Too Fond of Books

A lot has been written on Gone Girl, both book and movie, lately and I've been impressed at the topics of discussion that have come up because of it, mostly because they are things that people do not like to talk about: the failure of marriage, as an institution, to provide for all parties involved in a way that compensates for all the sacrifices they make and the identities that people assume to cope with that failure. When I watched the movie with a single friend of mine, I turned to her at the end and joked, "So, hey, feel like getting married now?" and she laughed but then vehemently replied, "No way." Actually, the audience at the showing I saw was pretty worked up throughout the whole thing, and I think there were a lot of people around us thinking much the same thing. Marriage isn't usually a villain in any equation, and seeing it act like that here is at turns awkward (Amy's diary monologues about wives who control their husbands like Dancing Monkeys) and outright disturbing (Nick's sheer cluelessness about what his wife does with her time; Amy's multiple, casual re-fabrications about her life.) People around us laughed at some points, but it was an uneasy, restless laughter that left a sad tinge to the credits.

The other thing that really impressed me about the film was the number of facades that the movie presented us with: Amy and Nick's house is a blank, bland slate, colored in beige and wimpy green (not actually verdant, just the pale cousin of bright, lifelike green); Nick's bar is as generic as it gets (almost down to the level of grit on the windows, which I got the feeling the set decorators measured to be absolutely, disgustingly perfect); and all of the landscapes in the movie are either empty (the vast fields that Nick and the army of volunteers comb through, or the vague blankness of the cabin in the Ozarks where a pivotal mistake is made) or prefab and fake (Nick's office has no decorations, only a computer and a desk, cementing his status as "fake professor.") I kept expecting the characters to go around to a back of a building, only to discover that it was just a false front on a Hollywood backlot. It's a shell of a movie--a beautiful, exquisitely constructed shell that's hollow on the inside, just waiting for one of the characters to come back and truly inhabit it.

All this said, it's not a "fun" film, or a simple narrative. The book is easy to read--Flynn's sharp-witted prose just slides by like nothing else is happening and as a "need to know what happens next" type of book, it shines. The film is like that, too, relying on an excellent script from Flynn and reasonably quick pacing. But neither of them is a settling experience, and both of them made me feel like I'd watched someone else's homemade, creepy porn by accident. I'm still trying to brain bleach out a few of the images and sentiments. They're both worthwhile pieces of work, but not for the faint of heart, or those who want black-and-white endings.

In Books:

Richard Stark's Parker: The Hunter, by Darwin Cooke: The artwork in this is fantastic--I love the way that blue wash turns into noir black as the story unfolds and the overall visual style is Mad Men meets James Bond. But the gender issues in this story are disturbing enough to make this read two stars instead of three or four: women are disposable dolls and bodies, to be screwed and left for dead, or made into helpless pawns. This book doesn't do well by its male characters, either. By the end, I started to feel like this was masculinity via vein-popping caricature (I'm not kidding about the vein thing--it's actually a minor plot/descriptive point.) If you enjoy noir detective stories and are willing to ignore the strings of violent and cruel deaths, you'll probably enjoy this quite a lot; unfortunately, I couldn't bring myself to do it.

The Art Forger, by B. A. Shapiro: In all fairness, this book really isn't a bad piece of writing and shouldn't be lumped in with the one above. However, it does fit into the category of "can't believe I read this" due to its detailed and fascinating explanation of how a forger goes about recreating (convincingly) a famous/stolen piece of art, in this case, the Degas painting stolen from the Gardiner Museum in Boston. I liked the main character, although I couldn't believe how naive she was, given the past that she was coming from, which unfolded in fairly riveting detail throughout the story. Impressively, a lot of the minor characters are fleshed out in interesting and perceptive ways over the course of the book, instead of just remaining stereotypes. This was an easy and fun read, and I found myself very invested by the end. This is a book, though, that I wished I'd saved for the beach, because it would be perfect for a leisurely summer afternoon: engrossing, but not too challenging one way or another. I do recommend it for that!

At the Movies!:

The Great Gatsby: Uhm, wow. Yeah, I actually saw this movie, and I'm still wondering what the hell was up for most of it, or why the audience was expected to care about any of the characters and their whiney, pathetic, little lives. On the other hand: CLOTHES! SPECTACLE! METAPHOR! Seriously, the costuming and set dressing alone were so pretty and amazing that I was willing to forgive a lot of bullshit... but there was an awful lot of bullshit, and it went on and on, too. It got to the point where I started to go in little thought circles that went like: DiCaprio, if you say 'old sport' one more time, I'm gonna walk out of here and... ooo, wait, what's Carey Mulligan wearing now? SHINEY. And OMG DiCaprio's pink suit is so handsome that I just can't think about any of the stupid stuff right now... and look at Jordan's dress..., etc. etc. So, I suppose if you really love clothes and fashion, and crazy parties writ large on the big screen, this is the movie for you, but if you don't like to hear about Rich White People's Problems, perhaps seek out another movie.

Two side notes about this film: 1) I had been worried that the current trend for out-of-period music in period pieces would engulf this movie in annoying volume, but it was not that bad, and the soundtrack makes effective use of some lovely Gershwin music right when it's most needed to complete the spectacle, so that's a plus; and 2) I have no idea why would you ever need to see this movie in 3D. Aside from snow falling and the car chase, there is nothing that would be improved by special effects and pinch-y glasses. Save your $4, people!

In Books:

I Want My MTV: The Uncensored Story of the Music Video Revolution, by Craig Marks: I gave up on this about 100 pages in. Here's what I said on Goodreads: "I don't think that I was the target audience for this work. After about a hundred pages, it was just a blur of people talking about cocaine-fueled orgies in between making videos, casual misogyny, and poor business decisions. I should say that I am highly impressed at the author's interviewing and editing skills; without careful thought and planning, this work would have been even more disorganized and confusing. And it is amazing to think that the cultural influence that MTV had came from such a tiny germ of an idea executed by people who had almost no idea what they were doing at the time. This said, it completely lost my interest in the long list of interviewees and overall tone of the book, which was self-congratulatory and completely unaware of the implications of its content." I still stand by that. I was hoping my impression would have changed with a few weeks' time, but I'm still dissatisfied.

Marbles: Mania, Depression, Michelangelo, and Me, by Ellen Forney: I'm already looking forward to reading this again. It's a very honest, open look at Forney's grappling with bipolar disorder and how she overcomes it (and what this process entails.) I've been a fan of hers for a while, and I'm amazed after reading this that she was able to create the excellent, insightful comics that she does/did, given what she was going through at the time.

How to Be a Woman, by Catie Moran: An excellent, funny piece of writing, with an honest, wry tone. Essential reading for any card-carrying, 3rd wave feminist. Hell, it's essential reading for just about anyone!

Rosemary and Rue, by Seanan McGuire: I did enjoy this book, but I cannot remember reading anything like it, where I was so worried that the main character would die (despite the fact that I know she's the protagonist through the whole series.) She had so little to go on, and the forces she was up against had so much. Honestly, I kept wanting to hug her and tell her it would be all right, even as I suspected that it wouldn't. McGuire has a great eye for character and setting, and her descriptions of San Francisco make it a living backdrop, not just a location for the story to have short scenes in. I'm eager to read the next book in the series, but after a little while, when I've had some time to let my worry-urge rest.

On DVD/Netflix:

The Five-Year Engagement: Sometimes when you watch a movie, there's ONE SCENE that is so much better than anything else that the rest of the film just wastes away in comparison. The Five-Year Engagement was one of those movies, where there's a terrifically funny scene about three-quarters of the way through between Emily Blunt and Allison Brie. It was so good, in fact, that I wished the film had just been those two funny ladies, being their awesome, hilarious selves. The rest of the story has some OK bits, but nothing measures up to that particular sequence.

The Campaign: What a determinedly odd movie. Parts of it were funny, but other parts of it were so over the top, I don't know what to think about it.

Avengers: Earth's Mightiest Heroes, Season 2: Perhaps I've been reading Escher Girls a little too much, but the women's character designs in this are really starting to bug me. It's one thing to have to simplify a costume or a body shape for the sake of easy animation, but when all the female characters have the same exact body proportions, it really starts to get dull, visually speaking. (And, for the record, these measurements appear to be 38-18-42.) The other annoying thing is the rebranding of the show to write out the token regular female character (Wasp) and token regular person of color (Black Panther) in favor of Iron Man, Thor, Captain America, and the Hulk. Wasp and Black Panther could easily hold my attention as a super-team all by themselves, and their absence in the recent storylines is distressing.

J.K. Rowling's new book, The Casual Vacancy, comes out today to much speculation and to some incredibly snide reviews. The reviews are so vitriolic/fawning that I still have no idea whether or not I actually want to read the book, only wonder at the hatred some people apparently harbor for Rowling. (Socialist rant? What?) I mean, really, some of these quotes are written as if Rowling and the critic got into a catfight at a bar the night before. This only further supports my wish that she had published this work under a pseudonym; I suspect that the reviews would read a lot differently if the expectations from her famous series weren't hovering this new book's reputation.

In the department of books that I have actually read recently, there's The Family Fang, by Kevin Wilson, which tackles the thorny question of, "Do kids kill art, or does art kill kids?" The parents of the Fang family, Caleb and Camille, are famous performance artists who have incorporated their children into their work for years; their children, Annie and Buster, have become adults who are barely able to function in the real world. All of these characters are profoundly selfish and self-absorbed people, yet I couldn't bring myself to hate Annie and Buster, mostly due to the fact that they'd found the courage to survive their parents' art installations and the determination to break ties when it was necessary to do so. As for the assertion that kids kill art (or the opportunity to make it)... well, I can say from immediate personal experience that this is true. On the other hand, when you make the decision to have those children, you have to revise your expectations. I think my dislike of the parents in this story was the fact that they refused to revise their expectations and continued behaving just as selfishly as they had before. The answer to this, that art kills kids, is proven in spades by the rest of the book, as the depth of Annie and Buster's troubles becomes clearer and clearer. The final twist of the plot is so preposterous that ordinarily, I would have quit reading, but by that point in the story, I really expected nothing less from the people involved. There are some very funny moments in this book, and Wilson has a very deft touch with dialogue and scene setting. If you're a fan of dysfunctional families and people getting past their childhood issues, this book is written for you; if you don't like stories about children being utterly and completely on their own, I'd urge you to avoid this story. I'm glad that I read this, and it was definitely funny in places, but overall, I'm left with a wariness for stories like this, and I'm unable to pinpoint just why.

In Books:

Bleeding Out, by Jes Battis: So, I have really loved these books and was sad to read that this one would be the last. I understand that Battis has another career and other projects. However, I am very disappointed in this narrative, and I don't really feel like it was a fitting end for any of the characters, except one, and she was not the main one. ( More, with spoilers: )

Anyway, the failings of one volume don't mean that the rest are bad, and I don't want to steer anyone away from these books. I would say that the first half of the series is excellent, and well worth your time. The second half, and particularly this last book, is really for die-hard completists and masochists like myself.

At the Movies/On DVD:

Twilight: Breaking Dawn, Part 1: I have tried to keep my opinions largely to myself on this whole thing because, as the internet advises us in one of its few wise moments, it's OK to not like things, but don't be a dick about the things you don't like. However, the Twilight movies are utterly bewildering to me, and they are not improved with alcohol and good snarkery from witty friends. I really don't understand the popularity of these things when they are so poorly paced, written, and acted. OK, yes, in theory, I can see the viewership squeeing over RPatz and TLaut (who really is fairly easy on the eyes, I will admit), and I suppose that with a lot of squinting and excuse-making, the Bella/Edward love affair could be a kind of crazy-stupid that people wax all gooey-eyed about. But this movie...! It was dull beyond my wildest dreams. Even when there was action, it was poorly edited and I couldn't see what was happening. It should be exciting! Vampires v. werewolves! Except... well, the fight scenes were done as though a group of teenagers with no real-world fighting experience was RPing the whole thing, and pausing to argue about the rules along the way. ( Further insult to injury! )

The Amazing Spiderman: This was surprisingly entertaining. Sure, there were pacing problems here, too, but the acting was so good that I didn't care. Andrew Garfield and Emma Stone have real chemistry together, and Martin Sheen and Sally Field class up the whole experience something fierce, which is ironic since Martin Sheen works to class himself down, mostly succeeding. Stan Lee has the funniest cameo he's ever had in a Marvel movie. There are all these wonderful little details in it, like the perfect set dressing of Peter's room and the awkward poses of the high school photos he takes. Hell, even his camera is perfect. I enjoyed this so much more than most of the other superhero films I've seen recently.

I've read two books lately that were bursting with amazing ideas and great language, but both of which fell strangely flat about two thirds of the way through. I'm hard pressed to understand why: in both cases, I was highly invested in both the plot and the characters; there was some top notch writing in each as well. But Zoo City (by Lauren Beukes) and Swamplandia! by Karen Russell left me feeling... a bit cold and wrung out, not at all what I expected after their dynamite beginnings and middles. ( Read more, with spoilers. )

On an utterly unrelated note, yebisu9 and I caught In Time on DVD a few weeks ago. After the movie was over, we had a long and involved conversation about said movie's dystopian economy and how it made absolutely no sense at all. The premise--that time is money and the poor live on a day-to-day basis--is an intriguing one, but the execution was flawed at best. The prices were off on everything: a cup of coffee cost three minutes, up from the previous day's two? A bus ride that lasted an hour cost two? A stay in a swanky hotel for one night cost two months? The people in this dystopian future had apparently never heard of seconds, or simple laws of micro- and macro-economics. The whole moral of the story was incredibly belabored and, on the whole, too overdone for our tastes. In recalling it since, I've only thought about the ludicrous price schemes and wondered why, other than the obvious, plot-necessitated reasons, the people didn't rebel sooner.

In Books:

Uglies & Pretties, by Scott Westerfield: If there was ever a series that should be turned into a manga, it's this one. Westerfield's description of the Pretty People is a homogenized manga vision waiting to happen, with larger eyes, smaller mouths, and cheekbones to die for. (Not to mention perfect teeth, symmetrical features, moving tattoos, perfect clothes, etc. etc.) And the good news is that the manga is forthcoming! I look forward to reading it. However, the books themselves, as they are now, are quite good, too. They can truly be classified as "page turners". I went through the first one in about three days, and that's saying something, considering that I've been managing a fussy one-year-old, two classes, and various other commitments. The world that Westerfield imagines is dystopia at its worst best (or best worst, whichever you prefer.) On a post-apocalyptic Earth, all children are raised to believe they are Ugly, but that's OK, because they'll be made Pretty on their sixteenth birthdays. Except... what if you don't want the operation? And who's really in charge of what's considered beautiful? (One of the most chilling details of the books is that all Pretties have the same color skin, on the basis that it's the most Pretty and eliminates conflict.) The heroine of these books is Tally Youngblood, who starts off as a reluctant participant in what appears to be a minor rebellion, but ends up taking more and more perilous risks for what she believes in. (I haven't read the third book of the series yet, so please no spoilers.) I am very pleased in these books exist in contrast to the emphasis on physical beauty at all costs that seems to permeate American society and hope that readers will question standards of beauty as a result of reading these works. Hand this to your nearest teen reader!

The Baker Street Letters, by Michael Roberston: Harmless, but pointless. Two brothers, who I could never get a mental picture of (because there were no descriptions of them in the story), rent law offices from the bank that has its premises on 221B Baker street, and one of the conditions of their rent is that they deal with the letters that arrive for Sherlock Holmes. The younger brother, who has a variety of problems (most notably Plotdriveitis), sets off to LA to investigate two of these letters and his hapless sibling follows. Then there's some subterfuge involving the failed L.A. subway project, a few funny lines where the British brothers are mistaken for Australians, and a convoluted ending where one of the main characters is somehow ruined financially because he does the right thing. It was a fast read, but I couldn't really bring myself to care about anyone involved. At book group (which this was assigned reading for) I heard that this has been optioned for a TV series here in the U.S., and all I could think of was a snarky whine about this show doing its predecessor, Murder, She Wrote, proud. Yeah. Not a total waste of time, but not a good use of it, either.

The Ronin's Mistress, by Laura Joh Rowland: OMG OMG OMG. This series is SO GOOD! And it gets almost no attention or press, and I just want to weep. In this installment, Rowland gives us her interpretation of the popular 47 Ronin legend, complete with psychosexual drama, ritual suicide, and palace intrigue, all used to great effect. She also pushes her characters to their breaking points, in the best possible way. At this point in the story, our hero, Inspector Sano, has made so many enemies that the other shoe is going to have to start dropping, and soon. Rowland gets the drop started in fine fashion and parcels out some excellent character development for many of the regularly appearing characters, along with a truly engrossing murder mystery, told in a Rashomon-style multiple points of view approach. Of course, the thing that worries me is that the shoe is still dropping, and even though Sano solves the central mystery, he ends the story in a worse position than when he started. Future installments will no doubt have me shouting advice and recriminations at the characters, because nothing good can come from this, and I am very invested in almost everyone in the story. SO GOOD! Damn! You can start the series here, or at the beginning (Shinjuu), but either is well worth it! Damn!

In Manga:

Naruto, Vol. 28: I'm fairly excited to finally get past the time skip and see how all the characters have grown. But I'm worried that this story is teetering on the brink of the too-many-characters!chasm and the plot is about to focus on the characters I don't care about so much. I can see that Kishimoto wants to raise the stakes for our heroes (and token heroine) by elaborating on the villains and their elaborately slow and complicated plan. But I can tell I'm about to lose patience with said elaborate, slow plot, mostly because it doesn't have the ring of truth. It's one thing to have a "long con" plot device, but you have to keep referring to the con, somehow, even just in passing. ("I'm just biding my time here!" Thought Character X, as she faked a smile in Character Y's direction.) In the case of Naruto, the con appears to be so much waiting and seeing that I don't think it's ever going to stop being a con. Which is very frustrating, at least for this constant reader.

In Concert:

I had the good fortune to see The Lord of the Rings: The Fellowship of the Ring with a live orchestra and choir soundtrack last night. If this is touring in your city, I cannot recommend it enough. Howard Shore's score is beautiful, and the performance is moving and lovely, especially the performance of "May It Be" by a singer who I suspect is better than Enya (no autotune was necessary!).

In Comics:

This isn't really a comic, per se... I really need to bust out an Original English Language tag. But it's a little hard to classify this work in the first place, so I'm sticking with the generic 'comics' and 'books' label.

Anyway, Will the Super Villains Be on the Final?, Volume 1, words by Naomi Novik, pictures by Yishan Li: This was... not what I expected. Obviously, writers aren't limited to one particular genre or setting, and I didn't expect Novik to write dragons-and-tall-ships sagas forever. But this genre, YA OEL manga, with a modern-day, comic book superhero story, isn't where I ever thought she would end up, and the results are somewhat uneven. On one hand, the heroine has a very cool superpower (atomic manipulation) and is paired up with a funny, kind empath best friend on their first day of studies at Liberty Vocational, a school for aspiring teenage superheroes. There are also some very complicated questions about the ethics of superherodom, which are introduced in a natural and interesting fashion (along the lines of a class where aspiring heroines/heroes must debate the eternal "needs of the many vs. needs of the few" issue.) But the book itself... it's an oddly spineless read. It should be interesting, funny, and engaging, but it doesn't feel that way. I get the distinct impression that this was a manga written by committee, with Novik on the masthead. All the trappings of the shoujo manga genre are there: the ridiculously clumsy heroine, the conflicted love interest, and aloof classmates who're snobby for plot-driven reasons only... And when they're put together like this, the genre as a whole comes across as hollow and foolish. I cannot believe that the heroine is as clumsy as she's shown to be, or has no other ambition besides wanting to go out with the cute guy (who she's only met the day before). The villain's plan seems unnecessarily convoluted, while the other adults in the story are, for the most part, unsympathetic and authoritarian for reasons that are, as yet, unclear. I don't know what to make of this; it's lightweight and silly, and it should have been a good distraction, but I couldn't help feeling like I was wasting my time. And I don't associate that kind of guilt with any of Novik's other works. It as if she came up with a plot, got distracted, and let the editors and artist do whatever they wanted. Although some manga benefit from collaboration, this one didn't, not by a long shot. (I'd be happy to share this copy with anyone else who wants it, just to see if I'm really being too snobby.)

On TV:

Ugly Betty, Seasons 1-3: I like that this show always defies my expectations in the best way; just when I think I've nailed where the plot is going, it surprises me with a twist (dramatic or small). And I love that the characters grow and change, not just the main character. I do not, however, like being right about the main character's latest love interest, who turned out to actually be a real jackass. Anyway, fluffy fun, and a very likable way to spend my time feeding the baby.

The New York Times has an interesting discussion here on the growing trend for dystopian topics in Young Adult literature. Among the debaters are several YA authors, experts and professors. (Adding a young adult to that mix would probably have been appropriate as well.) Why are books like The Hunger Games so popular right now? The answers are diverse and interesting; the short essays by each contributor are well worth the read. For my money, though, there's another answer that none of the contributors touches on: the great majority of dystopian YA books contain sophisticated writing and content that shows the readers that the author respects them enough to not condescend. For example, The Hunger Games is a violent and scary book, and Collins doesn't pull any punches (pardon the euphemism), and therein is the key to its success. (If Collins had had the scenes shift away the fighting and violence instead of portraying it and its consequences honestly, the book would have been a lot less effective and popular.) Or, for another example, the His Dark Materials series contains some very complicated philosophical and religious themes that most YA books eschew. (Perhaps the failure of The Golden Compass as a movie lies with the fact that the screenplay completely abandoned these themes.) Young adults are just that: young adults, and as such, want to read works that treat them like adults, not idiots who just want simplified romance and toothless conflict.

I remember reading Bridge to Terabithia when I was about eleven. The themes and characters in that book rang incredibly true to me, and the death of one of the major characters was made all the more bittersweet because of the honesty the author treated it with. (The ensuing guilt and grief is raw and true, and entirely realistic.) The book did not have the falsely sweet, almost sing-songy, tone to it that other books dealing with death I'd read had. Terabithia gave me the knowledge necessary to deal with death when I did encounter it, and I can say I'm a better person for having read it. It wasn't a work of dystopia, per se, but it was serious and important without taking itself too seriously. Books like these wax and wane in popularity, but I think the serious side of YA will always be there, and it will always be necessary.

In Books:

Night Passage, by Robert Parker: I appreciate that Parker is able to slide comfortably between dialogue and narration like it's no big thing. One tells the story better than the other, sometimes, and he's not afraid to dump whichever one isn't serving his narrative at the moment. As the hero, Jesse Stone is compelling without being anywhere near one hundred percent "good"; he's a real person with real problems. The villains are just skillful enough to be a little menacing, and the setting is ably described with a minimum of set-up. I am sad that Parker died recently, and so I will never have a chance to tell him how much I enjoy his work.

In Movies, by extension, thoughts on books:

Toy Story 3, with guest appearances by The Velveteen Rabbit: I cannot emphasize enough that, despite its G rating (and what's with that?!) and aggressive marketing campaign, this is not a movie for young children. After the film was over, in the ladies' room, I overheard at least two Moms have damage control discussions with their little ones: "Yes, there were some scary parts. And there were sad parts, too. But it was just a story, right?" Yes, it's just a story. But it's the kind of story that would have terrified me as a child. ( Cut for fairly gratuitous spoilers. )

This isn't to say that I didn't enjoy the movie; I really liked it. It's a very satisfying story, coupled with some beautiful animation. The stuffed animals' fur, in particular, looked so soft! I wanted to touch them very much. (Especially the Totoro plushie!) The worlds the characters inhabit are all richly realized and rendered, including a wonderful sequence at the beginning that's clearly meant to be part of Andy's imagination of the adventures his toys are having. (Like all good kid logic, toys that have no relevance to one another find excuses to be involved in the whole story: Buzz, Jesse, and Woody are crime-fighting allies! The Potato Heads are criminal masterminds! Little sister who's just wandered in and knocked over the elaborate tinker toy construction is a 50-foot tall, alien baby!) The final fifteen minutes or so of the movie are genuinely moving and bittersweet (hell, the final half hour is an emotional roller coaster). But I think my favorite idea of the entire film is its most subtle one, and it revolves around the question of what form love should ideally take. That's a meaty question for any movie to tackle, let alone one that's ostensibly aimed at children, and the answer (and its various permutations) is heartfelt without being maudlin or sentimental.