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.