, as she had lost her faith and accepts her desire for Sam, rather than try to push it away. We see Dekka and Brianna be hopelessly vulnerable--and Orc, too, come to think of it.

The ending--which was quite cool and surprising--opens up the door for further interesting character conflict, as the world of FAYZ is now open for the adults to see--without the benefit of warm embraces and lengthy explanations. (And imagine the pressure of being seen while going about your business running a run-down world!) For that reason, and not the final demise of the gaiaphage, I am excited to see what happens in the final volume.

In spite of its enduring strengths, Fear had many weaknesses, mainly figuring around the mutant baby of Diana's that the gaiaphage possesses. It was one thing to have the "bad girl" endure a pregnancy, but once it accelerates and the baby is born, I couldn't help but giggle a little bit because it's so convenient that the gaiaphage can accelerate growth, I find the precocious monster baby trope a little silly (as well as precocious babies in general), and I am immature. Even with Penny's quick descent into madness and evil and Cigar's beady new eyes, I found the baby gaiaphage to be the silliest turn that the Gone series has taken thus far.

I found other aspects problematic, as well. While the depiction of violence and madness has usually been handled tactfully in the series, the introduction of Penny as a "pure evil" character as bad as Drake, and Cigar's descent into madness as a result of her own, paints a problematic picture of both. While in a world where survival is prime, the mad and the violent are most often shunned or condemned to death, a sad state of affairs, I still find it terrible that nobody has tried to help them. Mad people need help, not to be euthanized or brutally killed. Another small issue I had was the abrupt reveal of Edilio's relationship with Artful Roger. Though Sam calls him "gay," I doubt that Edilio should have accepted the label so blatantly. Didn't he have a little crush on Lana at first? I would say he's at least bisexual. He just happens to like this guy.

All told, however,  Fear remains a quality installment to the series, with a cliffhanging finish that leaves you beyond excited for the next volume. I give it 3 stars out of 5.

"Plague: A Gone Novel": the FAYZ continues

To call the Gone series a dystopia is a misnomer, at the very least. A dystpoian tale conjures up the likes of Brave New World and 1984: stories that take place in the future, predicting a forseeable technological and societal upheaval that bears the mask of a utopia, but is actually quite a terrible place, devoid of such Enlightenment values as freedom and reasonable debate. Yet this is what it is called on the dust jackets of the first edition, probably to capitalize on the dystopian trend at the time. And it does appear a utopia (from a kid's point of view) for a fleeting moment in the first book: no more adults. And...that's it. Plague, perhaps more so than the other volumes, shows that this series is not "dystopian," but a supernatural horror story, with some aliens thrown in for good measure.

These kids still look too good to be from the FAYZ

Among the growing atrocities in Plague, a parasite that eats kids from the inside out--and can transfer itself to another host via green goo--that eventually grow into six foot long mutant insects terrorize Perdido Beach; two individuals who cannot die and share the same body (Brittany and Drake from the previous book) are sliced into pieces and put themselves back together multiple times; and a freak flu strikes in which the infected can literally cough out their insides. If you thought the craziness of Lies was bad, things get much, much worse in this installment.

*mild spoilers may follow*

Even with all the shocking and stomach-churning events that transpire over the course of the novel, Grant remains true to the characters, who keep growing and changing throughout the novels. Astrid finds herself in a dark place, and commits the previously unthinkable, riddled with guilt afterwards. Sam, tired of being a leader, begins to regret his choice as things just keep getting worse. Edilio, now mayor of Perdido Beach, sees what made Sam shrink away from leadership and is in a bind with terrible choices to make. Lana opens up slowly to one of the kids from the island, Sanjit, and on the island, Diana works at keeping Caine with her, but when he returns to Perdido Beach at another chance for glory, she leaves him in the end. Each of the characters we follow in Gone's diverse cast is distinct and complex, continuing the trend of the previous books.

My main criticism? People seemed to get from place to place suspiciously quickly. While it's tough to keep track of the time frame when so many things are happening at once and the perspective changes every other time, the bulk of the story takes place over a mere three days. Would Drake have reached the bottom of the cave so quickly? Would Quinn really have reached the island and come back in time? Would Sam and his water posse have made it back so soon? It's hard to say.

As with the swiftly moving, action-packed plot, the interesting characters keep the reader engaged and leave you hungry for more. Oh, I am definitely seeing this series through 'til the end. 4 stars out of five.

Labor Day is Today

While I don't normally use my online platform(s) for political purposes--though I am pretty passionate about many politicized issues--this post is in honor of International Workers' Day, also known as Labor Day throughout the world. May Day bears a lot of significance for many movements--namely, the labor and anarchist movement, and I've come to view this day as the "true" Labor Day, not the September U.S. "Labor Day" that is a joke of a holiday. Do we ever discuss workers' rights that weekend? Anyway, now for a short post...

The labor movement has taken a lot of bad hits lately. Proposals to raise the minimum wage, as was recently in New York, are met with intense resistance, as are measures to require paid sick and maternity leave--both of which are claimed to hurt "small business." Attempts to unionize have been promptly quashed and strikes of teachers and service workers can often fizzle. (though the recent fast food strike holds promise) A more recent phenomenon has been the reduction of hours for retail and food service workers so that employers don't have to give them health insurance when the Affordable Care Act kicks in (among other reasons). These reasons alone justify organized labor, though there are plenty more.

Ironically, I found this on a .com

While there are many worthy criticisms of labor unions today, one has to keep in mind that all power needs to be kept in check. That is how the Founding Fathers structured the federal government, so that the three branches would check and balance each other's power to keep them in line (whether that holds true today is another story...). Government alone cannot be counted on to keep corporate power in check--besides all the lobbying and schmoozing, government is not sufficiently opposed to a corporation to be considered a proper check to its power, anyway. What does this leave us? Labor unions, and for the previous few decades, both the government and corporations have been attempting to chip away at the power of labor unions (see: Wal-Mart and Wisconsin) in order to assert their own.

Unions, perhaps, are not the most ideal solution in a world that is increasingly run on the work of service, freelance, and independent contract workers. The volatility of the economy and the increasing necessity to change jobs or even careers has created an environment hostile to the development of strong, stable unions. But the only significant power that unions can have is in numbers. The more people that join unions, the more powerful the unions can be. This is reflected in the history of the United States. "Divided we are weak; united we are strong" never rings so true as in the case of labor.

The dichotomy of "labor" and "management" may become antiquated as an increasing number of people choose to be their own boss (and employee, out of necessity), but there will always be people who have the money and control of production, and those who produce. And us producers always have to keep in mind that together, we can remind management who gets the real work done around here.

Recurring Themes and More of the Same

George Saunders released a new collection of short stories this year, Tenth of December. But that is not the collection I read this past week or so. Instead, it was his first collection, Civil War Land in Bad Decline. I had read the title story back when I was an undergrad, loved it, and had been meaning to pick up the entire collection for some time. Meanwhile, I had read The Brief and Frightening Reign of Phil at some point, which was a very quick read and I don't have the faintest memory of what it was about. This collection left a similar impression on me: breezy, funny, smart at times, but a bit behind the times. (Yes, even in the '90s...hell, especially in the '90s)

Civil War Land in Bad Decline is a collection of six satirical short stories and one novella, "Bounty." Each story is narrated in the first person, relating a skewed, disparate point of view in the face of the mounting madness. The heart of the conflict in most of these stories lies in the workplace, mainly between a disgruntled, inept employee and the boss. The title story outlines the quick decline of a historical theme park and the increasingly desperate attempts on the narrator's part to put things right. In "The 400-Pound CEO," the titular character works at an inhumane "humane" raccoon control business, and finds himself in hot water when he accidentally kills his abusive boss. "Bounty" starts out in a similar vein, but broadens into a dystopic satire featuring the ugly and the misfits.


The first writer that comes to mind in terms of influences is Kurt Vonnegut, who also wrote futuristic, satirical stories and outlandish characters and situations with quick-clipped pacing. This was his first collection, and that is allegedly the collection where an author's influences are most likely to show, but sometimes it seemed like he was trying to be like Kurt Vonnegut. Like Vonnegut, Saunders hardly takes part in the literary trappings of detailed description and rumination, which creates a fuzzy, liquid world in which the characters float--perhaps fitting, because the characters are downright cartoonish at times. This is most detrimental in his more futuristic stories, such as the novella "Bounty," which is  one of the better stories in the collection, handing over an almost O. Henry-esque ending. There's nothing wrong with the reader's imagination filling the blanks, and one almost inevitably envisions a penciled watercolor landscape and exaggerated silhouettes. If that's the effect Saunders wanted, and I just think it might be, then good on him.

Saunders' satire remains to be right on the money. Even though the vision of virtual reality depicted in "Offloading for Mrs. Schwartz" is very much the '90s-inspired heavy-headset kind, the idea that we may live within our own virtual fantasies is not far off from becoming reality (thanks, Google Glass). And all his commentary on the growing specter of corporate power and influence remain as salient as ever. But his heroes all seem to be relics of Vonnegut's era, with even less gumption: bumbling, disfigured, or nerdy men--though one story features a female protagonist--and most of them meet grim endings. With this comes rather old-fashioned ideas about women and people of color--if they are mentioned at all. I kept forgetting that these stories were supposed to take place in the future.

The stories were very similar in other ways. Each story features an odd workplace--theme parks appear no less than three times--and the protagonist is struggling to make ends meet and kiss up to the boss. Not all stories wound up being about the same thing--the main standout story is "Isabelle," about human kindness and compassion that rises out of chaos and ruin, and is almost kind of sweet in the end. But the themes can get tired--I mean, there are ghosts in two of them. Two!

This is not to say that Saunders isn't a skillful writer. The fast pacing of the stories are easily digestible in short periods of time, and rather expertly constructed in terms of thematic and satirical content. They are also quite enjoyable to read, and not painful exercises in 20th century bombast and bigotry. But I have seen it all before, and done better. Saunders may be different from the other literary stars of the last couple of decades, but he is nothing new. Three stars out of five. Oppression score: 4, as he does root for the little guy.