Buying In and Selling Out

Predictably, I haven't had much time to update this blog (got some big stuff going on this year), but the book I have most recently read, unlike books like Game of Thrones, did not get a lot of press during its release, at least not that I've seen. I couldn't even find the book at Barnes and Noble. I ordered the hardcover through Amazon.com (I may not rule out self-publishing through that platform, but I will only buy a Kindle if I literally have no choice) as it was apparently the only place I could find it. (Again, no choice) And it turned out to be a breezy, fascinating read about breaking into investment banking, involving sacrifices that most people would not be willing to make for prestige and the almighty dollar.

Buying In,  by Laura Hemphill, who apparently has a background in financial services, follows the "conversion" of first-year analyst Sophie Landgraf at the fictitious investment banking firm Sterling. When the story begins, Sophie is uncertain and full of self-doubt, snooping through her superiors' office to learn more about them and how they came to be a success. By the end of the story, even as she has lost her job and the big merger deal she was on the task force with out of her hands, she comes back for more, confident that now she knows how to play the game.

Though the story takes place during the period of collapse that rippled through Wall Street in 2007 and 2008, Sophie is tasked with a merger project that has absolutely nothing to do with what caused the Great Recession. Rather, she and her colleagues, and arguably Sterling itself, are casualties of this collapse. But this doesn't make the story any less compelling. The time period serves to add a poignant note to Sophie's Sterling saga, in which all the work she puts into the AlumiCorp-Roll-Rite merger deal is no longer given credit.

The story is Sophie's story, but we get into the heads of the other major players in the merger deal: Ethan Pearce, the man in charge; Vasu Mehta, the VP of the Industrial Group; and Jake Hutchinson, the CEO of AlumiCorp who takes a shine to Sophie, and a victim of much bad luck himself. Through these other characters we get an idea of how the financial services industry works and what it does to people. Ethan is self-serving and ruthless; Vasu is disillusioned and depressed; and Hutch has no time for phoniness and typical bankers' spin.

Interestingly, glimpses of Sophie's possible future can be seen in the lives of the other characters, even those whose heads we don't get into. There is Vasu, who has given so much of his life in years and in days to this company, starts to miss seeing his daughter grow up and visiting his ailing mother before she passes away, questioning why he was giving so much for this company that hardly appeared to value him at all. There is Nancy Cho, in whose office Sophie finds evidence of a pathetic love life and personal dissatisfaction, even as Cho puts on a front of satisfaction with her success. Then there are the people of Sophie's personal life, who express active disagreement with the choices Sophie is making and her dedication to a job that seems to yield no real satisfaction. And one of whom, her boyfriend Will, rejects her for this choice. One wonders if it will be long before this happens to the others.

Even with all the hard work she put into the project, Sophie was in the end just a number, a cog in the machine; yet it doesn't even put her off from further pursuing the financial services industry. This makes Sophie's character a fascinating if frustrating figure, especially in the face of making it in a male-dominated industry. We witness her conversion in full, as she internalizes Sterling superiors' words of wisdom and warning, and twists her mother's advice to fit her own motivations.

The only apparent reasons she broke into the industry in the first place were one, to live in New York and two, to make a lot of money. She's coming in with the "right" reasons, perhaps, but with the "wrong" attitude, such as the idea that she would be able to trust anyone she worked with, no matter how much time she spent with these people. And in the end, when she was thrown under the bus with all the rest, instead of looking into other, perhaps more self-fulfilling (rather than self-serving) career paths, she doubles down and negotiates her way to a job at Ethan's new firm.

As a person who knew enough about the investment banking industry to understand that it's unfettered capitalism at its worst, but certainly not that much about the ins and outs of the industry (like, wtf is a "model"?), I found this to be an enlightening read. But even by the end of this story, one nagging question still remains, one that Will early in the book asks Sophie herself: why is this important? What sort of satisfaction is she getting out of this; being barely able to get by on her own, when plenty of other people doing other jobs do the same thing? (perhaps not on such an expensive scale, but still.) I at first interpreted it as a phase Sophie was going through, in reaction against her parents' blase attitude about money...and the fact that, especially after her mother's death, her family appeared to have none. (Though now that I think about it, I wonder...does Sophie have no other living relatives other than her father? There is no mention of any. I suppose it's possible, but still...)

Aimee Bender's "The Color Master": A Three-Part Review, Part 2

So, after a disappointing first part, I didn't hold much hope for the rest of the collection. But, I bought the damn book, so I kept on reading. Luckily, the second section improved in quality overall.

"The Fake Nazi" started off as a quite compelling and expertly constructed story, revolving around a man who believed he was a Nazi--even though he wasn't. Through three different people--the man himself, his brother, and a curious legal clerk--we learn more about the strange psyche of this man and the intersection of coincidence and fate. But then, when the legal clerk visits the man's brother at his apartment, she...lets him feel her up on her visit? It was another example of sexism and objectification in a story in this collection that I can't tell if it's showcasing a character's internalized mentality or the author's own.

"Lemonade" is an overall good story--Bender really got the voice and psychology of this insecure and somewhat strange teenage character down to a T. The thing was, though, that at first I thought they were 13, 14 years old--but later it is revealed that they are old enough to drive. (so, 16?) And they use cell phones--so we're talking the year at the earliest is like, 2006. (mayyybe a couple years ealier, maybe) They live in LA. And they're hanging out at a fucking mall? They did some paltry shopping there, but like, nobody goes to malls anymore if they have their fucking driver's license, except maybe to go shopping, I guess. And the voice of the narrator especially seemed so young--I guess because she's a little naive compared to the other characters? And again, the ending was kind of "meh" for me.

"Bad Return", which is another story about two young-ish female friends who are very different from each other, is much more interesting. This also has a scene between a young woman and an old man, but it doesn't get sexual, thank God: instead, it becomes a faintly magical and creepy encounter that brings the protagonist to a profound conclusion about her friend. Perhaps it's more conventional than the other stories, but I certainly enjoyed it.

The next story, a short one, "Origin Lessons," was absolutely fantastic. It captures the students' insatiable questioning and curiosity and the professor's increasing difficulty in being able to explain the origins of the universe. Though I wasn't sure how old the kids were at first, and again, with the ending, the traditionally feminine imagery, that I keep hating for some reason. But this one I liked a lot.

The last story in this section, "The Doctor and the Rabbi," also deals with big questions, asked by a very specific character. I thought it was cool the rabbi was a woman (I wasn't sure rabbis could be women), and this story is expertly crafted, intertwining big questions and personal revelations, teetering on the edge of being "profound on purpose" (a made-up term for something I often loathe in literature) but not going too far.

So this section was a great improvement. I look forward to reading the next (and final) section...maybe it just keeps getting better? Or do we turn back around to worse?

This Post Was Going to Review Memory Wall, But...

The last book I read was a collection of short stories by Anthony Doerr, called Memory Wall. It's six stories, and they're all linked thematically, to an extent. Memories do play a big role in them, for one. I liked the one story of his that I'd read in a writing class, called "For a Long Time this was Griselda's Story." It was a little outlandish (the title character becomes a magician's assistant) and folktale-y, but was presented in a very real way. I spotted this book in the library, and decided to take it out, even though I really shouldn't have. I liked it, especially the stories that featured women prominently (that was actually most of them) ... But I don't really want to sing its praises. Turns out I'm still suffering from the Franzen fatigue that came over me last September...I'm just not in the mood to read that kind of shit anymore. Or review it, really.

Books: By dudes, for dudes since 1700

Doerr isn't as infuriating as Franzen, as he doesn't use tired and annoying plot twists and character tics and doesn't stick to reality 100% of the time. Doerr actually brought some new ideas to the table, like visions of the Afterworld through epileptic seizures, and memories recovered through clunky cartridges and viewable by machine. I almost feel bad that I'm not giving this book a review; it's not really that bad--plenty of other people liked it, too.

Not to steer the conversation towards Franzen, but part of what I don't really like about him is how much everyone sang his praises--and I hardly heard anything about last year's National Book Award winner, a Black woman. I read this article, published in last week's Phoenix, that criticizes the publishing industry, the New York Times, and NPR for gender bias in terms of who they publish and how much publicity they get. As a woman who likes to write fiction that doesn't necessarily adhere to realistic boundaries, much less convention, it's discouraging that someone like me will (still!) have greater difficulties in rightful recognition than a male writer writing about men (hell, aside from the fact that I naturally gravitate toward writing about women, aren't there enough stories about men?) And I am also guilty of reading more books by men than women, though I often prefer books by women, rather than men.

Anyway, I've been feeling this way since I went to a reading last weekend--five men went up to read in a row. Once I realized that no women had went up to read, I didn't stick around to find out if there would be any--the fact that none had gone so far said enough to me. The worst part was that I hadn't even noticed until the fourth man went up to the mic. There is the idea that women are generally more timid, and therefore reluctant to share their work--after two years of workshops with a bunch of other writers, and hearing how hard it is to be published, my confidence was crushed. Though I know I have more than potential. If women do need more encouragement, then we need to do that. These problems pervade not just the literary world, either--it's a problem in all media, to varying degrees. It's sad that we still can't get past the fact that women are just as capable as men at creating art (sometimes even more so) and that their stories and perspectives are just as relevant. I appreciate writers like Doerr who do bring in other perspectives--in addition to elderly women, he writes about other countries, like China and South Africa--we could also bring in people who've actually had these experiences, with less risk of objectifying and exotifying them.

But there's something else in that kind of fiction, aside from the narrow worldview--it's hard for me to put my finger on what it is. I do know how to describe it: BORING. Finally, after four years of indoctrination by literary "experts," I can finally admit that straight-up literary realism bores me to tears! That's why no one reads these books--because they're all about the SAME DAMN THING. I'll take robots, wizards and warlords over a broody middle-aged man any day!

All told, I think I'm done reading this kind of fiction for a while. This is not the kind of fiction I want to write, so why should I waste my time with it?

*note: this post was originally written a week ago (1/29/12) so temporal references are a week off. I'm just feeling too lazy to change it.

Movie Review: Young Adult

Now, I don't usually go to the movies very often, but for some reason I went a lot this year. I've seen a total of five movies in theatres this year--NEW movies, too. I haven't seen that many new movies in theatres since I was a kid. Maybe not even then: come to think of it, this is probably a new record for me. Anyway, a lot of the movies I saw garnered a lot of hype--Black Swan, Harry Potter, 50/50, and Melancholia were all much-talked-about. I liked them all--with Melancholia being the unequivocally best one of the bunch--but none had surprised me quite like Young Adult did.

Young Adult is the second collaboration between screenwriter Diablo Cody and Jason Reitman, their first being Juno. Juno was cute and quirky, occupying a hyperrealistic world of ultra-hip jargon and unconventional romance. Young Adult, on the other hand, ventures into much more sobering (pun intended) territory. The protagonist of Young Adult, Mavis Gary is a recently divorced (and apparently depressed) thirtysomething woman struggling to write the final novel in the young-adult series that she took over as author. While procrastinating, she comes across an invitation to her high school boyfriend's baby's naming ceremony, and after thinking about it all day, she decides to head back to her hometown to win him back.

It's pretty plain that Mavis is destined for failure early on: in her early encounters with Buddy, he's cheerful and kinda hokey, and while she keeps on discussing the past as if things haven't changed, he clearly has changed, accepting responsibility as a husband and father in what seems to be a pretty solid, egalitarian relationship. As much as the laughingstock nerd-turned-confidante in Patton Oswalt's character warns that she is making a big mistake, Mavis continues down into this marriage-destroying mission until it ends in tears--that being her own.

Mavis' reputation as a Queen Bee is evident through her blindly selfish pursuit of her high school sweetheart, and she's pretty mean to just about everyone but Buddy Slade--unless she's pretending to be nice. Yet she's become a pitiful character, slaving over a YA series that she can't even call her own, drinking heavily almost every night and spending her days watching TV (or else getting done up to see Buddy). It's obvious that she is suffering from depression, alcoholism, or (most likely) both. However, no one but Patton Oswalt's character, even her parents (in a telling scene, Mavis admits outright that she's an alcoholic, with her mother only responding "No you're not"--and not in a nice way), recognizes this. As much of a trainwreck her life becomes, it's hard not to hope that she does learn and grow from the experience. In the end it appears that she gets back on her feet--the novel, at least, is finished--but it's otherwise ambiguous.

Young Adult contrasts sharply with Juno, not only in the darker tone and heightened drama, but also in its realism. Music played a minimal role in creating atmosphere, though one song did serve as a crucial forewarning to Mavis sometime during the film. The dialogue is more natural than clever. Images, which are a large part of the film medium, are repeated and emphasized (such as Mavis lying in bed the morning after with a sleeping shirtless guy, unimpressed). The dialogue was very spot-on for real life, and of course the acting was great--especially by Charlize Theron and Patton Oswalt. Buddy and Beth Slade seemed a little too content and cheerful (at least until towards the end), though perhaps they were exaggerating their contentedness on purpose, as some are wont to do in the presence of exes. The scenes leading up to the final one are painful to watch, especially for those sensitive to secondhand embarrassment. Nor does the ending tie itself up nicely. This is not a typical comedy--in fact, it's more of a comedy-drama (or, as I prefer it, a "tragicomedy"). Which was not what I at all expected.

Cody said in an interview with NPR that she had sought to turn several rom-com tropes on their head--and she accomplished just that. For one, it's just a comedy--I did not think of it as a rom-com in the slightest. The romantic arc is more of the subplot to the real story going on, which is Mavis' desperation to return to the time when she was happiest. The possibilities aren't tied up in a neat little knot at the end--instead, they spread out into the imagination of the audience. Naturally, as someone who has filled in the blanks in many a movie in my head countless times, I like ambiguity when it's done right. While I'm generally lukewarm towards Diablo Cody, I think she's outdone herself with Young Adult. Good on all involved, in fact. I give it a 4 out of 5 stars.

Hidden Gems: All I Wanna Do (aka The Hairy Bird/Strike)

I've found that Gawker's a really good place to find something new. This goes for just about everything: books, music, movies, TV shows...

While the articles on this site amalgamation do talk about these different forms of entertainment, one can find some interesting recommendations in the comments, which are often far better for the researcher of precious pieces of art that fell out of range of the pop-culture radar (or at least, my pop-culture radar) dominant in one's time.

The other day I uncovered such a discovery: a reference to a movie this commenter dubbed "The Hairy Bird." I was intrigued, especially since one of the movie's stars is Kirsten Dunst (an actor I'm rather fond of) and centers around an all-girl's school (a setting that I am at least intrigued by, if I haven't watched a lot of movies/read a lot of books about girls' schools). I immediately searched for it online, under the name of "Strike! (All I Wanna Do)"... and in the title credits it's called "All I Wanna Do"...with a vaguely pubic peach-colored bird prancing around the names in the cartoon opening. Why it goes by so many titles, I'm not sure...and I'm not really a fan of any of them.



The premise: in the 1960s, an all-girl's school is about to go co-ed due to a lack of funds, and several of the girls object to this change. Thus, they plot to thwart the Board's plans, which include making the boys of the school they're to merge with look like their true selves--that is, assholes.

I liked the movie a lot. It's an adventurous girls' school comedy that endorses empowering, testosterone-free havens of learning for girls--and presents that case in a compelling way. While there are a few tropes typical of this kinds of movie (the girls rebel, there's a prissy stuck-up foil who's picked on by the protagonists, and all wrongs are righted in the end, and rather quickly), All I Wanna Do stood out drastically from a lot of the other high school movies I've seen. Not least because female solidarity and sexuality were central themes.

The cast is, naturally, predominantly female, the teenaged girls are horny (even in 1961!) and not ashamed to admit it. The characters also had other interests besides boys, and most had careers in mind for their post-secondary plans. Dunst's character could be labeled the "mean girl;" but her meanness has a different motive. And in the end, she grows and changes--not a comeuppance. Of course, her status as a "mean girl" is more attributable to her role as a clever mischief-maker than as one of the "popular girls." She and the primary protagonist do become friends, after all. The one characterization I had specific issue with was that of Heather Matarazzo's (of Princess Diaries and Welcome to the Dollhouse recognition), who played a girl who obviously suffered from disordered eating, if not bulimia--and the others, who were supposed to be friends, treated it like it was just some weird diet. Granted, they probably didn't know how bad eating disorders really were in the 60s, but a tad bit of sensitivity would have helped. (On the other hand, her roommate, another not-conventially-pretty character, was much more self-confident)

But what truly shines is the dialogue. In addition to the kooky catchphrases like "up your ziggy with a wa-wa brush", the characters express thoughts pertaining to the larger themes of the movie in realistic ways... even if they came off as a little obvious. I had not really thought about how co-education marginalized women for decades because the boys were too often considered the smarter, more capable, and more valuable members of the classroom, as they were the ones who were expected to go to college and have a career. At an all-girl's school, girls were better able to learn because they weren't being ignored. It made me think, and further sympathize with the protagonists. As stuffy as the girls' school was, they were all up against the man--quite literally.

Plus this movie's really funny. I give it four out of five stars for sheer uniqueness and entertainment value!

Parable of the Talents: An Analysis/Review

Parable of the Talents, by Octavia Butler, is probably a science fiction novel that you haven't heard of. I hadn't heard of Butler myself until about a year or so ago, and sadly have never read any of her work until now. Alas, many of my favorite writers are dead and gone. Butler, unlike a lot of mainstream sci-fi writers, features a more racially and sexually cast of characters in her stories, and brings up themes critical of the patriarchal establishment. Obviously I was excited to finally read one of her works...and it certainly didn't disappoint.

While I didn't get around to reading the first book (Parable of the Sower), I could follow the story rather well without much background information on the characters and plot. It stands great on its own.

Talents continues the story of Lauren Olamina, who by championing a new religion, Earthseed, is a preacher and a prophet. Unfortunately, as she gathers allies and followers, the fundamentalist Christian cult Christian America rises to power, perpetuating the fear and chaos that has spread throughout the nation. At some point she and her people who live in the humble, isolated community of Acorn are ambushed by these extremists, forcing Olamina into her toughest ordeal yet.

Talents contains a lot of the science fiction elements that I love: dystopia, a hope for extrasolar space travel, strong female characters, and of course, a great story. I read the book in a week. It's a different kind of page-turner from YA--being an adult book, the plot is more grim and the subject matter presented more thoughtfully--but I wanted to keep reading to get to know about the characters and the world they live in.

One of the biggest challenges for sci-fi writers is to present a plausible reality and continuous relevance--and Butler did that magnificently. Butler, like all good dystopian writers, constructed a future that in 1997 seemed all too likely, and that even today could still be our future. Unlike many others, however, Butler presents a "solution", as she called it, should this future become real.

But, there's a lot more to the story than plot. First, the novel's presented in fragments, most of which come from Olamina's journals. The other parts come from her brother, her husband, and her daughter. Though Olamina is a sympathetic character, her dedication to Earthseed is not seen in a very positive light by those closest to her...and her daughter. I sympathized with all of them, considering their various ordeals, but I wanted them to understand Olamina, who, while she was not perfect, was only doing what she thought would advance the human race, what would fulfill her own sense of duty, even if they felt she was wrong. Butler shows how a person working for the greater good may not be seen as so good by her philosophy, a three-dimensional perspective that reflects the complex themes of the novel.

Another aspect of Talents that I enjoyed is the introduction of the notion of a "successor" to Christianity, Islam, etc. As strong as these religions are now, a new, upstart religion could emerge and--with time--overtake them all and become the new most-practiced religion. Christianity and even Judaism were not around for all of humanity, after all. The fact that there is only a god of change makes this religion unique, and ties itself much more nicely with reality than Scientology, another sci-fi religion. Instead of being good in hopes of a rewarding afterlife, Earthseed advocates space travel as a common goal that humanity can strive for, uniting communities and fostering positive change. Butler presents a vision of the future that may be unattainable, but it's nice to think that no matter how tough it gets, the human race will come together, and they themselves will create Paradise on Earth.

Due to its exciting, engaging, and thoughtful approach to character and theme that extends beyond plot progression, Talents is one of the best books of its kind that I have read so far. I recommend it to anyone that wants to read some smart sci-fi that deviates from the norm.

Critical Response Archive: Family Ties

Clarice Lispector stretches the idea of what is “realistic” in her short story collection Family Ties. The stories in Family Ties are intimately realistic, even if they do not adhere to strict realism. The reader really gets inside the heads of the main characters, while not learning of her every thought, hope, or fear. Her prose is detailed to the minutest degree; we get the feelings of some characters as they stand or throw a fit, as in “Preciousness.” Even in “The Chicken,” we are with the chicken, viewing the world at her level, though cognitively processing it above her level of thinking. It allows one to observe them while actually being with them as the action unfolds. Which isn’t much.

Most of the stories are defined by a single event: for Laura, it is when she receives a bouquet if roses in “The Imitation of the Rose,” for the chicken, it is when she makes a break to escape her fate; for the woman in “The Buffalo,” it is when she meets the buffalo while wandering aimlessly at the zoo. Not much happens outside of the characters’ heads, but so much happens inside of them that we still get to know the characters one way or another. Lispector’s stories must be carefully read, and separately, so that one can process the psychological and existential crises occurring in the everyday lives of her characters, and consider their motives. In this way she is creating distinctly feminist prose.

Most of her characters are women who feel alone or oppressed in one way or another, and in painting their sadly ordinary lives, Lispector creates characters and situations that are not only uniquely female, but also human. The humanity of women was and still is often negated from artistic expression in the Western world, women’s roles being relegated to the background or as archetypal representations or love interests. Literary critics outside the feminist circle have not even labeled Family Ties as feminist, even while such stories as “The Chicken,” “The Interpretation of the Rose,” and “Preciousness” make some pretty obvious critiques of perceptions of female beauty and maturity, the confines of the home, and the general oppression of women by the patriarchy. This could in fact a good thing, however, as it shows that she is worthy of being shelved next to the likes of Borges, instead of being slapped with a specialized label that would detach her work from canonical texts. Her stories, after all, rival the artistic innovation of many of her male contemporaries.