How I became a Whovian

Sadly, over this past month  I have been way too busy to update this blog. (not unless I wanted to lose even more sleep anyway)

But over the hiatus I had also been undergoing a transformation. I am now a follower of the Doctor.
(The BBC's Doctor Who, that is)

Currently I'm catching up on the new series rapidly, just finished series 4--such an epic and emotional ride--and I already know that I will cry when 10 goes.

Oh, for those of you who have no clue about what Doctor Who is: it is a science fiction series that started in 1963, chronicling the adventures of the mysterious Time Lord known only as "The Doctor," and his many companions. The show has gone on for so long in part to the writers' invention of regeneration, allowing for a completely different actor to take over when the current one retires.

Doctor Who is so huge now it won the fan favorites cover!

The effects can be cheesy at times, (and since it's TV, I can forgive it) and there are a lot of last-minute scrapes they get out of that make me go like, "woah, wait a minute, shouldn't you have died?" But I love it all the more for it. Some people also criticize it for its pseudoscientific explanations for everything, but as to that, I agree with Steve Moffatt, the current showrunner, that tales of the Doctor are more of a "dark fairy tale". The Doctor really is more of a mythic figure than anything else. I mean, come on, anything with time travel is basing the science on dubious conjecture at best.

I started off with the new series, as that's what's hot right now. It got off to a shaky start, but a few episodes in, I was reeled in far too deep to escape the captivating, imaginative stories and complex characters that made up this new series. Even with all the work I had to do I'd go on Doctor Who binges, watching several episodes several days in a row, and when I went a day without watching it I wanted so badly to watch it the next day, filling the times in between with thoughtful speculation about the characters and the "who"-niverse. I have not gotten like this about a TV show since... um....

...I don't usually get like this about TV shows. I tend to watch comedies, and they aren't exactly the cliffhanger-y, adventure-type stories.

So, why? I am an adult woman, and this is a "family" show.

I guess it's a family show because the most sex it has in it is thinly veiled innuendo, and the characters don't do more than hold hands or kiss (on-screen, anyway, tee-hee). There is a shit-ton of violence and death, though--which is a whole other thing that's a series of posts worth. But very little blood. In the US, it's hard to say if we would have called this a "family" show. Evangelicals sure wouldn't (violence and blasphemy!).

For starters, I am naturally drawn to stories that are mainly set in the "real world," but have incredible things happen, or incredible things lurking just behind that door. Harry Potter, magic realism and other "low fantasy" stories,  dystopias and other soft science fiction (the future as present, I like to call it), even Sailor Moon and other superhero/magical girl stories kinda fit this description. Doctor Who also includes genre-bending and mind-bending stories. I love those things in my fiction, too. So, really, this is the kind of sci-fi TV I dig, a kind of combination of The X-Files (I enjoyed what little I have seen of that show), Monk, and James Bond with its constant changing of the lead actor (and leading ladies).

These stories tend to be imaginative and compelling. Some of my favorites include "The Empty Child," "The Girl in the Fireplace," "The Satan Pit," "Blink," "The Shakespeare Code," and "Fear Her," not just for the often genre-bending and excellent tension-building, but also the creative storylines and thematic depth that these stories have. It's not always the simple "good vs. evil" storyline, even though the antagonists are most often enemies who must be defeated somehow.

And that brings me to the other thing I love about Doctor Who: the characters. Without interesting characters, your stories are the equivalent of a pop-up book (and a cheap one, at that). And boy, is the Doctor interesting. He's a good guy, but even the good can be conflicted and complicated. Sometimes he has to choose between one person dying and another. Sometimes he chooses to kill when he could otherwise spare their lives. Often he puts his companions in danger--though to be fair, they generally know what they're signing up for. He's an enigmatic, tragic figure, having lost most of his own kind and always losing people he comes to care about. He's emblematic of how a long lifespan is not always so lovely.

Shirley Jackson's "The Haunting of Hill House": Not as Haunting as You'd Think

Just in time for Halloween, (even if this post is a bit late) I finally finished Shirley Jackson's ghost story The Haunting of Hill House, a critically acclaimed horror novel and said by Stephen King to be one of he best of the 20th century.

Obviously, I missed something.

The novel starts out beautifully, with an amazing opening paragraph that sets up a spooky supernatural force that the characters--Dr. Montague, who engineered the experiment; Luke, the future heir of Hill House; Theodora, a lively artist, and Eleanor--will encounter. But early on the story shifts focus on Eleanor, the lonely, socially awkward young woman, which the House ultimately possesses, and spends a lot of time on her inner thoughts and feelings. These feelings are the equivalent of an insecure sixteen-year-old girl's, but portrayed in a painfully realistic manner. Psychologically, I can understand why Eleanor becomes attached to Hill House and the people in it--and the feelings that make her vulnerable to the spirits within it--but it did not scare me, or hardly even creep me out. Too much time is spent on setting this up, and even once the House starts singling Eleanor out I am not that afraid for her.

Perhaps my generation is desensitized to tales of terror, as we have decades of scary movies and Stephen King novels to have scared us out of our skins, and what was scary to people in the 1950s is probably not the same as what is scary now. Natural disasters? Scary. Mysterious diseases? Scary. Human enslavement and/or oblivion? Scary, but not in a horror-movie way. Stalkers? Scary. Being possessed by spirits? Not so much to godless heathens such as myself. Eleanor barely had a mind of her own to begin with, so there's not much fear of mind-control latent in the story, either.

I suppose that if I were in their situation, I would be scared, too, but I'm not, and in spite of the beautiful prose, it just didn't terrify me in the way it should have. That, then perhaps, is a real flaw, for though I found the characters engaging and interesting--especially Eleanor, as she was much more acutely aware of what was going on than the others--I couldn't identify with them enough to feel their fear. Was I just not reading properly? Did it just take too long to get to that point? Or, perhaps, I just found the "haunting" to be thoroughly below my expectations of acclaimed horror/terror.

The story left me with a lot of questions, for sure. Couldn't Mr. Montague see that she was in fact possessed and not merely being silly? And the spirits made her crash her car so she couldn't leave? What would even be the point of possessing anyone, let alone the most vulnerable of the bunch, in the first place?

I also understand that, like in her over-anthologized short story "The Lottery," the fact that it isn't explained makes the phenomenon that much scarier, but it frustrated me more than anything. Pretty much all that happens in the "haunting," is doors and windows closing on their own, writing written in blood (?) on the wall, unknown beings banging on doors, and Eleanor getting some weird ideas in her mind. Not that ghosts would be able to outright murder anybody, anyway, but I guess it just wasn't that scary to me.

I was so not into the story that it took me almost a month to read 250 pages of the book. For perspective, it took me about that long to read (albeit rushed) Infinite Jest, which is like 4 times as long. Perhaps it's because I'm just not that into the horror genre, especially when it comes to supernatural occurrences. The story really would have been more interesting if Eleanor and Theodora were secret lesbian lovers--which, in my opinion, was heavily implied in parts of the book--and the House was uber-conservative and didn't like that at all. In fact, I'm pretty sure the spinster sister who used to own Hill House took in that girl as a lover, as well.

So, it's an okay book, just not if you're looking for a scare. 2.5 stars out of 5.

"Cloud Atlas": Long Movie, Short Review

So the reason I have been terrible about updating lately is because I've been hella busy all of a sudden, with hardly any time to read or enjoy films, let alone write about them.

This weekend, however, I saw Cloud Atlas in theaters, and I was amazed at how much I enjoyed it--even after reading the lukewarm reviews. Sure, the stories get a little sentimental and dare I say corny at times, and the visuals, while not uninteresting, stick largely to conventional filmmaking techniques,  but it's still engaging, exciting, and has you thinking about it long after the movie is over. Most convincing of all, I really want to read the book now, so the movie succeeds at promoting the book, if anything.

Cloud Atlas is a science fiction and philosophical tale following six interconnected stories and spanning several genres: historical, action, comedy,  drama, dystpoian, and post-apocalyptic. Connections are made with recurring images, the same actor playing different characters, and characters in one story mentioned or appearing in another story. While each story has its own arc, they are woven together to build up collective suspense and a common theme. The movie begins, and ends, with the chronologically final story, implying cyclical life as well as interconnectedness and the butterfly effect (this ain't nothing like that movie, by the way).

The six stories--three in the past, one in the present, and two in the future--are, for the most part, woven well together, each thread related to the one shown before it in some way. While I think the setup was weak initially--I have a hard time remembering why Frobisher decided to work for the aging composer on a whim, or why Ewing had to go see his father-in-law's plantation in the Pacific, for example--the Wachowskis and Tom Twyker cut away from one story to the next at suspenseful moments, and don't wait too long to return to it. I couldn't figure out the connection between the stories at first, but after giving it some thought, you can work out a loose thread, in which Ewing's actions in the chronologically first story ripples across time, and each story affects the next.

While the casting of the same actors in multiple roles makes it more interesting in trying to figure out the connections between the stories and characters, I found this choice on the Wachowskis' part (in the novel, apparently, only a birthmark connects certain characters together) to be confusing and, at times, questionable. Several of the actors play parts in every storyline (looking it up on imdb), but not all of them play consequential roles in each one, nor does the characters that each one plays are necessarily connected to one another. It takes some deliberation, at least, to figure out what the birthmark characters and the same-actor characters have in common.

More troubling is the cross-racial roles some of the actors--mainly, the white, male actors--had to play. Though an entire storyline clearly takes place in a futuristic Korea, Doona Bae, who plays the heroine of this storyline, is also the only Asian actor cast in a speaking role for this storyline. (please correct me if I'm wrong) The other main characters--Hae-Joo Chang, Boardman Mephi, Seer Rhee--are played by actors in "Yellowface." Considering the fact that the same actor, same souls idea doesn't necessarily hold much water upon closer examination, why did they decide to cast almost all white actors in obviously Asian parts? Sure, Doona Bae and Halle Berry play white women in other storylines, but playing white is very different, because there is no shortage of white representation in movies. This is also the one storyline that takes place in a nonwhite country, and almost stereotypically so--the city of Neo Seoul is hyper-technological, heartless, and patriarchical--also does not sit well with me, though that would be more of a critique of the source material than the movie.

I have this to say, though: the costuming and make-up are stupendous in this movie. Tom Hanks' various transformations are particularly striking.

A few more criticisms: while after a while I got the feel of what they were saying in the post-apocalyptic storyline (in which they speak a sort of pidgin English),  it was difficult to understand them at first. There are moment in the other storylines as well, in which the dialogue is difficult to be deciphered--heavy British and Irish accents did not help matters. The film, while awesome and epic, also tends to stick to stories of heroes and villains, even if the hero has to undergo a transformation and not everything is black and white--that is, the movie relies upon tropes we know well.

Overall, I did enjoy the movie, and may indeed read the book eventually. I would give it 3.5 stars out of 5. Oppression score: 4, because even though there were plenty of strong women, homosexual characters, even a story that put old people  as the protagonists, the yellowface thing could have easily been avoided altogether. Definitely a movie to go to the movies to see, though.

A Friend of the Earth is a Friend of Mine--Mostly

TC Boyle's eighth novel, A Friend of the Earth, was released more than a decade ago, at a time when the environmentalist movement was gathering some strength. Recycling programs were becoming mainstream, people cared about the rain forests, and there was a push for greener energy. Capitalists were on the brink of developing "green" products, Whole Foods was rapidly expanding, "organic" was on the rise to become a buzzword and another entry into the free-market lexicon. But for all the progress made since the turn of the century, environmental concerns have taken a back seat to the economy, jobs, and wars overseas. Boyle could see that environmentalists were an extremely vocal but small segment of the American population, and makes the rather grim statement that people will not care so long as they are comfortable--with a twisted, ironic grin.

A Friend of the Earth follows a convicted eco-criminal Tyrone Tierwater across two segments of time: that of the year 2025-26, when the environment in the American Southwest, at least, has rapidly degenerated to deadly monsoons in the winter, and dry desert heat in the summer, and the years 1989-1997, when he was periodically engaged in extreme eco-actions and spending time in jail for them. In both storylines we get a sense of what he was like before and between these periods, and learn a little of the tragic fate of his only daughter, who decided to follow the extremist path.

While the story was interesting enough to keep me reading, I wasn't all on board. The escalation of Ty's grievous actions from mere civil disobedience to assault and kidnapping (of his own daughter) was more mortifying than hilarious, and the grumpy-old-man schtick got on my nerves from time to time. Particularly in the beginning, when his ex-wife Andrea and former friend of his daughter April Wind seem to work against him, to dredge up the past he no loner wants to talk about. I can understand his resentment, I suppose, as it seems to him that all they had done was for nothing, but he seemed to hate April for no good reason--and described her in some pretty racist ways. I know that he is the narrator and therefore his own prejudices that I won't like--but there are ways to do it better. (Exhibit A, always and forever: Lolita) He also made some sweeping generalizations about women that ticked me off--and no, they were not funny, not funny at all. The 2025 storyline improved when April leaves and Ty ends up appreciating his wife and his life a lot more.

The story is supposed to be a dark comedy--and I can certainly attest that there is a grim, farcical vibe throughout the whole story. From Ty being the most famous yet the most pathetic eco-terrorist I have ever heard of, to the enduring willful ignorance of the population in spite of disastrous storms, to the mauling of a pop star by a lion, darkly comic events happen one after another. But for some reason it is either just very difficult for me to do more than a crack a smile at a funny occurrence in a novel, or this book was not very funny at all. Absurd, yes, but not laugh-out-loud hilarious.

A Friend of the Earth is a well-written novel, with plenty of instances with beautiful language and thematic moments, and poses several interesting ideas, but Kurt Vonnegut this is not. Honestly, I think it would have been better as a movie: the visuals would be funnier, and it would get more to the point. Not to mention that the narrative voice and style didn't give us something new--at least not to someone already all-too-familiar with the challenges of the environmentalist movement and old-white-guy perspectives. I give it a 3 out of 5. The oppression score of 3, as well, because there must be worse material out there--and I don't think this is the TC Boyle work that people will be reading in 2025.

Oh, and will there be a perpetual El Nino, depleted Social Security, nil biodiversity, and too many old people? It doesn't look like we'll have all that in 2025, but this year's been a doozy so far, and there's still 13 years to go. Fact can be stranger than fiction.

"Exodus": How to Write a Decent Feminist Apocalyptic YA

Finishing off my YA kick (going back to adult novels for a while), the critically acclaimed Exodus by Scottish writer Julie Bertagna. It doesn't have the breezy pacing of the Gone books--I would call it more "rushed"--but the story is as captivating and exciting.

Exodus has a very different feel, reading more like a mythical fantasy, with mentions of legends and destiny recurring throughout the story. But this is not a fantasy: the novel takes place in 2100, and great scientific advancements had been made well before the protagonist's time; even the elders' world was very different from ours in their youth. Instead, culture and technological progress has regressed in the wake of the encroaching seas--at least on the islands.

The apocalyptic scenario that Exodus explores is the rising seas as a result of global warming, taken to its extreme conclusion: by 2100, the seas have risen to such a height that most of the earth's land mass has been swallowed up, leaving small islands in the mountains and highlands. The people of Earth dealt with this problem by constructing sky-cities, but once they were built the rest of world was shut out.

The novel opens on Wing, the island home of our protagonist, Mara, where these cities are a mere rumor. But her explorations on her cyber wizz (a high-tech instrument that allows access to the weave, a highly advanced version of the Web) leads her to find evidence of these places, aided by a mysterious fox character. As the seas surge inland, Mara convinces her people to leave the island and try to get to the New World cities. But it's not all smooth sailing: the boats are separated right from the cast-off, and a great wall separates them from the city. They're forced to weigh anchor at a refugee camp, where conditions are squalid, and one of her friends dies from a sicknesss she contracted from eating a diseased fish (the water, of course, is filthy). That is the last straw for Mara--she decides to get through the wall and somehow enter the city. With the help of a wild child (called urchins, ratkins, or ratbashers) she makes it to the Netherworld, the islands beneath the City, and lives with the Treenester tribe for a time. While she is figuring out a way to break into the City, her friends are captured by the police, and she finally breaks in to rescue them and save her people.

There's a lot more to the story than can be explained in a brief synopsis, containing mounting tension and conflict, superb setting descriptions, and a cast of interesting characters. Exodus explores apocalyptic themes with deftness, depth, and honesty: the frailty of life, death, self-preservation instinct, and the relentless drive to do what's right. Mara is a likable but flawed character, determined to save others but unsure of herself every step of the way. She makes mistakes, and even kills a man in a fit of panic, regretting them immediately. Few other characters, however, get as much development or depth as she does, as many of them are only around for a few chapters or so, before getting separated from Mara in some way--except perhaps for Candleriggs and the Fox.

The different worlds of the refugee camp, the Netherworld, and the city of New Mungo are greatly distinguished, resembling the realms of our current world. Those residing in prosperous bubbles are often oblivious to the suffering of lesser people, no matter how close they are. The story also does a good job of bringing up such relevant themes without being too obvious or preachy about it: especially when one's story is inspired by the absurdly politically charged environmental issues.

"Lies, A Gone Novel:" Just when you thought it couldn't get weirder...

I read the third book in Michael Grant's thrilling series in five days--just a little over the amount of time that lapses in the book. Boy, was it difficult to put down. The same attributes that made the first two books so addictive are present in the third installment, as well: mounting tension and violence, breezy chapters that leave you poised at the edge of a cliff, and engaging characters. Even though some events in the second book sort of repeat themselves in Lies, it's a story all its own.

Like in the previous books, the events unfold very quickly in a short time frame. Orsay is garnering several followers by speaking of her visions, which she usually gets by touching the FAYZ wall--or in her dreams. At the same time, dead girl Brittney has risen from the grave, the Human Crew plot to terrorize the town, Caine invades an island, and the Town Council falls apart. What's more, a mysterious girl, Nerezza, appears as Orsay's disciple, a flu is going around, and Drake is back from the dead. Sam and Astrid also demonstrate some seriously flawed thinking, with Astrid lying about Orsay's dreams, and Sam frustrated with not being able to do what he wants and having to deal with every little problem himself. New characters come into the fold, such as the inhabitants of the invaded island and illusionist Penny, while others leave us for good: Orsay through death, Mary through taking the jump on the "Big One-Five." The ending is tragic and messy (in an awesome way), with many issues far from resolved. However, many characters--Sam, Astrid, and Diana, most notably--have learned and grown from these additionally harrowing experiences. This novel has as much violence, gore, and pain as the previous installments--with the villains of Caine, Drake, and the Darkness (yes, it's baaaaaaack) more malicious and deranged than ever.

In spite of all the chaos and craziness that ensues, the characters come off as real and flawed human beings. Mary, who had stepped up to take care of the littles in the beginning, even though she suffers from eating disorders, has had enough of the burden, and even though she is basically giving up the kids for chance, we can understand why she decides to leave the FAYZ the only way anyone knows how--through the poof. Astrid and Sam make frustrating choices, but they realize their mistakes and we're assured that they're not infallible heroes. I even sympathized with Diana in this one, as she realized how monstrous Caine had become. Throughout this series I've enjoyed learning more about the Beta characters and watching them grow into their own.

Of course, the story has its flaws. First of all there was the very basic question of how long after the FAYZ this all takes place. I gleaned from the first book that it began in early November, as it starts about two weeks before Sam's birthday, which is the 22nd. Lies says it's been seven months--so, it we were to say it's been seven whole months, then that would mean late May/early June, right? But Lies takes place over the three days leading up to Mary's birthday, which falls on Mother's Day this un-numbered year. Usually, Mother's Day is early May, so technically only six whole months have passed. May is six months after November (think of it this way: November-born kids celebrate their half-birthdays in May, and vice versa). So, it's close, but not quite. People might disagree with me on this, but I stick by it. Nit, picked.

Then there are some events that I think are just forced and random, just to reveal information to the reader or move the story in a particular direction. An example of that is a completely random conversation between Lana and a drugged-out Mary. We get a little of what Lana thinks about Orsay, and Mary, but she could have talked to just about anyone.  I also have a hard time believing that they took so long to make some rules, and all of a sudden in one night they have rules?

Some thoughts on the Revolution pilot

The other day I saw that the pilot episode of NBC's new post-apocalyptic TV show Revolution was streaming for free on Hulu. As I'm interested in all things apocalyptic of late, I decided to check it out. Just as I had figured, the pilot was all right, in a dumb, thrilling kind of way, but left a lot to be desired.

This particular apocalyptic scenario involves all electronic devices and systems powered by electricity going out at the same time, resulting in a massive, irreversible blackout. As this blackout would affect North America more adversely than in other parts of the world where most people don't even have electric lighting, and this is a US TV show, it takes place in the Chicago area, 15 years after the blackout ends civilization as we know it. After main character Charlie's younger brother, Danny, attacks a militia marshal, their father is killed and Danny is taken into custody. Charlie leaves with her stepmother and a guy who used to work for Google to find her brother and her uncle. They find him, and are ambushed by militia--but thanks to Miles's mad killing skillz, and the hunky militia boy who betrayed them, they come out alive. Meanwhile, Danny escapes his captors and takes refuge at a mysterious recluse's home, only to be found by the marshal. The recluse, however, is more than what she seems.

They look good--too good.

It does just fine with building the tension and intrigue, but the premise and presentation is weak. for one, the characters are remarkably clean and well-fitted for a post-apocalyptic scenario, and I think the showrunners could have done a bit more research into how electricity works--like, what makes the gadgets work isn't the same thing as what makes the lights work. Planes would no just drop out of the sky, and apparently they've gone back to the 1800s--with crossbows, swords, and muskets--except for the whole steam engine thing. I also found it implausible that vegetation would take over cities that quickly--I guess there was also a lot of rain? And a person's cell phone wouldn't literally turn off (along with other battery-powered devices) when everything stopped working, would it? Possibly some of this will be explained later on, though I hope that the show doesn't get too involved with the mystery/putting things back the way they were. Why not forge ahead without electricity, and rediscover the things they had lost whilst burrowed in the blue-lit screens of their electronic devices? But old habits die hard, I guess.

Most disturbing of all, there was a surprising amount of violence and killing in the first episode: Miles, the character Charlie and co. have been searching for, slaughters practically the entire militia that has come after him. Everybody else kills at least one person too, acting like it's no big thing. Which makes me think that they've all killed before. That's an unsettling development, because what kind of person isn't disturbed by killing other humans?

The acting isn't stellar, but I don't expect much from these types of TV shows, and it's the pilot. When was the last time a TV pilot blew you away? (Believe me, if I was a TV exec, less than one percent of the shows put on today would never get the green light.) There's a hint of a future romance across enemy lines, but they don't get much screen time together, aside from the times when the militia man saves Charlie. Just because they're two young, attractive people who aren't related doesn't mean they're into each other, and I'm not buying it.

I also think the pilot was rushed, since we don't get to know the characters very well. Too many of the scenes are plot-advancing, and few really show the characters interacting normally. (and the few that do are far too short) Without knowing the characters, it's hard to care whether or not they get killed. From my limited viewing of sci-fi and fantasy shows, I've come to the conclusion that these benefit from 90-minute or 2-hour pilots, so the audience is adequately introduced to the characters and the strange world in which they live. I might watch a few episodes, like I did of Terra Nova last year, but ultimately lose interest if it devolves into plot points and action sequences.

I rate the pilot 2 stars out of 5. If you're interested, Revolution will be airing Tuesdays on NBC starting next week.

Wait, Wait, It Gets Better: "Hunger, A Gone Novel" Reviewed

After reading Gone, I was riveted enough to check out the sequel, the second of the six books in the series, Hunger. And as far as the writing quality goes, it's the same as the first: the pacing is swift, the characters are engaging (if still conforming to their perspective types), and of course still very much full of tropes. And even though things turn out even weirder than in the first book, it's not so outlandish this time around.

But first, a quick plot overview: three months after the events in the first book, hunger is a real issue, and it turns out man-eating worms have infested parts of the fields. Given this, plus laziness, most kids don't want to go out and pick food, even though they're on the brink of starvation. Caine comes out of a 90-day delirium that had resulted from contact with the "Darkness" (actually called a "gaiaphage," an alien creature that feeds on radioactive waste) and plans to take over the power plant. Little Pete, it turns out, is also connected to this creature. In addition to that, a group of kids without powers foster resentment against the kids with powers, intensifying conflict within Perdido Beach. Sam starts getting tired of dealing with it all, and shows the signs of an inept leader. The story leads up to Sam and Caine ultimately collaborating to destroy the gaiaphage, with the stakes raised and the incidences of violence and near-deaths much higher among the main characters--every major character experiences severe physical trauma or death in this book.

We meet some new characters who join the crew from the first book: Duck, teased by a group of normals, and who develops the ability to increase or decrease his density; Orsay, a girl who had been hiding out in the nearby state park and who has the ability to see into other people's dreams; Zil and the 'human crew,' a band of rabidly anti-mutant normals; and Hunter, a friend of Zil's who becomes an enemy when he accidentally kills another friend with his microwave hands. We also get to know several secondary characters a lot better--Dekka, Brianna, Albert, and Computer Jack--giving them more nuance and depth.

In addition to more nuanced characterization, there's also a greater diversity of characters; there's even a gay character now. Considering the large cast of characters, it's a more representative sample of the diversity in California today--though there's a surprisingly small number of Hispanics. And in this book, the true evil is not any of the wrongheaded, violent kids (except maybe Drake), it's the gaiaphage--which I'm sure will come back from the dead in good time.

As far as the plot goes, I wonder why they didn't try and take care of the hunger issue sooner--I suppose it can be chalked up to poor leadership, as Sam and co. should have prioritized tasks via immediacy and Maslow's hierarchy of needs to prevent this from happening in the first place. They also should have set up some sort of governing body by now, with different people in charge of different things, so that Sam didn't have to make all the decisions by himself. Though I guess this installment sort of resolved that issue. And absolutely nothing was said of the water: still no rain is mentioned, or even a cloud in the sky, yet water is not a problem? There is a municipal water system, but where does the water come from? I'm thinking the author took the presence of drinkable water for granted, and didn't think that would be a problem for Perdido Beach. Just like other residents of California towns that siphon their water from wetter places.

This book felt more like a long TV episode more than anything else, from the switching perspectives to the swift action scenes and snappy dialogue. However, the ending to Hunger didn't leave much in the way of cliffhangers. There is still an issue with the humans vs. mutants, we don't know if Drake is really dead (it's unsurprisingly difficult to kill off major characters), and several of the characters are shaken from the recent events, but there's no sense of imminent danger. I'm still going to read the next book, just because of the whole FAYZ mystery--which apart from the gaiaphage revelations wasn't really addressed. But it's important to note that.

In all, this book was just as enjoyable as the first--so if you liked the first one, you'll like this one. General rating: 3.5 out of 5 stars. Oppression rating? I had no major qualms with this installment, so I give it a 2. Next time, I'll be looking at Book 3, Lies.

Gone is Just the Beginning

The first non-blockbuster YA book I've read in quite some time (since sophomore year of college, I think--wow), and Gone is everything you'd expect it to be: original, suspenseful, and trope-r-iffic!

The basics: Gone begins with everyone over 14 in the small town of Perdido Beach disppearing: one second they're there, the next, they're gone. Our main protagonist, Sam, shunts taking responsibility and instead looks for his crush Astrid's autistic little brother, along with his wisecracking best friend Quinn. This leaves the town bully, Orc, in charge: at least until the boarding school kids show up. Oh, and on top of the survival problem, some kids have special powers: lightning bolts, teleporting, telekinesis, or other kinds of power that only require their hands to be free. And the local wildlife has also mutated: snakes can now fly and coyotes talk, for instance. All the while Sam and co. try to solve the mystery of the FAYZ (Fallout Alley Youth Zone).

Now, this is only the first book of a series (with the final installment due next year), so only a few of the mysteries are solved, with many more still to come, I'm sure. The story takes so many unexpected twists and turns, I can't tell you too much of the plot without spoiling this thrill. (Still, spoilers may follow)

Guh, their makeup is so overdone

The structure of the book is very cinematic: we jump around to different scenes and perspectives throughout the book, just like in any disaster movie or TV drama. We see what both the "good guys" and the "bad guys" are up to, which only builds the suspense and excitement even more, as we uncover new details and more secrets are revealed. The premise is also very imaginative, combining elements from classic stories and creating a whole new breed of sci-fi and the supernatural. However, there are moments that make you go, "Really?"--even with the unrealistic premise, some things are just too far-fetched. For example: would Lana and her dog really have survived a tumble down a steep ravine in a vehicle without their seatbelts on? The fact that Sam and Caine are twin brothers really came out of left field--no hints or anything. And--really? You name the bad brother "Caine"? Gee, I wonder what that references.

Bald biblical references aside, this story is full of familiar tropes. We have the reluctant hero (Sam); the goofy, hopelessly ordinary best friend (Quinn); the genius and love interest rolled into one (Astrid); the idiot savant (Pete); the token minority (Edilio); the big dumb bully and his loyal sidekick (Orc and Howard); the cunning villain, who doubly serves as the hero's foil (Caine); the sadistic psychopath (Drake); the sultry seductress (but PG-rated: Diana); the computer whiz (Jack); the den mother (Mary); among others. Whatever comes to your mind when you think of these tropes, that's probably what they are. They might step out of the box every now and then, but their characters are pretty predictable. There's also a real, sinister evil lurking behind it all--though there will be more on that in the next book, most likely. Funnily enough, basically all the bullies go by non-human nicknames--so it's easy to tell who those guys are. There's nothing wrong with characters fitting neatly into tropes(that's why they're tropes); however, it makes for unambitious characterization.

Premium Rush: a Thrilling Bike Ride

Premium Rush is only the second movie I've seen in theaters this year--and on opening weekend, no less. It looks like it won't make much at the box office: it debuted 7th this past weekend, just ahead of the new conservative documentary 2016: Obama's America (which you can't pay me to see). Considering the timing, and the pro-cycling theme of the movie, I'm not surprised. Premium Rush is a low-key action movie, with no explosions or a lot of shooting. Instead, the thrill lies in the chase: car on bike, bike on bike, bike on foot, car on foot, foot on foot, and so on. Fans of urban cycling and Joseph Gordon-Levitt shouldn't be disappointed--though perhaps fans of following the rules of the road will be.

(mild spoilers follow)

The story follows a daredevil courier named Wiley, who's assigned to a special delivery: a "premium rush" (hence the title). All goes smoothly until he's stopped by an NYPD detective who, it turns out, has a really bad gambling problem, and wants the package desperately. Wiley refuses, of course, as this courier service is a secure service, and so the chase begins. Later, when Wiley loses the detective for a moment, a hapless bicycle cop catches him breaking road rules, and will stop at nothing to catch him. Along the way we meet some courier colleagues of Wiley's, among them overconfident rival Manny and ex-girlfriend Vanessa, who help him deliver the package. Throughout the film we go backward and forward in time, obtaining a new piece of the puzzle, building up suspense and excitement all the way.

The story is pretty much what you'd expect from a popcorn thriller like this--though I couldn't guess at the contents of the envelope until I was given sufficient clues, so it's not predictable, and the coincidences aren't that far-fetched. Aside from a chaotic, claustrophobic flashback that occurs after Wiley gets into an accident, the camera work is well done: we feel the same rush as the couriers do when they ride. Special effects, thankfully, are sparing, used only to enhance the experience of navigating the bustling streets of NYC on two wheels and for slo-mo. And like the NPR reviewer said, the setting actually feels like New York: from the gridlocked traffic to the rude pedestrians to the slightly grimy look and feel of the objects surrounding them. The cast is also quite diverse, giving a far more accurate representation of NYC residents.

Characterization was also well-done here. There is a villain to hate, and some of the cop characters come off as a little doofy, NYC road users as assholish. But this is being told from a courier's point of view (mostly). Wiley, our hero, is certainly likeable enough (thanks in part to JGL's charm), though not without his flaws. He preaches the gospel of Brakeless Fixie, and almost as overconfident as his rival, breaking dozens of road rules over the course of the movie. We get a real sense of who the characters are simply from the way they act and talk to one another: a sign of really good screenwriting. The little backstory that we need to know is woven seamlessly into clipped cell phone conversations. And as far as the couriers go--I believe it. Tough, daring, aggressive, and they don't take shit from anybody--including the cops.

This movie is largely harmless in the category of stereotyping and oppression: nobody likes cops anyway; many cyclists are assholes (especially in NYC, I'm sure); there's sufficient diversity of race and gender; and members of the lower classes are whom we root for. However, I did have a problem with how aggressive Manny and Wiley were in, um, expressing their affection for Vanessa, and even more so by the dispatcher's blatant sexual harassment. Vanessa's a tough chick, and I was hopping she'd punch him out, any of them out--but she just pushes them away or brushes it off as a joke. She says in the movie that she wants to quit couriering so she can have a "steady job"; but maybe she's just sick of all the harassment.

Overall, the movie works as a great commercial for bicycle couriers--or, at least, urban cycling: exciting, well-constructed, and suspenseful. General Score: 4 stars out of 5. Oppression Score: 3 (mainly for the sexual harassment thing). Highly recommended if you just want to watch a fun popcorn flick and forget the world for two hours.

Now, if you'll excuse me, I'll be going out for a bike ride.

Introducing a New Rating Rubric!

Before I post my next review, I'd like to take some time to explain a second dimension with which I will be rating books, movies, and the like. In case you haven't noticed by now, I'm pretty lefty, and I usually take a paragraph or two to point out any problematic content in the story in question. So, why not build upon that and add a handy rating system to gauge the severity of the oppressive content?

As my overall rating is based on five, and we all love multiples of five, this "Oppression Scale" will be based on 10. 1 means little to no oppressive content (which will be few, I'm sure) and a 10 will be OMG RACIST SEXIST CLASSIST HOMOPHOBIC BULLSHIT! Most likely, a "good" book will have a low oppression score, and a "bad" book will have a high oppression score. I predict that many will score around 3-7. Now, this score is obviously entirely subjective, as different people will be bothered by different content to varying degrees. And no, cliche's will not be counted--unless they're racist cliche's.

Let's take an example: The Hunger Games (book). It features a strong female character, a diversity of races (shown in a good light), and is critical of violence and reality TV. However, I don't think Collins goes far enough in portraying the horror of forced violence, and is inconsistent in Katniss's reactions to violence and death. Overall, these are pretty weak criticisms, so I'll rate it a 2. I don't think we need to be too concerned about this book.

As for an example on the other end of the spectrum: Fifty Shades of Grey. There is nothing redeemable about this book. Christian and Ana's relationship is abusive, yet the author tries to make it seem like an ideal romance. And given that so many women seem to think that this is OK, that makes it even worse. I haven't actually read the whole thing myself--I credit Jennfer Armintrout and her wonderful recaps for cluing me in on the details. And since I haven't read the whole thing, I'll just give it a 9: highly oppressive.

So, that's how it works! Look for it in coming reviews!

A Brave Old World, Indeed

It's been a long time coming, and I have finally read Aldous Huxley's best-known novel, Brave New World. Seriously, can anyone else name another book of his they've heard of, let alone read? As a fan of dystopian and other socially relevant speculative fiction, I had to read this, a classic of the genre. While some of the glaring anachronisms (to the modern mind) are at once funny and frustrating, I did my best to set them aside and evaluate the book in-context. But even with that in mind, I found the book to be less of a novel and more of a weakly woven parody.

The novel opens with a tour of a "hatchery and conditioning center," where children are carefully manufactured and raised to fulfill their duties as defined by their assigned caste. Even though they have time to play (the type of play most often alluded to being "erotic play"), childhood in this world looks like a real drag. And immediately we know that this is going to be a very dry, detached novel. Usually these sorts of novels start out by presenting the protagonist at some point during his daily routine in this weird world. Instead, we get a boatload of exposition. Kudos to not following the formula I guess?

There are several main characters, as well. We meet Lenina first (bet you didn't get that reference right off the bat), a seemingly conventional hatchery worker. Then a bit later we see the world from Bernard Marx's perspective, an Alpha-Plus whose short stature makes him an outcast, and a very bitter one, at that. His only friend is Helmholtz, a lecturer at the university, and who apparently has too much of a good thing going on. All three of these characters become inextricably linked when Lenina, who apparently has a greater proclivity toward monogamy than her peers as well as an attraction to odd men, goes on a trip to a savage reservation with Bernard. While there, they meet a pair of white people living amongst the so-called "squalor": a woman named Linda, who looks way older than your typical 44-year-old would look even then, probably, and her son, John. That last guy is the third main character.

Linda apparently had become separated from the hatchery director while on holiday there, and she was pregnant with their son--an obscenity and an abomination in this civilization. Both of them are outcasts in the reservation, so when Bernard offers John the chance to go back to England with them, he eagerly accepts. However, things aren't so great when they return. Everyone is horrified by Linda's haggard appearance, so she spends the rest of her life on soma (the happiness drug with no side effects--unless you take too much for too long). And John, last name Savage, doesn't find the "Other Place" to be quite as nice as he'd imagined. The infinite sets of twins freaks him out, the promiscuity repulses him, and so does the indulging of "pleasant vices." The only people he can talk to are Bernard and Helmholtz--but since Bernard is petty, John connects more with Helmholtz, who is slightly more thoughtful and understanding. Lenina and John share a mutual attraction to one another, but as she abhors marriage and he, extramarital sex, John drives her away.

After the death of his mother, John incites a riot amongst the hospital workers when he discards their soma ration, and the three men are taken away and dealt with. Bernard and Helmholtz are sent away to an island somewhere, and John is encouraged to stay. However, John wants to be alone (something that civilians are conditioned against doing), and goes to hide in an abandoned lighthouse. However, because he decided to stay in Britain and not, like, go far far away like he should have, he is discovered, and people start flocking to the lighthouse to gawk at him. After a secret "feely" (movies that engage all the senses) is made about him, even more people come, and John is pushed over the edge when Lenina shows up. Enraged, he starts beating her, and the other people beat each other. In the end, he hangs himself.

To give Huxley credit, it's not like all the women are perfectly fine with this society: Lenina does fall in love with John, which other women seem mystified by. However, as it is shown with Lenina and Linda, apparently promiscuity is hard to shake, and perhaps John's undue repulsion at Lenina's advances are a result of his own social conditioning, having seen his mother sleep with a lot of men--and suffer for it. And so of course it is only the men who can defy society. This aspect of the book was a large portion of the outrage expressed when it was first published--and these people obviously missed the point. Sex was one of the distractions to make the people happy and keep them from thinking too much, and monogamy meant committing oneself to a single person--and that could bring all sorts of problems. After all, "everyone belongs to everyone else". And not more to a single person than another person.

I suppose that the blatant references to Soviet leaders, the confusion between Henry Ford and Sigmund Freud, the irony of an American Indian reservation being more civilized than civilization, and the obvious choice of Shakespeare were deliberately satirical--I certainly thought it was funny. (actually the Indian thing wasn't funny--that part's racist). But overall I didn't find the tone very satirical--ridiculous, yes, but not very funny at all. This was in part due to the fact that several chapters are devoted to a few characters merely spouting talking points at each other. In all of chapter 17, the Western Europe controller and John Savage are engaging in a debate about God and unhappiness. And since Bernard and Helmholtz just get sent to an island, the stakes were nonexistent here. Sure, John kills himself, but it was sort of his fault because he stayed in England instead of going to a place where he would be FAR FAR AWAY from people. Yes, this place is horrible because it takes away people's choices, stamps out any capacity for rational thought in the majority of the population, and demonizes nature and biology (making it way more difficult for outcasts to function in society), but, to paraphrase Mustapha Mond, what would there be to gain if they changed now? It's already too late. Everybody's happy, even the Alphas who step out of line. There is no danger.

Perhaps Huxley meant it as more of a cautionary tale, to show the world we could end up living in. Advances in genetic engineering have brought about speculation of "designer babies" becoming our future--though under the free market it would be the rich with perfected genetics and not the lower classes--and thanks to the Internet, we have more ways to distract ourselves than ever. People do have sex more often, and with more sexual partners--however, it's the ignorance of sexuality and slut-shaming that are more pressing problems regarding this topic, not promiscuity itself. More people are also less religious--but as long as they're not worshiping the almighty dollar or a political leader instead, I don't think this is a problem, either. Manipulation of the masses, however, is a problem, and I'll give Huxley credit for that one.

The novel is about as shallow as the world it depicts. Huxley has spent too much time imagining the world, and articulating what is wrong with it, rather than developing the characters struggling in this world. Thus breaking one of the golden rules of writing: show, don't tell. The book was interesting, but I couldn't be moved very much. I finished the book, but I wasn't invested in the characters or the story--though I guess shallow characters make a shallow story. The unhappiest person was John, and of course he would be unhappy, he didn't belong there!

Perhaps, though, that isn't the point. When people talk about this book they talk about the world that Huxley created, not the characters within it. And it has made me think about how happiness can never be guaranteed for everyone all the time, and a guaranteed happiness saps humanity of freedom and meaning (among other musings). A perfect world is impossible. Huxley gets points for thoughtfulness, even with a shallow story.

3 stars out of 5.

How to Become an Urban Cyclist

Cross-posted from my other blog, and inspired by this blog. 

You were never into riding as a kid. Perhaps you had experienced a traumatic accident, taking off the training wheels too early, only to recover your nerve five years after. You only ride in summer, to nature’s sweet spots in your hometown: a tall waterfall, expansive cornfields bordering a winding rural road, or secret paths through wooded trails. You had thought of it as a leisure activity that allowed you to explore places you could not go by car, and too far to go on foot. Even in a forest of asphalt and concrete, the unique mobility of cycling can lead you to new places.

1. Find friends who already do it. It’s always easier to get into something when you have a friend who’s already into it. Maybe you don’t know they use bicycles for transportation at first. Maybe you just think they’re cool, and secretly admire them for the way their coolness comes off effortlessly, emulating them when you can—sometimes conscious of it, sometimes not. Observe how they love it, ask them why they choose cycling over the T. Think, subconsciously, that this is a way you can be cool like them.

Source: CBS local

2. Do it because you want to. Never do it because it’s cool—your heart will not be in it, and urban cycling must be undertaken wholeheartedly. You like the idea because it’s a great way to incorporate exercise into your day, and you miss the gust of wind on your face as you accelerate downhill. You never liked public transportation, anyway: how you squashed up against strangers at rush hour, the frustrating delays on the green line, the inconvenient one a.m. curfew. And it’s good for the environment, too.

3. Get some wheels. Ask for advice from your friends, and research your perfect bike: it’s as important as finding the right car. If you want a light weight, go for the road bike; but if you prefer durability, a hybrid may be more your speed. Browse Craigslist and do some comparison shopping; bring your biker friend when you make your final choice, if you want another opinion. Your new ride may feel strange at first—much larger than the one back home—but like new shoes, it will suit you in no time.

4. Buy a bike lock—better yet, buy two. Bicycle thieves are everywhere, and no place is truly safe. It could happen to anyone, and it has already happened to some of your friends. Try not to worry too much—but write down the serial number, just in case.

5. Overcome your fear of fatal crashes by taking precautions. Wear a helmet, even if it looks dorky. Always be alert. If you ride at night, wear reflective clothing or accessories and lights. You can never have too many lights. Start out by taking detours through city parks and low-traffic streets at a slow pace. Don’t get annoyed by the fluorescent speedsters that pass you by. And certainly don’t be ashamed of your street clothes: if they’re comfortable, they are as good as any spandex.
The easiest way to get used to it is to just go out there and ride. Begin with shorter trips, and once you’ve gotten your bike legs (literal and figurative), go out farther. Ride up hills at your own pace, even if motorists honk as they pass. Don’t overexert yourself. In time, the two-mile ride to work will feel like nothing at all.

6. Always be courteous. If a passing motorist gets mad and says you don’t belong there, say calmly that you have a right to the road. The occasional rude encounter might leave you muttering expletives until you reach your destination, but road rage won’t end motorist hostility.

7. Follow the rules of the road, and there will be fewer motorist mishaps. However, if the light is red, and the streets are clearly deserted, it’s OK to go. We all do it sometimes.

8. Love your bicycle. Protect it from the rain with shade or plastic bags, remove any rust that accumulates, take it in for a tune-up every six months or so. If you wish, dress it up with a basket or reflective paint. If you plan on riding throughout the cold and snowy New England winter, prepare ahead. If you take care, you and your bike may be riding together for a long, long time.

And it always helps to have a sense of adventure when you ride. You never know what you’ll find at the end of a wrong turn.

The Long, Winding Road of Unemployment

This blog has been sadly neglected over the past couple months because I am unemployed, and as I recently relocated I have doubled down on the job search. I say "unemployed" because although I am certainly working sporadically in my spare time on occasional freelance projects (and the major writing project I took up a few months ago), it's making a negligible amount of cash, and like I said, I have debts to pay off.


This is Part 2 of my personal problems confessional--though, like in my last post, these problems are certainly not unique to me. Today, I discuss the issues of unemployment.

I have never had a "regular" job: that is, one with not only full-time, regular hours (I've had those), but also a salary, benefits, and a guarantee that you'll be working there for more than a year. Not so surprising for a person my age these days. And at this point, I'm not so sure that I want one. Not with all the trouble the search for one has been causing me.

Source

Many of my friends, at least, have a job--even if it's not in their chosen field. Others don't have all this debt to worry about, so they can live in a city for a couple months looking for work--provided they find something within those months, of course. And some people have it worse than I do. But at what point do I give up my pride and do something that I'd rather not do? After less than three months of my relocation, I am all but prepared to take drastic measures for my situation to change. I am sick of debt, sick of no fun, sick of putting up with my parents' maddening idiosyncrasies. There was a reason why I left in the first place, and I'm already being driven insane.

Oh, I've gotten the interview--twelve times so far this year. And that's not even counting the ones I had since last August. And that's good, I guess. But life has no meaningful buildup, so it tells me nothing, other than the fact that I look good on paper. I have some ideas for Plan B's in the event of a failure to find gainful employment--go abroad, follow through with that startup idea, work with my mom at her dreadful dead-end job--but this will require discarding my debt, either actually or just ignoring it. And that won't be so easy.

Coming across this old article in the New York Times the other day, then, obviously struck a blow close to home for me--and it rings quite false. I want to go places, but I would prefer to not own a car for at least two more years; did the author take into account the fact that many young people live in cities with good public transportation systems? How expensive everything is? And what is so bad about attributing luck as a major factor is success--because it is true! Not to mention that a lot of college grads are riddled with debt--it's quite understandable that we aren't so keen to accumulate more debt when we're so uncertain whether we can pay off what we already have.

Sure, I don't have typical career aspirations, so as long as I don't give up hope that I will make a name for myself. But I'm just so tired of spending so much energy on this, and I want it to end--my last interview  was on Tuesday, and I was thoroughly exhausted for the next two days. I want this to be over. I want things to change, but I have hardly any power to do so. Some days I feel like I'm not doing enough, and other days I feel fine. Fridays are the worst. I'm angry at a lot of people, including myself. I wonder if I shouldn't have relocated, if I should've started looking for internships earlier, if I should've tried harder at networking. I'm tired of waiting. I'm tired. I'm so, so tired.

I can only console myself that it isn't my fault, and just try harder next time. Perhaps this will be over sooner than I think, but if I've learned anything throughout this agonizing search, it's that I can never, ever get my hopes up.

*now that all that's off my chest, we will return to your regularly scheduled programming*

Class and Making Art

Part 1 of some personal thoughts that have been running through my mind over the past year, and  need to get off my chest--even if it means admitting weakness and anxieties. Today, some self-doubt about my "true" calling: do people like me aspire to things that are "above our station"?

In December 2010 I graduated college, and my parents took out loans for a few semesters at my alma mater (I was so relieved to find out that they didn't have to take out loans for all of them). But since I'm the beneficiary/recipient of the loans, I'm the one who has to pay the loans back.

I have been paying back the 30,000+ dollars that I now owe...which will be even more as time progresses and interest mounts. And as I have failed thus far to find steady employment, it will take longer than I expected... unless I win big. This is partly my fault, of course: I took no part in the financial aid process, allowing my mom to do it instead. And I probably should have started looking for jobs and internships sooner than I did. Like a fool without a trust fund, I focused instead on my studies, art, and social life instead of my financial future. Who did I think I was, cavorting around with a bourgeois lifestyle instead of living within my class?

The main thing I'm concerned about is how long will I have to be in debt. I'm going into writing, publishing, and possibly academia, after all. Two of these have the potential to pay well and pay off, but two also do not. I'm afraid that I won't be able to succeed, that I will become poor and be forced to live with my parents...who are already suffering from the side effects of aging and economic woes, and still have two more kids to put through school before they're out on their own. In this context, I guess my biggest fear is that my dreams will remain unfulfilled, and worse, that debt will further prevent me from seeing them become more than dreams.

Famous writers have been in debt, of course: but for their education? If I went back to when I was looking at colleges, I would again choose to go to a private, artsy-fartsy college like my alma mater. But I can't think of any writers who struggled through student loan debt...maybe it was because they didn't have to struggle.

See, to study writing is a professional and artistic endeavor traditionally relegated to the privileged few. It was something until relatively recently only those whose parents or spouses were wealthy enough to provide well for them. There were some educated among the poor and minorities, but they were few and far between. And not many of them made a living on their writing, or even lived to see it published. This goes for all the fields of work and art where formal schooling is often necessary, but the arts have a particular privilege that is more evasive than many other fields: the fact that most artists, musicians, and writers will not make much off their work, if at all. This compels them to find other work.

Now I'm not saying that all artists should be able to just do art full time--sometimes we may need the discipline of a workday to get our shit together--but it helps if you have benefactors to support you. It's related to the fact that unpaid internships are more viable for rich kids than not-so-rich ones, and how girls like Rebecca Black are able to make music videos in spite of a desperate need for voice lessons. Wealthy relatives are able to make connections, get their kid a leg up on the rest: this includes attending the best schools. Rich kids are the only ones who get to study whatever they want unscathed of financial burden, unless they're disowned or something.

I've occasionally wondered during my tenure at college if I was aspiring to be a member of a class that I am not a part of. What good is what is basically an English degree in today's world? People do still read and write, and ebook technology, coupled with the internet, is adapting the industry to this brave new world. But will I ever make any good money doing what I truly love to do: telling stories? Statistics point to "no". I've wondered if I should have studied astronomy, or psychology, or computer science, thus getting a degree that was actually "useful."

I do not regret it.

It should not be that people have disadvantages coming into this world, just because of the parents they were born to. I realize that though I have at least a decade of debt (unless I get lucky or desperate--or if the world ends, of course) ahead of me, I have plenty of advantages over others because of my parents, who support me no matter what I choose to do. And if us artists decided not to study our craft--or even do what we want to do and put it out there--art would remain the realm of only the rich and the white. Will student loan debt really be able to prevent me from putting myself out there in the age of the internet? Probably not.

I guess my fear is really the fear of all of us who have this insatiable drive to create, but teeter on the brink of poverty when our voices are just beginning to emerge. The fear of disappearing into a life we do not want to live. And all because of a lack of funds. It's more than unfair--it's criminal, robbing us young people, and society at large, of our contributions.

The Girl Who Owned a City is Pro-Capitalist Propaganda

Recently I read the post-apocalyptic children's novel The Girl Who Owned a City (which is apparently the only book the author, O.T. Nelson, ever wrote). Even though it was an obscure book by a non-author, it's made enough of a splash to have a graphic novel adaptation. And boy howdy, is this book a doozy.

The premise of the situation is that a plague wipes out all people over the age of 12 for some reason, with the children left behind having to fend for themselves. The main character, Lisa, ends up taking charge not just of the household (she has a younger brother to take care of), but also of the entire neighborhood, establishing a "city" in their old school. But not everybody wants to do things her way, much less the violent gangs of kids who prowl the ruined town. One gang forces her out and takes over, so she has to plot how to take back her city.

Some post-apocalyptic scenarios, such as this one, require some suspension of disbelief; so I just set aside the traumatic implications of such an event and marvelled at Lisa's ingenuity and persistence. (of course, there was the other disbelief I had to suspend, which was--if this highly unlikely scenario were to occur, would children really act like this? I know they are more independent than people give them credit for, but still) It's written well enough, and the character of Lisa is a strong and intelligent female character--more of a rarity when it was first published in 1977--though the writing isn't spectacular, even overly simplistic at times.

 But something funny started happening halfway through the novel, and hit me right in the face in the second part. At this point, the decision to build a city in the school had been made. The words "hard work" and "earned" were repeated ad nauseum, Lisa dismissed the concept of sharing, and called the city her property. But it all clicked in a scene when she is arguing with one of her close friends and the doctor-in-training about claiming the city as hers: "Freedom is more important than sharing." That's when I realized what the story was really about.

It's pro-capitalist propaganda.

Perhaps propaganda is a strong word, but that's the only way I can describe it when the minds of the target demographic are so malleable. In any case, it endorses the values espoused by extreme libertarians, which is that selfishness is a virtue and that people should get only what they deserve. That is, rich people deserve to be rich, for they have earned their riches (to say nothing of those who were merely born into wealth), poor people deserve to be poor, and if we give them what they need they won't work to better themselves. These ideas are present in Lisa's reasoning that the city was hers, and that she has to earn her city back (although it is laughably easy), and that Jill has coddled the younger children too much. In this particular context, where of course there is no monetary system and everyone is equalized in every respect but for their ability to "use their heads" as Lisa puts it, some of these values are actually ok: using logical reasoning to sort out problems, material possessions aren't everything, and yes, the value of hard work, though Lisa comes off as inflexible and self-centered when she tells other people about these virtues. But the idea that working hard will reap its own rewards rings false in a highly unequal society. Not to mention that they didn't elect her as their leader, per se. She may be a benevolent leader, but she's still a dictator.

Of course, the dogmatic nature of the story isn't its only problem: the uneven pacing, the gaping holes in believability of both the children's behavior and the scenario, the anti-climatic ending, Lisa's annoyance with Craig for wanting to farm instead of command an army (there's also a pro-military message in this story, as well--she's hell-bent on forming an army before she can return to her city). I can't help but think that her victory was short-lived. Soon enough, the food would run out, and they would have to go to the farms. Then she better hope Craig will want to share his crops! (see, Lisa? Sharing is caring!) What is wrong with all of this is fit for another post.

Of course, the author is free to write a children's book on Objectivist philosophy, just as others are free to promote communist, democratic, and anarchic ideals in their stories (and they certainly have in children's literature). We don't have a problem unless there is only one type of philosophy allowed. But if you're going to write this kind of propaganda, at least tone down the preachiness--and make your stories more compelling. I give this book two out of five stars.

"Community" and Absurdity

This week, let's talk TV. Specifically, one of my current favorite shows--and one of the few that I still watch on network television--COMMUNITY!

Community wrapped up its third season this month, with much fanfare.  From the mid-season hiatus to the feud between Chevy Chase and the creator Dan Harmon, to the essential firing of Harmon by Sony from his own brainchild, the show's seen a whirlwind year so far. While the fate of the show remains up in the air, with a shortened fourth season and new showrunners, we'll focus on the Community that exists right now--which in spite of all its flaws, I love. (I'll reserve judgement on the upcoming season when it airs; Community is much more than just one person now.)

Community, for those of you who don't know, centers around a ragtag group of misfits that somehow became a study group during their first week at the fictional and outrageous Greendale Community College. While the story initially revolves around Jeff Winger, the charming but egoistic former lawyer back in school only to earn a "legitimate" degree, the show eventually branches out to explore narratives around the other characters: Britta, a left-leaning high school dropout; Annie, a neurotic overachiever; Troy, a former high school football star; Abed, a probably-autistic pop-culture encyclopedia; Shirley, born-again Christian, mother, and aspiring businesswoman; and Pierce, the crotchety old coot and scapegoat of the group. This past season was the first season I've followed since the premiere (I didn't get into it until about halfway through the second season), and as much as some fans have complained about it being too out-there this season, this season has contained some of the best, most memorable episodes of the series.

For example, "Remedial Chaos Theory," in which we explore the different scenarios that would result from a roll of the dice, and "Digital Estate Planning," which is almost entirely presented in 8-bit animation as the gang plays a video game Pierce's late father designed to determine the distribution of his estate, accomplish feats of wackiness and character development rarely seen on your average sitcom (looking at you, Two and a Half Men). Not to mention the multiple paintball wars, a pillow-vs-blanket-fort battle, and an entire episode surrounding Dungeons and Dragons. But you know what these episodes have in common?

They're, quite simply, absurd.

Absurd in a good way. In the best way. Not like the absurd inconsistencies that run rampant in long-running sitcoms, such as leafy green trees in Pennsylvania (or Wisconsin, or New York, etc) in January, or the situations that are just plain silly (i.e. "jumping the shark"), or the central characters dating exclusively within their group of friends. Not to mention the ridiculously canned laughter in multi-camera sitcoms that gets a little annoying (especially in this age of single-camera comedy and snappier dialogue).

Deliberately absurd, stretching reality in myriad ways. Presenting it, in fact, in multiple dimensions, showing, through exaggeration, how the different characters are viewing a situation--or, possibly, what can happen if the characters take an already outrageous premise to extreme heights. For example, in the episode, "Virtual Systems Analysis", Annie almost literally (or at least that's how we see it) steps into Abed's mind through the Dreamatorium--Abed and Troy's Danger Room of imaginative play. We learn a little bit more about Annie and Abed's sensibilities, they learn from each other, and it still doesn't stray too far from the hyper-realism of the sitcoms from which the show draws inspiration.

There's a nostalgic aspect to this absurdity, as well: a lot of the situations are reminiscent of older children's TV shows--that is, ones geared towards a tween/teen audience--which often present frustrating but obvious villains, outrageous adventures, and a focus on friendship. (that last point is the most salient) Ones that come to mind are Drake and Josh, Ned's Declassified, Even Stevens... even Saved By the Bell. I don't mean this as an insult at all. Perhaps it's just because it takes place at a school, unlike most adult-oriented comedies.

In fact, as a fan of a lot of (not recent) children-centric TV, I love the ridiculousness that often goes on. These shows are naturally absurd, as reality is presented in a more kid-friendly point of view: and to kids, even older ones, just about anything is possible. Of course, they often suffer from the just-world fallacy and more often than not promote positive values whilst featuring good-natured (if buffoonish) kids.  But it's like these shows, except inverting the just world and goody-two-shoes principles (making it more Seinfeldian and Arrested Development-esque), appealing to adult misfit sensibilities, and much more self-aware. So I think much of the absurdity, as well as the diversity, in Community uncovers not just good comedy, but also the idea that there is no one single perception (or reception) of reality.

Consider, for one, that more than half of the students in the group are non-traditional (at over 21), so they already have had "non-traditional" life experience. And unlike most shows, only four of the seven core characters are white, and only two characters are Christian. As a result, the core characters of Community are shown to be complex, flawed human beings with their own troperiffic quirks. I can't help but like them and want to see more of their adventures, because Community really is just like life in that way--which is, as Forrest Gump puts it, like a box of chocolates--you never know what you're gonna get.

And most of the time, it is delicious.

*If you want to get into one new comedy this summer, make it Community! Also watch it this fall!* (end fan plug)

Ellen Foster is Pretty Good

A few weeks ago I read a short novel that I had never heard of before, Ellen Foster. It made Oprah's Book club, apparently. The book also won the Sue Kaufman Prize for First Fiction in 1987, among other selections so it's passed the literary worthiness test with flying colors. And after reading it, I can see why it did win.

The story takes place in the South during an unspecified time, though one can infer that it takes place probably in the 1970s, as the 1960s are briefly referred to as occurring in the past. The story is told by an eleven-year-old girl who has just recently found a new home after spending the year after her mother's death searching for a new one. She, and her mother, suffered abuse from an alcoholic father, and the spite of her mother's family. While she deals with her mother's death and her father's wrath, she becomes close to a black girl, Starletta, and lives in several different family homes before finally settling in with her "new mama."

The basic premise is one we have seen before: abusive white-trash family, white girl learns to like "colored" people, finds new home. However, Ellen's young yet wise voice gives new insight into this common southern story, and flows in a nonlinear, stream-of-consciousness fashion. No quotation marks separate the dialogue from the narration, and grammatical mistakes left in, making the story all the more Ellen's own. The story hooks you in with the first line, as many good stories do, and considering the idiosyncratic voice, it works better as a short novel. Of course, the initial racism and prejudice against "colored people" on Ellen's part peeved me off at first, but as she is a poor southern white girl it's understandable that she was socialized that way. What wasn't explained, though, was her father's association with rowdy black men when he was racist himself--gambling buddies?

The structure of the narrative was also confusing at times--there were some points where I had to go back and reread the section because there was an abrupt change of scene without even a line break to indicate the scene change. And the lack of quotation marks is unusual, so it can be a bit hard to follow in that sense, too. But people used to reading fiction as challenging as William Faulkner's should be able to read this book just fine.With its thematic exploration of racial identity, class, and abuse, Ellen Foster fits quite well in the Southern literary canon.

In spite of my initial reservations, I found Ellen Foster to be an endearing character and an enjoyable, quick read. I'll give it 4 out of 5 stars.

The Road by Cormac McCarthy

I recently took up a new writing project (shh, it's a secret--at least as long as I'm still working on a first draft). Let's just say it deals with a certain (and only somewhat improbable--call it a "what-if") post-apocalyptic scenario. To help me along with this, I wanted to read some stories relating to this concept. One was The Road, a Pulitzer Prize-winning apocalyptic novel (and apparent Oprah's Book Club selection), where the future of not just civilization but life in general is bleak.

The Road follows a man and his son as they wander their way south, where they'd more easily survive the winter. It's unclear how long they have been on this journey, nor how old the boy and his father are. While the circumstances of what brought the world into a state of worthlessness remain unexplained (ash covers everything, all plants and animals are dead), it is clear that the chances of survival at this point are slim, with no natural plants coming forth and the canned/preserved goods slim pickings. Their journey is grimmer at some times (such as when they find a charred baby) and less grim at others (such as when they find the untouched underground bunker). While the story ends on a somewhat hopeful note, it is more for the world itself to be able to begin anew, not so much for mankind's survival.

The Road, much like many other post-apocalyptic novels, paints a grim picture of humanity's longevity. At this point it's pretty much every man for himself, and the man gets into a few skirmishes while on the journey. The man speaks of "the good guys" and "bad guys," though he's immediately suspicious of any sign of people. Everything is covered in ash, alluding to a possible nuclear Armageddon or perhaps the eruption of the supervolcano in Yellowstone Park. Of course, it matters not how the world came to be this way--least of all to the survivors who cling desperately on to life. The Road is more of a story of a man and his boy, facing the absolute bleakest circumstances, and the struggle to endure in the face of hopelessness. The imagery mirrors this attitude, with everything being totally gray and colorless, and buildings in various states of disrepair, the man and son disheveled and starved. In a way, it's hard to believe that anyone survived this long, given the cold and rain and lack of food and fire. Many of the scenes are powerful and at times even moving, and you definitely feel sorry for the boy, who will never know the colorful, vibrant world his father knew. I wouldn't say it made me cry, but it filled me with sadness and doubt about the purpose of our own existence. (Let me tell ya, this is not a feel-good read)

One thing that got me, though, was the representation of women--the few glimpses we get of the man's wife were among the powerful moments (the scene where she tries to convince him to join her in committing suicide is wrenching)--but the few women they come across are often described as pregnant. While this is not entirely out of the realm of possibility, what with a lack of access to birth control, boredom, and likely horny/rapacious men--the man and boy were starving. And one group of people ate (or tried to eat) a baby. So I'm guessing the other people they hide from as they pass are also starving. And something happens to women when they're starving, and the medical term is amenorrhea: they stop having their periods since their bodies are smart enough to know when they can't support a fetus. Now, I don't know if all women who are starving get this condition (and certainly not how starved you have to be to stop getting your period), but it happens, and it's not unreasonable. It's also likely that even if these women could get pregnant, few babies would actually be born, since due to a lack of adequate nutrition for even one being, most would probably miscarry early on. So, yeah, while women would more likely to be abused by men in this situation--especially the "bad guys" (which the man uses as code for cannibals)--would they actually be able to bear children? Definitely not healthy ones, if any at all. But would I think a male writer like Cormac McCarthy concerned himself with details like this? Nope. *rant over*

While the world was so cold and lifeless I had trouble believing that people would be able to last even this long, it is a powerful story of compassion and the persistence of the survival instinct. It is up to the reader to wonder whether or not humanity's survival will endure, and whether it's a good thing or a bad thing. It's a novel that makes you think, even if most of it is not so happy. 4 out of 5 stars.

Lydia Davis is Awesome

As a writer, anyway. I haven't met her in person, so maybe she's not super-awesome. After reading that lug 1Q84 I definitely wanted to follow up with some lighter reading, but with my copies of the Hunger Games trilogy back at my parents' house, and a collection of Lydia Davis short stories on my shelf, I decided to read me some short stories. And a lot of them were short: like, really short. Like, one sentence. So I couldn't really quote them in case I get chased down for reprinting without permission. At least in this  particular collection, Varieties of Disturbance.

Aw, fuck it. Here's one of her miniscule gems in its entirety:"Collaboration With a Fly"

"I put that word on the page,
but he added the apostrophe."

The collection contains 57 stories, most of them really, really short. The topics range from the ritual of TV watching, explaining sex to children, caterpillars, babies, and the relationships between friends. Sure, sounds banal, but the stories aren't your typical stories: most of the characters are not named, their focus is somewhat single-minded (on the topic at hand), and there is hardly any scene or dialogue (if any, just one).  Some, like the one above, even have line breaks, like poems. Davis certainly blends the two in cool ways: and not just as punchlines.

Some of them go on for several pages, though, resembling more typical stories, though not quite. "We Miss You" is a lengthy "analysis" of letters written in a fourth-grade class sometime in the fifties or sixties, written to a classmate who was in the hospital. The narrator picks apart these grammar-school exercises in formal writing quite thoroughly, noting the specific phrases and instances of complex sentence structure in each of the letters. Another story, which is much longer, "Helen and Vi," is a report of three women who have lived to be quite old--and the third, Hope, who defies the conventional notions of what it takes to stay healthy and live long, is mentioned peripherally.

Some of the stories are so abstract, terse, and just plain short, I question whether Davis even edited some of these stories, and just submitted them after jotting them down thanks to some inspired train of thought. It certainly puts the idea that writers are supposed to slave and suffer over their drafts into question: sure, you can agonize over perfecting a single sentence, but how much agonizing can you do when that's all the story is? Of course, I don't really know if Davis slaved over her writing or not.

The shortness of many of her short stories/prose-poems also enable re-readability: something that busy poeple such as myself do not really have time to waste with. This increased my enjoyment of the stories as I could easily read them again. And on some occasions, I dwelled on a story for much longer than the time it took for me to read it. Whether the short ones are hit-or-miss, they certainly require thinking about the relationship of the title to the sentence, which is not always apparent.

Lydia Davis's style is reminiscent of David Foster Wallace, with clever and absurd turns of phrase accompanying the ennui and hopelessness of everyday life, in addition to reality-bending realism. However, Davis is much more abstract and much less concerned about details than Wallace was; in fact, a lot of her stories are quite anti-Wallace, the prose vague and bare and conceptual (rather than meticulously detailed and concrete); thus her stories average only a few pages, while Wallace's go into the double digits. Her stories address storytelling and other meta-narratives in much a similar manner, in much less space; so it made me think why I had never heard of her before? Is it because she writes fiction/prose-poetry and not essays too? Because she wasn't in journalism? Because she's a woman? Of course, Wallace is still one of my favorite authors, but I think Lydia deserves some love too.

The short, terse style of Lydia Davis's stories are the real future of American short fiction, which is currently oversaturated with tedious depictions of everyday life for a specific (often based on a real person) character as they go through a change (usually aging or death). Writers: you've learned what the rules are; if you want to know how to shatter them completely, Lydia Davis is a must-read writer for you.*

A rare 5 out of 5 stars for this one. (Not perfect, but I'm grading on a curve here)

*I am basing this after reading just one collection, so I could be incorrect in saying that Lydia Davis eats nails instead of bran for breakfast, if you know what I mean.

The Hunger Games Movie Review; Or, How the Movie is Never, Ever Better than the Book

So it looks like The Hunger Games is going to be a real blockbuster trilogy, along with the books, following Harry Potter and Twilight before it. There was some slight nervous anticipation before it came out in theaters a couple weeks ago, nail-biting over the fact that the protagonist was female and if the movie was going to be any good. There was criticism early on about the fact that the casting call for Katniss called for a specifically white woman, and the fact that the person who ultimately played her was a blonde in real life. I myself was a little miffed about the imperfect appearances (in stark contrast to the first Harry Potter movie, where each person looked the part)--Peeta needed blue eyes, Gale's hair needed to be longer and his skin darker, Haymitch was definitely not blond (and he needed to be more messed up!), and Snow needed to have had some work done. Katniss's criticism goes without saying. I also imagined Rue to be darker-skinned (after all, she's described in the book as having dark brown skin), but the actor who played her fit the part anyway. I'm not going to touch on all those racist Hunger Games fans who thought that Rue wasn't supposed to be black: you people need to pay more attention in both English and History class.

In spite of that negative impression, I was excited to see this movie, not nervous about it like with The Golden Compass (LOVE the books, do not ever want to see the movie!). I went to see it on opening day in a packed theater--we probably bought some of the few tickets left available for that showing. And I liked it a lot; I wanted to just go and read the books again immediately afterward. Though the movie was over two hours, and a bit slow to start, it breezed through the story, much like an abridged version of the book (which isn't really necessary). The shaky-camera thing was odd in the beginning, when there wasn't that much going on, and I wanted more scenes pre-Hunger Games--preferably more with Cinna. People say Lenny Kravitz did a good job, but there wasn't that much for him to do... And the scene when the tributes from District 12 are set on fire is supposed to be incredible, but I was underwhelmed. So, they just wear fire for capes?

Once the Hunger Games begins, though, the film finds its legs, and it captures all the important plot points with seamless faithfulness to the source material. Rue's death was as tragic as it was in the books. However, they did sort of mangle the end: we don't see much of what happens to Katniss and Peeta after the Games end--they don't even look as fucked up as they are in the book--and the rift that forms between them on their way home. Even earlier, as the Games are about to end, they changed Cato's death to make him even more pitiful than he needed to be, and I imagined the moment with the berries to be more dramatic, because they were going to send a big fuck-you to the capitol.

There were plenty of other deviations (such as when Katniss receives the Mockingjay pin) and omissions from the book, predictable in any movie adaptation of a story longer than 60 pages. This is how books are superior to time-constrained media like films: the audience has a chance to get to know the characters, and in the case of speculative fiction, the world, better. We learn a lot of juicy details that wouldn't even make it into a screenplay, let alone a rough cut.

The movie was predictably clean: everybody looked quite clean and healthy for starving civilians and beat-up games contestants. While they could have done something with makeup to produce the haggard effect, I'm not really surprised that everybody looks pretty damn good in the movie. More realistic portrayals of what humans look like has long been relegated to the indie film circuit.

So, while I wasn't one hundred percent thrilled with the look of the film, it was really well done as a movie, with moments that will leave you tense with anticipation even if you've read the books, and enough excitment to have you wanting more. (and there should have been more!) I look forward to the sequel, and hope that it's even better than the first. If you've been thinking about seeing this movie, go ahead and see it: you could do a LOT worse. 3 out of 5 stars.