This is a fascinating book. It's an epistolary novel, consisting of letters back and forth between two young women, but each woman is written by a different author. Isn't that brilliant? I really want to do this. In fact, Jacob and I started one of these but he dropped out after a couple, which apparently happens all the time. I had no idea this was a thing! I absolutely want to do this now, so if there's anyone out there who has the commitment and follow-through for such a fun project, let me know!
Also, the authors did this wonderful thing. Remember how I'm always complaining about magic being poorly written? And I insist on a good metaphor? Well, they have one. There's a thing called a focus, which a magician uses to strengthen and increase and, well, focus his or her power. And the authors describe it as glasses, spectacles. I kind of want to quote this because it's brilliant.
"It seems there are a great many magicians who, in order to use their magic most effectively, must have an object through which to focus their power. This object must be kept nearby when casting spells. (I believe it works along the same lines as wearing spectacles--some people need them, others don't; every pair is different and it does no good to try to use someone else's; one can see without them, but not nearly so well; and they do one no good whatever if they are not in place when one requires them.)"
I can't believe I just quoted a parenthetical since former students will know I'm rabidly anti-parentheses, but still! What a great metaphor, huh? In this case the focus is a chocolate pot. A pot for hot chocolate. The book is set in 1817, did I mention that?
I actually had a terrible time reading this book. The two girls seem nearly identical in the way they write and act and even by the end I was going, "Wait, Kate is the one who got sick. Is she? Which one goes riding?" The only way to distinguish them was that one can do magic, which is only helpful if she's actually doing the magic. They both go to parties and dance a lot and think a lot about clothes and boys.
I often feel like apologizing if I can't tell characters apart, assuming it's my fault, like I can't remember which college student is Taylor and which is Tyler. It's true, I'm almost incapable of sticking those names on properly. Once I had a class with two of each in it, except one of each was a boy and one was a girl. A girl Tyler, a boy Tyler, a girl Taylor, and a boy Taylor. You try it!
One was in London and the other in a small town, but since they spent nearly all their time indoors, that didn't help either, unless someone went to Vauxhall or was out riding a horse.
Really I think the characterization was just weak. They should have had different writing styles and vocabularies, spoken differently, had different writing tics like lots of short sentences, or using words wrong, or something. Because as it was, I had to wait to the end of the letter to see which it was, and then that didn't help because one was Cecy and one was Kate. Yeah, I still don't know which was which. Though the guys they liked were a lot more vivid. I think this is a big weakness in a book, y'all.
Still, I read the whole thing, and I enjoyed it despite having no idea who was writing when and not being able to tell the characters apart.
I am a huge fan of epistolary novels, especially modern ones where there's texting, voicemail, email, notes, and all sorts of varieties of written communication. Papers written in college, job application letters, thank you cards, etc. So much you can do! I did start writing one of these and really liked it, especially the possibilities for multiple points of view and ambiguity. Obviously the weakness is that everything is narrated by someone. You have no direct action. But I've seen this done beautifully, including in Sorcery and Cecelia, where someone describes something and it slides into direct storytelling, away from the narrative format. I mean, it stops reading like someone telling a story and becomes just a story. Then afterward you might think, "Hey, wait a minute," but most often it disappears.
Epistolary is something I really love and want to play a lot with. I mean, think of a chapter where someone is telling someone else about watching a movie with a third person. You get that one level of narrative, plus the movie's story, plus of course the conversation during the movie, plus you know they're both texting to others.
It's so rich in potential because it's always multi-level narrative, someone telling a story to someone else for a particular reason. And people have weird and crazy reasons to tell stories sometimes. To gross someone out! To impress! Because it upset them! Because they're excited! Because they're sad! Because they're distracting that person while someone else is setting up a surprise party in the other room! Because they want something! Because the other person was a jerk and this is a moral fable for our time!
It all goes back to Chaucer and the frame tale. I'll never recover from how amazingly well he did it. The stories his characters told, where they think they're illustrating one thing about themselves that they're proud of, but actually they're shining a much less flattering light. Those have left my mind permanently blown.
And I seem to know people lately who do the same thing, especially one person who tells stories bragging about completely hateful and awful things, really reprehensible things, but told in such a way that you can tell they are real points of pride. And tells outrageous lies where everyone in the room is listening politely and knows that they are plain flat-out lies. Sometimes the lies are so completely ludicrous that it's almost embarrassing because the person isn't self-aware or smart enough to make up something plausible.
Someone who thinks they're the smartest person in the room when they're really, really not is great in fiction. As long as you hate that person. I'm reminded of the boss lady in Meg Cabot's epistolary novel, one of the Boy series--is it The Boy Next Door? Where the boss does something bad to impress someone else, and then has to keep doing more and more drastic things to cover it up. But you maybe feel a bit sorry for her, definitely by the end, because she's ruining herself completely in the process.
If I were ever rewriting Canterbury Tales, heaven forbid, I would make it so that all those excellent characters had a whole story around them. This one wants something from that one, that one did something wrong to that one, the other owes the fourth a huge favor and is trying to get out of it, and all kinds of complex Battlestarry backstory. All of which you'd learn from what they say and don't say, and what they reveal inadvertently.
Awesome. Isn't this what people are after when they watch DVD commentaries and try to learn all about authors? This is that extra level we want. It's that mental sifting you do when you see an actor or author interviewed, where you want to separate the fiction from the real world. Only it's all inside the fiction.
Imagine an epistolary novel about someone with delusions of grandeur, or a very vivid imagination. Not so much I Am the Cheese as The Secret Life of Walter Mitty. Or both, really. I think every time anyone tells a story, they're living out both of those. So what I want is the story that shows you that person living those two, without being aware of it. Excellent.
I don't see why epistolary novels should be WYSIWYG when there is infinite possibility for so very much more. When nobody ever tells the plain truth anyway, even when they try really hard!
I'd rather see what Meg Cabot does so well, where someone reports an event in such a way that you can tell that that interpretation is a very loose one. Like someone who tells a friend a story about this guy who is in love with her but hiding it, so he just reads his book and is careful not to look at her. Except from how she tells it, you can tell the guy is actually just reading his book. THAT. Only lots, lots more.
Anyway I'm infinitely grateful to Sorcery and Cecelia for making me think about all of this. Hurray!
Saturday, May 7, 2011
Sunday, May 1, 2011
What we know and when we know it
Rewatching season one of Battlestar Galactica and suddenly realizing how much of the awesomeness comes from dramatic irony, things we know that the characters don't know.
Of course there's the thing about how we know that Earth is real. And we know who's a Cylon when the other characters don't. That's a huge part of it, right there--who's a Cylon? And part of *that* is that we only know a few of them at the beginning, so anyone could be. In season one we only know Six, Leoben, Sharon, and Doral. So if someone accuses someone else of being a Cylon, we don't know whether they are or not.
What else? We know that Laura has cancer but most people don't. Just the doctor, Billy, and Lee. From the miniseries we know that Starbuck brought about Zak's death, but we find that out right when Lee does. Adama doesn't find out for a couple of episodes. A whole lot of the tension of season one comes from the backstory among Lee, Starbuck, and Adama. And Adama and Tigh go way back, too.
One of the most brilliant things about Battlestar structurally is how front-loaded it was with stories that were already underway when the miniseries started. I have always really admired that. It's brilliant storytelling. One of the biggest mistakes a writer can make is behaving as though everything interesting started at the exact moment we come in. It gives the story such realistic weight. At one point Tigh tells Roslin that it would take about three weeks to explain the situation with Adama, Lee, and Starbuck in relation to Zak.
Actually I was thinking about this with Hot Fuzz also. The story in that little town has been going on for ages before our hero shows up.
Good things to remember when writing: have lots of balls already in the air, in mid-trajectory.
But the things we know that the characters don't know, that fascinates me. I never do this, I don't think. I never tell the reader things that some or all of the characters don't know. Do you do this? I think I should start, because holy cow, the tension is amazing.
I was just thinking of a character of mine arguing that ancient Greek drama didn't have dramatic irony, but it totally did. Obviously. Look at Oedipus. That's the whole point! We know and he doesn't know. Jocasta doesn't know. Nobody knows. The entire point of the play is Oedipus and Jocasta finding out that they're mother and son. Gross! And of course we go in spoiled, so to speak.
I always wondered about this when having students read it. Should I tell them the big secret? Greek audiences would have known. The whole point is that you know the story and watch it unfold so that you can be even more tortured, watching the characters not know and then find out. Exactly like Battlestar.
I'm watching the Chief watch Sharon petting the Cylon ship and wondering whether she's a Cylon, though it seems like he can't even admit to himself that he's thinking that. So there are several things going on in that one little scene.
1. Sharon doesn't know she's a Cylon. We're waiting for her to find out.
2. Chief doesn't know Sharon's a Cylon. We're waiting for him to find out.
3. Everyone trusts Sharon and doesn't know there's an enemy infiltrating their ranks--that they're incredibly vulnerable. We're waiting for them to find out.
So there are two personal stresses there and one general stress. Also that extra stress of the broken off relationship between Sharon and the Chief.
Brilliantly enough, the same exact thing is playing out with Helo and another Sharon, only she goes from pretending to fall for Helo to actually falling for Helo and betraying her own people. They tell her to get him to a cabin where they can hole up for a while, and she goes right back to him and tells him they have to run.
Only we (and Sharon) know all this. The Cylons don't know she's running. Helo doesn't know she's running from the Cylons. It's just like with Baltar. We're in an incredibly privileged position, so that we know what's going on in their lie-filled heads. We know all the lies because we know the truth.
But we don't know the truth about everything. Like Leoben, is he telling the truth? He seems to know things about Starbuck that upset her, but we don't know anything about her at this point, so we don't know if it's true.
It's almost like we get first person points of view with some of these characters because we're with them when they're alone and we know what they're not telling anyone else. We know their lies and what they're hiding. We know the truth.
I'm always fascinated by the difference between dramatic irony like that and the classic mystery. In one, we know things that some characters don't know and watch them figure it out. In the other, we don't know everything, or we don't know how things fit together, until all is revealed at the end and we can appreciate the cleverness of the author at giving us all the pieces yet hiding the solution. One is Oedipus and the other is Fight Club.
I think Battlestar is both. But season one is way more Oedipus. I think Oedipus is much more stressful and also much more enjoyable because we know what's behind that door that you're about to open and we can feel what you're going to feel for ages in advance. Anticipation and the pleasure of dramatic irony are much more interesting and powerful than just appreciating some cleverness afterward.
I would really like to use the godlike POV of dramatic irony with this character who may or may not be an actual god. (I know, but I'm not saying, ha!) I should use it a lot more because it's much more powerful.
Well, look at the different options:
1) Character sees and talks to a god who we know is real. Her friends think she's crazy, but she knows she isn't and so do we. (Oedipus)
2) Character sees and talks to a god who doesn't exist. Her friends think she's crazy and so do we, but she knows she isn't. (Oedipus)
3) Character sees and talks to a god who may or may not be real. Her friends think she's crazy, but we're not sure until the end. (Fight Club)
It's odd because I started the book one way (I'm not saying which) and then introduced two elements: one confirms #1 and one confirms #2. Which I guess puts you firmly at #3, which is Fight Club again, and not Oedipus. I want Oedipus instead. I really believe Oedipus is infinitely more interesting and powerful, either way.
Also, with #2 we're watching the story of a crazy person or possibly a commentary on religion, whereas with #1 we're watching the story of an ancient god in modern life, which would obviously be better every kind of way. And is also a commentary on religion.
I'm not really sure what Six turns out to be in relation to Baltar. Honestly I can't remember how it all worked out in the end. Was she an angel sent by God to guide him? Or what? I dunno. I'll get there sooner rather than later, the speed I'm whipping through season one. I should have known I would have no ability to be moderate with this show. I figured I'd watch a couple a day, one or two, but I saw the miniseries and the first four yesterday and have already watched four today while cooking and cleaning just in the kitchen. Haven't even started my quiltapalooza yet. I'd bet on another four tonight.
What drives it, though? I really believe it's because I know things the characters don't know and I can't stand waiting to watch that shoe drop. It's the dramatic irony. Well, think about if you worked with someone and knew a secret about that person, whether it's something they did or something that's going to happen to them later that day. Unresolved secrets are pure torture. You can't wait for the resolution. It's so much better than waiting to find out the secret yourself.
Of course there's the thing about how we know that Earth is real. And we know who's a Cylon when the other characters don't. That's a huge part of it, right there--who's a Cylon? And part of *that* is that we only know a few of them at the beginning, so anyone could be. In season one we only know Six, Leoben, Sharon, and Doral. So if someone accuses someone else of being a Cylon, we don't know whether they are or not.
What else? We know that Laura has cancer but most people don't. Just the doctor, Billy, and Lee. From the miniseries we know that Starbuck brought about Zak's death, but we find that out right when Lee does. Adama doesn't find out for a couple of episodes. A whole lot of the tension of season one comes from the backstory among Lee, Starbuck, and Adama. And Adama and Tigh go way back, too.
One of the most brilliant things about Battlestar structurally is how front-loaded it was with stories that were already underway when the miniseries started. I have always really admired that. It's brilliant storytelling. One of the biggest mistakes a writer can make is behaving as though everything interesting started at the exact moment we come in. It gives the story such realistic weight. At one point Tigh tells Roslin that it would take about three weeks to explain the situation with Adama, Lee, and Starbuck in relation to Zak.
Actually I was thinking about this with Hot Fuzz also. The story in that little town has been going on for ages before our hero shows up.
Good things to remember when writing: have lots of balls already in the air, in mid-trajectory.
But the things we know that the characters don't know, that fascinates me. I never do this, I don't think. I never tell the reader things that some or all of the characters don't know. Do you do this? I think I should start, because holy cow, the tension is amazing.
I was just thinking of a character of mine arguing that ancient Greek drama didn't have dramatic irony, but it totally did. Obviously. Look at Oedipus. That's the whole point! We know and he doesn't know. Jocasta doesn't know. Nobody knows. The entire point of the play is Oedipus and Jocasta finding out that they're mother and son. Gross! And of course we go in spoiled, so to speak.
I always wondered about this when having students read it. Should I tell them the big secret? Greek audiences would have known. The whole point is that you know the story and watch it unfold so that you can be even more tortured, watching the characters not know and then find out. Exactly like Battlestar.
I'm watching the Chief watch Sharon petting the Cylon ship and wondering whether she's a Cylon, though it seems like he can't even admit to himself that he's thinking that. So there are several things going on in that one little scene.
1. Sharon doesn't know she's a Cylon. We're waiting for her to find out.
2. Chief doesn't know Sharon's a Cylon. We're waiting for him to find out.
3. Everyone trusts Sharon and doesn't know there's an enemy infiltrating their ranks--that they're incredibly vulnerable. We're waiting for them to find out.
So there are two personal stresses there and one general stress. Also that extra stress of the broken off relationship between Sharon and the Chief.
Brilliantly enough, the same exact thing is playing out with Helo and another Sharon, only she goes from pretending to fall for Helo to actually falling for Helo and betraying her own people. They tell her to get him to a cabin where they can hole up for a while, and she goes right back to him and tells him they have to run.
Only we (and Sharon) know all this. The Cylons don't know she's running. Helo doesn't know she's running from the Cylons. It's just like with Baltar. We're in an incredibly privileged position, so that we know what's going on in their lie-filled heads. We know all the lies because we know the truth.
But we don't know the truth about everything. Like Leoben, is he telling the truth? He seems to know things about Starbuck that upset her, but we don't know anything about her at this point, so we don't know if it's true.
It's almost like we get first person points of view with some of these characters because we're with them when they're alone and we know what they're not telling anyone else. We know their lies and what they're hiding. We know the truth.
I'm always fascinated by the difference between dramatic irony like that and the classic mystery. In one, we know things that some characters don't know and watch them figure it out. In the other, we don't know everything, or we don't know how things fit together, until all is revealed at the end and we can appreciate the cleverness of the author at giving us all the pieces yet hiding the solution. One is Oedipus and the other is Fight Club.
I think Battlestar is both. But season one is way more Oedipus. I think Oedipus is much more stressful and also much more enjoyable because we know what's behind that door that you're about to open and we can feel what you're going to feel for ages in advance. Anticipation and the pleasure of dramatic irony are much more interesting and powerful than just appreciating some cleverness afterward.
I would really like to use the godlike POV of dramatic irony with this character who may or may not be an actual god. (I know, but I'm not saying, ha!) I should use it a lot more because it's much more powerful.
Well, look at the different options:
1) Character sees and talks to a god who we know is real. Her friends think she's crazy, but she knows she isn't and so do we. (Oedipus)
2) Character sees and talks to a god who doesn't exist. Her friends think she's crazy and so do we, but she knows she isn't. (Oedipus)
3) Character sees and talks to a god who may or may not be real. Her friends think she's crazy, but we're not sure until the end. (Fight Club)
It's odd because I started the book one way (I'm not saying which) and then introduced two elements: one confirms #1 and one confirms #2. Which I guess puts you firmly at #3, which is Fight Club again, and not Oedipus. I want Oedipus instead. I really believe Oedipus is infinitely more interesting and powerful, either way.
Also, with #2 we're watching the story of a crazy person or possibly a commentary on religion, whereas with #1 we're watching the story of an ancient god in modern life, which would obviously be better every kind of way. And is also a commentary on religion.
I'm not really sure what Six turns out to be in relation to Baltar. Honestly I can't remember how it all worked out in the end. Was she an angel sent by God to guide him? Or what? I dunno. I'll get there sooner rather than later, the speed I'm whipping through season one. I should have known I would have no ability to be moderate with this show. I figured I'd watch a couple a day, one or two, but I saw the miniseries and the first four yesterday and have already watched four today while cooking and cleaning just in the kitchen. Haven't even started my quiltapalooza yet. I'd bet on another four tonight.
What drives it, though? I really believe it's because I know things the characters don't know and I can't stand waiting to watch that shoe drop. It's the dramatic irony. Well, think about if you worked with someone and knew a secret about that person, whether it's something they did or something that's going to happen to them later that day. Unresolved secrets are pure torture. You can't wait for the resolution. It's so much better than waiting to find out the secret yourself.
Sunday, April 17, 2011
Rachel Vail: Lucky, Gorgeous, Brilliant
*** SPOILER ALERT***
The most interesting thing about this series of three books (Lucky, Gorgeous, Brilliant) was watching the same stories unfold from three different points of view. Three very different points of view, in fact--major events from one story don't even appear in the others. Also each one covers a slightly different block of time, which makes everything even more complicated and compelling.
That said, the girls are going through life events that I probably don't have as much sympathy for as I should. And I don't think that's my fault. They're portrayed as poor little rich girls who are losing some of their privilege because of a family financial crisis. They are incredibly spoiled and unaware of it. And they behave badly, acting out in trite, self-endangering ways that just made me want to slap them. Really, you go get drunk at a stupid party to get back at your parents?
I don't really know that the author realizes how unsympathetic extreme privilege is, especially when it is completely unappreciated by the characters. I'm guessing 99% of the readers are not as privileged as these girls. When their problems had to do with normal life stuff, like a teacher being unfair or wanting to write a good paper or having trouble studying, it was fine, but when your major life crisis is that your Steinway grand piano got taken away, well, boo-hoo. It's so over the top that it's ludicrous and I lost any connection I had with that girl. They have *another piano.* And it's not like we ever saw her playing it, or loving it, or connecting with it in any way. No, we *hear* that she played it a lot and then we see that she's sad when it's gone. That feels like she's sad because she doesn't have her huge status symbol anymore.
A lot of YA does this and I wish it wouldn't. There are so many common experiences at that age. Why focus on privilege, which is infinitely less common? This is why I like Sarah Dessen's books--the girls work, the guys work, they have exceedingly crappy cars if at all, and those cars need gas, which costs money. People have to do homework. There are chores. There are real problems, like in Lock and Key. You don't find characters whining about losing their Steinway.
Of course losing something you consider yours and care a lot about really matters, but it can be something less blatantly a symbol of egregious wealth. The porch swing. The hammock on the tree out back. The tree itself--that's something that you can't take with you when you go. See what I mean? It can be relatable. It can be something other than a Steinway grand.
Overall the series was fascinating because of the multiple points of view, and because of the characters finding their own identities (the most common YA trope) but the overwhelming emphasis on privilege and the selfish lack of perspective or sense of humor in the characters kind of left me cold. They seem like mean, cold, selfish girls who only care about themselves and their status and how they "perform" in their designated roles.
The most interesting thing about this series of three books (Lucky, Gorgeous, Brilliant) was watching the same stories unfold from three different points of view. Three very different points of view, in fact--major events from one story don't even appear in the others. Also each one covers a slightly different block of time, which makes everything even more complicated and compelling.
That said, the girls are going through life events that I probably don't have as much sympathy for as I should. And I don't think that's my fault. They're portrayed as poor little rich girls who are losing some of their privilege because of a family financial crisis. They are incredibly spoiled and unaware of it. And they behave badly, acting out in trite, self-endangering ways that just made me want to slap them. Really, you go get drunk at a stupid party to get back at your parents?
I don't really know that the author realizes how unsympathetic extreme privilege is, especially when it is completely unappreciated by the characters. I'm guessing 99% of the readers are not as privileged as these girls. When their problems had to do with normal life stuff, like a teacher being unfair or wanting to write a good paper or having trouble studying, it was fine, but when your major life crisis is that your Steinway grand piano got taken away, well, boo-hoo. It's so over the top that it's ludicrous and I lost any connection I had with that girl. They have *another piano.* And it's not like we ever saw her playing it, or loving it, or connecting with it in any way. No, we *hear* that she played it a lot and then we see that she's sad when it's gone. That feels like she's sad because she doesn't have her huge status symbol anymore.
A lot of YA does this and I wish it wouldn't. There are so many common experiences at that age. Why focus on privilege, which is infinitely less common? This is why I like Sarah Dessen's books--the girls work, the guys work, they have exceedingly crappy cars if at all, and those cars need gas, which costs money. People have to do homework. There are chores. There are real problems, like in Lock and Key. You don't find characters whining about losing their Steinway.
Of course losing something you consider yours and care a lot about really matters, but it can be something less blatantly a symbol of egregious wealth. The porch swing. The hammock on the tree out back. The tree itself--that's something that you can't take with you when you go. See what I mean? It can be relatable. It can be something other than a Steinway grand.
Overall the series was fascinating because of the multiple points of view, and because of the characters finding their own identities (the most common YA trope) but the overwhelming emphasis on privilege and the selfish lack of perspective or sense of humor in the characters kind of left me cold. They seem like mean, cold, selfish girls who only care about themselves and their status and how they "perform" in their designated roles.
Maggie Stiefvater: Shiver
** spoiler alert ** I've heard good things about this book, so decided to try it, even though I can't stand the YA books that use supernatural exoticism (vampires, fairies) as a stand-in for actual compelling drama.
I stopped reading this. It's a YA romance set in a supernatural world, but the romance is one of those "he stares at her across the room but she doesn't know he exists" type things that does nothing for me. It's not a story. And the heroine is in love with a wolf she doesn't know is anything but a wolf, which is just problematic all kinds of ways.
Sure, we know how it's going to work out, but how is that a recommendation?
YA SF needs to pull itself together and stop letting exoticism replace compelling drama. You can have both! You should always write a story that would be amazing even if the characters were plain old boring humans. If it's relying on fairies or vampires or werewolves to be interesting, then it's not a good story.
That said, the writing was gorgeous and vivid. I would love to see this author write more! But without the crutch of the supernatural. Authors really do the genre a disservice by failing to hold themselves to high standards of story independent of the supernatural.
I stopped reading this. It's a YA romance set in a supernatural world, but the romance is one of those "he stares at her across the room but she doesn't know he exists" type things that does nothing for me. It's not a story. And the heroine is in love with a wolf she doesn't know is anything but a wolf, which is just problematic all kinds of ways.
Sure, we know how it's going to work out, but how is that a recommendation?
YA SF needs to pull itself together and stop letting exoticism replace compelling drama. You can have both! You should always write a story that would be amazing even if the characters were plain old boring humans. If it's relying on fairies or vampires or werewolves to be interesting, then it's not a good story.
That said, the writing was gorgeous and vivid. I would love to see this author write more! But without the crutch of the supernatural. Authors really do the genre a disservice by failing to hold themselves to high standards of story independent of the supernatural.
Friday, April 1, 2011
When is a story not a story?
I'm reading Maggie Stiefvater's book Shiver, about a girl who's in love with a werewolf. I think she might be one herself, not sure. I just started it. It's one of those YA books where nothing really happens. I find that un-compelling even though it's a perfectly fine book. This seems to be more common with SF-ish ones. Why do you think that is? Sometimes people fall in love with worldbuilding and utterly forget that they have to TELL A DANG STORY. Something gripping that makes me want to turn the pages, sheesh.
There are enough clues that I'm certain what's going to happen. Even if I'm wrong, it's not a state of being that makes me carry the book around the house and read ahead breathlessly. And I'm home sick today. See.
Who is it, Niven? I think Niven. The one who wrote dozens of stacks of novels that are all worldbuilding and no story. Worse is when someone is working out ideas about something and using characters to discuss it. Oh just kill me now.
So I'm in love with my new novel in progress, but I had always planned out this whole side of the story I was going to tell from Apollo's point of view, you know, explaining all that, but I'm absolutely not going to do it. But I am going to let people in the book think it up as a daft scenario among other daft scenarios. You don't have to explain magical realism--in fact, not explaining is part of what makes it magical realism. Even if it's more like Classics-al realism. Anyway I think it's infinitely more fun if we don't really know if someone is crazycakes or experiencing the ancient divine, or maybe those are the same thing anyway.
I mean, if you need the world to give you something, you find a way to make it give you that thing, and you see it the way that you personally would see it. Interpretation is reality what with how we don't have one without the other.
If your brain is peopled by saints, when someone appears who doesn't fit into the normal human world, you see a saint. If it's aliens, you see an alien. If it's classical mythology, you see the gods and the people from the myths. If it's tv, you see the characters and the actors. I'm certainly guilty of that one. When I first got here to not-Hollywood, I kept thinking I saw actors I recognized. My brain was set with that filter.
When I saw a hawk flying over carrying a snake, my mind went straight to ancient portents.
I wish we'd seen a lot more about how polytheism works in a modern setting in Caprica. You know I loved Caprica all kinds of ways, though I found almost all of the characters pretty hard to like, for various reasons. But my favorite thing is modern polytheism seeing devotion to various things as religion. Devoted to sports? Your god is x. Devoted to knitting and quilting? Your god is y. It's a way of seeing what's already there. We ARE already devoted those ways so calling them gods is perfectly logical.
Anyway, now I'm thinking a lot about the What's Going to Happen page-turning urgency of this book and I'm not so sure it's there yet, though there's definitely a lot of Is She Bananacakes? going on. But just like with Shiver, that's not enough. Must think about the story on top of that. I just thought of something between the end of that sentence and the beginning of this one, something that's already in what I've written so far but wasn't turned into story.
I have to go write that right exactly now.
There are enough clues that I'm certain what's going to happen. Even if I'm wrong, it's not a state of being that makes me carry the book around the house and read ahead breathlessly. And I'm home sick today. See.
Who is it, Niven? I think Niven. The one who wrote dozens of stacks of novels that are all worldbuilding and no story. Worse is when someone is working out ideas about something and using characters to discuss it. Oh just kill me now.
So I'm in love with my new novel in progress, but I had always planned out this whole side of the story I was going to tell from Apollo's point of view, you know, explaining all that, but I'm absolutely not going to do it. But I am going to let people in the book think it up as a daft scenario among other daft scenarios. You don't have to explain magical realism--in fact, not explaining is part of what makes it magical realism. Even if it's more like Classics-al realism. Anyway I think it's infinitely more fun if we don't really know if someone is crazycakes or experiencing the ancient divine, or maybe those are the same thing anyway.
I mean, if you need the world to give you something, you find a way to make it give you that thing, and you see it the way that you personally would see it. Interpretation is reality what with how we don't have one without the other.
If your brain is peopled by saints, when someone appears who doesn't fit into the normal human world, you see a saint. If it's aliens, you see an alien. If it's classical mythology, you see the gods and the people from the myths. If it's tv, you see the characters and the actors. I'm certainly guilty of that one. When I first got here to not-Hollywood, I kept thinking I saw actors I recognized. My brain was set with that filter.
When I saw a hawk flying over carrying a snake, my mind went straight to ancient portents.
I wish we'd seen a lot more about how polytheism works in a modern setting in Caprica. You know I loved Caprica all kinds of ways, though I found almost all of the characters pretty hard to like, for various reasons. But my favorite thing is modern polytheism seeing devotion to various things as religion. Devoted to sports? Your god is x. Devoted to knitting and quilting? Your god is y. It's a way of seeing what's already there. We ARE already devoted those ways so calling them gods is perfectly logical.
Anyway, now I'm thinking a lot about the What's Going to Happen page-turning urgency of this book and I'm not so sure it's there yet, though there's definitely a lot of Is She Bananacakes? going on. But just like with Shiver, that's not enough. Must think about the story on top of that. I just thought of something between the end of that sentence and the beginning of this one, something that's already in what I've written so far but wasn't turned into story.
I have to go write that right exactly now.
Thursday, March 31, 2011
Virginia Euwer Wolff: Make Lemonade
Harsh and wonderful book. Too often YA gives you candy-coated suburban kids with one teensy problem that seems like the end of the world. This is about one girl from a difficult background who's absolutely determined to get to college and get out, who gets a job helping another girl not much older who's infinitely worse off. This book made me want to scrub my house and stand up straight and fight for what I want, but at the same time really brought home the helpless despair that some kids are into up to their necks.
If you read the author section at the back, Wolff says the inspiration came from a terrible plastic-upholstered stroller she got for her kids at the Salvation Army but just could not get clean, no matter how much she scrubbed it. Can't you picture that stroller? That nasty plastic that isn't affected by any amount of cleanser and rage?
The two girls and the kids and the mom are brilliantly drawn. I was fascinated throughout by how racially non-specific it was, too. Honestly, I've never seen that done better. When you read the first page, the format might be off-putting momentarily, but it goes invisible right away. That didn't happen with the John Green novel-in-poetry I tried to read. I couldn't get past a few pages and it was all uphill work. This is more like a direct line into LaVaughn's mind.
Wolff's strengths are many but the one I'd pick out if I had to pick one is her focus on the daily minutiae that are so important because they add up. A social studies worksheet? Seems like nothing. But every worksheet adds up to make your grade, which makes your year, which determines what you can do with your life. Every bit of banana that doesn't get wiped up right away adds up--just like every bit that you DO wipe up adds up. I wish we could all learn this forever and never forget. It's too easy to let things slide moment by moment and then find yourself in a disaster. I think that's the very thing that determines your life, right there, what you catch or let go moment to moment.
I put this book down to go to sleep last night, but then couldn't sleep until I got up and finished it.
Add Virginia Euwer Wolff to my small but growing pantheon of gentle, intelligent, insightful authors who actively make me want to stand up and scream and be a better person.
If you read the author section at the back, Wolff says the inspiration came from a terrible plastic-upholstered stroller she got for her kids at the Salvation Army but just could not get clean, no matter how much she scrubbed it. Can't you picture that stroller? That nasty plastic that isn't affected by any amount of cleanser and rage?
The two girls and the kids and the mom are brilliantly drawn. I was fascinated throughout by how racially non-specific it was, too. Honestly, I've never seen that done better. When you read the first page, the format might be off-putting momentarily, but it goes invisible right away. That didn't happen with the John Green novel-in-poetry I tried to read. I couldn't get past a few pages and it was all uphill work. This is more like a direct line into LaVaughn's mind.
Wolff's strengths are many but the one I'd pick out if I had to pick one is her focus on the daily minutiae that are so important because they add up. A social studies worksheet? Seems like nothing. But every worksheet adds up to make your grade, which makes your year, which determines what you can do with your life. Every bit of banana that doesn't get wiped up right away adds up--just like every bit that you DO wipe up adds up. I wish we could all learn this forever and never forget. It's too easy to let things slide moment by moment and then find yourself in a disaster. I think that's the very thing that determines your life, right there, what you catch or let go moment to moment.
I put this book down to go to sleep last night, but then couldn't sleep until I got up and finished it.
Add Virginia Euwer Wolff to my small but growing pantheon of gentle, intelligent, insightful authors who actively make me want to stand up and scream and be a better person.
Tuesday, March 22, 2011
Audrey Niffenegger: Her Fearful Symmetry
Well written, but the supernatural elements were just terrible and overall it's like a hate letter to the human race, so focused on how awful everyone is to each other. I disliked it the way I dislike Sinclair Lewis and all that mid-century American mainstream literature of divorce and dismay. How can someone who wrote the unspeakably gorgeous Time Traveler's Wife turn 180 degrees and hate people so much? Not recommended unless you're looking for dread and misanthropy. Though again, beautifully written! But like a brilliantly executed oil painting of the prisoner abuse at Abu Ghraib.
Malinda Lo: Ash
** spoiler alert ** I loved this book. It's a twist on the Cinderella story that turns the handsome prince fait accompli inside out. Lo also manages to write fairies that I don't hate, which is a fairly large miracle. The interface between them and regular people worked really well. Honestly, if I'd known there were fairies beforehand, I wouldn't have read this book--that's how much I hate that kind of thing. But these were done in such an interesting way, like the way children see adults, or across the gender gulf, or like aliens. That's it, they were truly alien, terrifying and powerful, but distant and unknowable.
Ash herself is a terrific character. Terrible things happen to her--she's the Cinderella, after all--but she never feels sorry for herself or gives up. She works hard and finds unexpected friends and makes her own choices. And those choices determine her future.
I'm deeply allergic to passive heroines so I'm always nervous about the inherently passive Cinderella story, but this one overcame all that without being all rah rah power grrl about it.
If I had one tiny complaint, it would be that at first it seemed that the magic and fairies might or might not have been real. I prefer that over the relatively boring option where they're real but some people don't believe. It's so much more interesting if Ash believes in these people (and their powers) and that belief is what transforms her and changes her life. The book seemed to set that up beautifully for the first half but then drops it.
Overall, a terrific book, gorgeous and sad and well worth a read. Even if you usually hate fairies.
Ash herself is a terrific character. Terrible things happen to her--she's the Cinderella, after all--but she never feels sorry for herself or gives up. She works hard and finds unexpected friends and makes her own choices. And those choices determine her future.
I'm deeply allergic to passive heroines so I'm always nervous about the inherently passive Cinderella story, but this one overcame all that without being all rah rah power grrl about it.
If I had one tiny complaint, it would be that at first it seemed that the magic and fairies might or might not have been real. I prefer that over the relatively boring option where they're real but some people don't believe. It's so much more interesting if Ash believes in these people (and their powers) and that belief is what transforms her and changes her life. The book seemed to set that up beautifully for the first half but then drops it.
Overall, a terrific book, gorgeous and sad and well worth a read. Even if you usually hate fairies.
Carrie Jones: Need
** spoiler alert ** This was a good teen romance/thriller, with a heroine who hit a good balance between miserable and relatable. The writing about Maine is fantastic. As it happens, I moved to Maine from L.A. right after losing my father (and boy was I miserable) so this book resonated quite a lot.
The place it lost me is a crazy one. I'll swallow any amount of supernatural whatnot without a hiccup, but the author doesn't know what a railroad tie is. And railroad ties feature prominently in the resolution. A railroad tie is that heavy wooden beam under the tracks. I can't even figure out what she thinks she's talking about when she's talking about railroad ties, since she thinks they're a) metal and b) light enough for one person to move. They're neither. Does she mean tracks? A section of track would weigh hundreds of pounds.
How did nobody catch this? No friend, no editor? It would take two seconds of Googling to figure this out.
Well, then in the book people also rammed them into the ground by hand with no tools in the winter in Maine. Why not use rebar? Or hello, fence posts? Those green metal fence posts.
Yeah, I have no problem with an EMT who's a weretiger but getting railroad ties wrong really threw me.
The place it lost me is a crazy one. I'll swallow any amount of supernatural whatnot without a hiccup, but the author doesn't know what a railroad tie is. And railroad ties feature prominently in the resolution. A railroad tie is that heavy wooden beam under the tracks. I can't even figure out what she thinks she's talking about when she's talking about railroad ties, since she thinks they're a) metal and b) light enough for one person to move. They're neither. Does she mean tracks? A section of track would weigh hundreds of pounds.
How did nobody catch this? No friend, no editor? It would take two seconds of Googling to figure this out.
Well, then in the book people also rammed them into the ground by hand with no tools in the winter in Maine. Why not use rebar? Or hello, fence posts? Those green metal fence posts.
Yeah, I have no problem with an EMT who's a weretiger but getting railroad ties wrong really threw me.
Terry Pratchett: I Shall Wear Midnight
** spoiler alert ** This is much darker than the previous Tiffany Aching books, all throughout. The themes aren't any darker, but the actual events are, starting with a pregnant 13 year old girl whose father beats her so badly she has a miscarriage and the baby dies. And then the father places bouquets of nettles around the poor dead baby on some straw in the barn and hangs himself. Just to start with. Jeez!
Of course our Tiffany cuts him down and buries the baby and saves the girl and it all comes right in the end, but the events are infinitely darker than previous books, to the point where it's pretty shocking to someone expecting a nice friendly but supernaturally scary Tiffany Aching story.
It lightened up by the second half.
It's kind of hard to articulate why this was an issue for me. Obviously the subject matter is fairly common in YA fiction. But it didn't really seem so natural to this series. Mostly the difference was in tone. Normally in these books, the tone is a very funny dry wit no matter what's going on, but the first half of this book was almost humorless. Additionally, it was full of explanations, also unusual.
Not my favorite Tiffany Aching book, unfortunately. Though I really did love the last half.
Of course our Tiffany cuts him down and buries the baby and saves the girl and it all comes right in the end, but the events are infinitely darker than previous books, to the point where it's pretty shocking to someone expecting a nice friendly but supernaturally scary Tiffany Aching story.
It lightened up by the second half.
It's kind of hard to articulate why this was an issue for me. Obviously the subject matter is fairly common in YA fiction. But it didn't really seem so natural to this series. Mostly the difference was in tone. Normally in these books, the tone is a very funny dry wit no matter what's going on, but the first half of this book was almost humorless. Additionally, it was full of explanations, also unusual.
Not my favorite Tiffany Aching book, unfortunately. Though I really did love the last half.
Cindy Pon: Silver Phoenix
Definitely one of the best books I've read in a long time. Cindy Pon's writing style is exquisite, with a clarity and economy that's rare to find. The characters are fully realized and alive and the quest story comes off very well. The climactic scene between our heroine and the antagonist had me crawling out of my skin, as I kept getting more and more anxious as things progressed. Masterful writing. Even details like the food and the places the characters went were so vivid and clear. Ai Ling and Chen Yong are just amazing characters. Love this book! I can't wait for more books from Cindy Pon.
Sarah Dessen: Lock and Key
This is a fantastic book. I actually couldn't put it down, to the point where it seriously interfered with my plans for today. Sarah Dessen has a brilliant show-don't-tell ability and created characters who gripped me from the first page. Ruby's journey was completely compelling, and Cora and Jamie and Nate and Olivia and Gervais stole my heart. Do you know how rare it is for me to remember any of the names of any of the characters in a book? But I remember all of these, plus Laney and Harriet and Reggie and even Heather. What a gorgeous, effortless prose style Sarah has. And on a thematic level, she pulled off some of the most difficult themes beautifully: family, home, security, trust, independence, and of course allowing someone to help you. I read a library copy but I have to go buy this book. It's one of the best ones I've read in a very long time.
Jenny Han: Shug
** spoiler alert ** I've been thinking about this book a lot since I finished it.
The brilliant thing about this book is that we see what the main character sees and watch the world change along with her perceptions of it. It's almost like an unreliable narrator situation, something I adore, but it's even better because the perceptions change as the book goes on and Shug begins to grow up. So the perfect family she has at the beginning (except her mother doesn't cook) gradually becomes visible as the highly dysfunctional and imperfect family it really is. Shug's childish views of things become more complex and mature. It's heartbreaking to watch Shug struggle to keep up with that shifting perspective.
Jenny Han shows mastery of both the child's point of view and the adolescent's, as well as the difficult transition between them. She uses all the sensory and emotional triggers in lovely, simple ways. Look at the cherry popsicles at the beginning and the cherry Lifesavers at the end. Look at the resonance that food carries throughout, from Mrs. Findlay's Thanksgiving dinners to the leftover diner pie at Jack's house, to Shug cooking a pot of macaroni for her family at the age of eleven while her mother lies drunk on the couch. Look at Shug and Jack eating at the buffet table during the dance. Food plays a vital role all throughout, not just in the classic trope where it stands in for family and comfort and love, but also in the way it carries Shug's gradual changes toward maturity.
Brilliant book! I can't stop thinking about it! It seems so simple on the surface, but don't be fooled.
The brilliant thing about this book is that we see what the main character sees and watch the world change along with her perceptions of it. It's almost like an unreliable narrator situation, something I adore, but it's even better because the perceptions change as the book goes on and Shug begins to grow up. So the perfect family she has at the beginning (except her mother doesn't cook) gradually becomes visible as the highly dysfunctional and imperfect family it really is. Shug's childish views of things become more complex and mature. It's heartbreaking to watch Shug struggle to keep up with that shifting perspective.
Jenny Han shows mastery of both the child's point of view and the adolescent's, as well as the difficult transition between them. She uses all the sensory and emotional triggers in lovely, simple ways. Look at the cherry popsicles at the beginning and the cherry Lifesavers at the end. Look at the resonance that food carries throughout, from Mrs. Findlay's Thanksgiving dinners to the leftover diner pie at Jack's house, to Shug cooking a pot of macaroni for her family at the age of eleven while her mother lies drunk on the couch. Look at Shug and Jack eating at the buffet table during the dance. Food plays a vital role all throughout, not just in the classic trope where it stands in for family and comfort and love, but also in the way it carries Shug's gradual changes toward maturity.
Brilliant book! I can't stop thinking about it! It seems so simple on the surface, but don't be fooled.
E. Lockhart: Dramarama
** spoiler alert ** Fantastic book, but suffered from sudden left turn syndrome. It was going one way full steam ahead and then just sort of stopped. If you've read the book, you know it's about a very close friendship that ends suddenly when Sadye takes the blame for Demi breaking the rules at their drama camp. She was having a hard time at the camp anyway and got kicked out for the rule-breaking that she didn't actually do.
Here's why I had problems with that: it was narratively unsatisfying, to an incredible degree. The narrative was about Sadye separating from her friend and discovering that she had the skill set for a director, not for an actor. That's an awesome story! But the author dropped the ball on it and left Sadye with absolutely nothing. She goes back to her stupid town with no friends. Demi doesn't even keep in touch.
At the very end, Sadye is mysteriously living in New York and working a crap job for no pay just to be near show business, I guess?
I felt really betrayed by this ending to what should have been a fantastic story about not being what you want to be but finding something else better. Sadye obviously should have become a director! She has all the skills, the critical thinking, the eye for detail, the ideas. Why not go there? Why take this character and say: if you can't be what you wanted, you can't be anything? You have to sit there as a wannabe on the sidelines?
I was pretty shocked by this. Because the world actually really needs stories about not making it in what you thought you were going to do. We need stories that model that and show someone finding their true strengths and skills when the whole beautiful plan falls down. This ending really, really bothered me.
Here's why I had problems with that: it was narratively unsatisfying, to an incredible degree. The narrative was about Sadye separating from her friend and discovering that she had the skill set for a director, not for an actor. That's an awesome story! But the author dropped the ball on it and left Sadye with absolutely nothing. She goes back to her stupid town with no friends. Demi doesn't even keep in touch.
At the very end, Sadye is mysteriously living in New York and working a crap job for no pay just to be near show business, I guess?
I felt really betrayed by this ending to what should have been a fantastic story about not being what you want to be but finding something else better. Sadye obviously should have become a director! She has all the skills, the critical thinking, the eye for detail, the ideas. Why not go there? Why take this character and say: if you can't be what you wanted, you can't be anything? You have to sit there as a wannabe on the sidelines?
I was pretty shocked by this. Because the world actually really needs stories about not making it in what you thought you were going to do. We need stories that model that and show someone finding their true strengths and skills when the whole beautiful plan falls down. This ending really, really bothered me.
Robin Brande: Fat Cat
I almost got throwing across the room mad at this book around page 300, when it seemed like it was never going to question the basic premise that fat is evil and being "hot" is all that really matters in the world. And because the book started out being about a smart girl who cares about school and spent most of its time talking about cute outfits and which guy liked her. We have those books already!
But! Fat Cat rose above all of that and turned in some great self-reflection and analysis of the way we judge people on their looks, or more specifically, on their weight.
I could have used more of that, though. More of that throughout. Because the level of self-loathing that Cat feels for most of the book is not really overturned by her moments of epiphany near the end, where suddenly she realizes that people who like or don't like you based on your looks are not worth the time. The message you walk away with is: you have to be hot for anyone to like you, including yourself.
Isn't there a way for a teenage girl to stop hating herself and her body without becoming completely typically gorgeous? Because although the book says that there is, we never see it. It's easy to say it's all about accepting yourself when the heroine turns into the girl all the boys like.
Okay, I guess I'm still a little mad at this book. But I really did love it. And couldn't put it down. I've been walking around the house doing things with the book in one hand, bumping into furniture. Cat is a fantastic heroine, completely real, especially in the way she holds on to hurt and uses it to justify her actions. She's so brutally honest! I adore that. And her friendship with her best friend is one of the best I've seen in fiction.
Here's a question, though: if this is an issue book, where the issue was race or sexual orientation or whatever it might be, this book is arguing for assimilation. Imagine if this book were about someone who didn't fit into their school because of race or something else, and at the end the message was: act like everyone else, and then you'll love yourself. Really? I'm still having trouble getting past the fat-girl-gets-hot-and-loves-herself book telling us that it's not about how you look, when the whole time it's 100% about how you look.
Also I suspect that if I were an anorexic reading this, or the parent or friend of an anorexic, I might completely blow a gasket. Losing weight isn't the solution to psychological problems about self-image. The book does *say* this, but as an afterthought.
I still give it five stars for being so fantastic but it's five stars with a caveat and a hmmmmm.
But! Fat Cat rose above all of that and turned in some great self-reflection and analysis of the way we judge people on their looks, or more specifically, on their weight.
I could have used more of that, though. More of that throughout. Because the level of self-loathing that Cat feels for most of the book is not really overturned by her moments of epiphany near the end, where suddenly she realizes that people who like or don't like you based on your looks are not worth the time. The message you walk away with is: you have to be hot for anyone to like you, including yourself.
Isn't there a way for a teenage girl to stop hating herself and her body without becoming completely typically gorgeous? Because although the book says that there is, we never see it. It's easy to say it's all about accepting yourself when the heroine turns into the girl all the boys like.
Okay, I guess I'm still a little mad at this book. But I really did love it. And couldn't put it down. I've been walking around the house doing things with the book in one hand, bumping into furniture. Cat is a fantastic heroine, completely real, especially in the way she holds on to hurt and uses it to justify her actions. She's so brutally honest! I adore that. And her friendship with her best friend is one of the best I've seen in fiction.
Here's a question, though: if this is an issue book, where the issue was race or sexual orientation or whatever it might be, this book is arguing for assimilation. Imagine if this book were about someone who didn't fit into their school because of race or something else, and at the end the message was: act like everyone else, and then you'll love yourself. Really? I'm still having trouble getting past the fat-girl-gets-hot-and-loves-herself book telling us that it's not about how you look, when the whole time it's 100% about how you look.
Also I suspect that if I were an anorexic reading this, or the parent or friend of an anorexic, I might completely blow a gasket. Losing weight isn't the solution to psychological problems about self-image. The book does *say* this, but as an afterthought.
I still give it five stars for being so fantastic but it's five stars with a caveat and a hmmmmm.
Jacqueline Kelly: The Evolution of Calpurnia Tate
I really liked the book despite the fact that there wasn't a plot. I mean that in a good way. The character changed and discovered a whole new world and turned into the person she was going to become, but there wasn't a plot. That would have made this book utterly fantastic. I hope the author writes a whole lot more, because she's clearly brilliant and an excellent writer. Just, you know. Add in that plot thing.
Gabrielle Zevin: Elsewhere
Good insights into that teenage death thing that I never understood. I loved all the dogs and Liz's relationships with them, loved the relationship with her grandma, disappointed in how scanty the friendship with Thandi was. Deeply hated the boy she liked but that's okay.
Overall it was a clever, insightful read on life and death. I can't even explain why I didn't love it but only really liked it. I think it was because the main character felt superficial, not like we only saw the surface of a more complex person, but like there wasn't actually anything behind the curtain.
Very favorite things: her interactions with dogs, the rock star, and Amadou Bonamy. It makes me long for another whole book about a teenage girl hating the person who put her where she is and figuring out how to forgive that person for her own good.
That's often the cause of the missing fifth star, the book that doesn't exist that the book I'm reading could have been.
Overall it was a clever, insightful read on life and death. I can't even explain why I didn't love it but only really liked it. I think it was because the main character felt superficial, not like we only saw the surface of a more complex person, but like there wasn't actually anything behind the curtain.
Very favorite things: her interactions with dogs, the rock star, and Amadou Bonamy. It makes me long for another whole book about a teenage girl hating the person who put her where she is and figuring out how to forgive that person for her own good.
That's often the cause of the missing fifth star, the book that doesn't exist that the book I'm reading could have been.
Rob Reger: Emily the Strange v. 1
Loved this book. I loved the twisty mystery and especially the heroine. The magical elements seemed unnecessary but probably would have bothered me less if they'd been there from the beginning instead of showing up fifty pages into an otherwise excellent story about an amnesiac girl with excellent coping skills.
I did wonder suddenly whether the whole book was sort of an I Am the Cheese scenario where our heroine is an increasingly delusional 13 year old runaway. When she went home to Sharon and George and nothing seemed familiar or even worked the way she knew how to make things work, that feeling was strongest. In fact you spend the whole book wondering whether she's crazy or the world is crazy. Or possibly both.
Still, I came away wishing I could be that self-sufficient and self-confident, which is pretty high praise for a funky cool little book.
I did wonder suddenly whether the whole book was sort of an I Am the Cheese scenario where our heroine is an increasingly delusional 13 year old runaway. When she went home to Sharon and George and nothing seemed familiar or even worked the way she knew how to make things work, that feeling was strongest. In fact you spend the whole book wondering whether she's crazy or the world is crazy. Or possibly both.
Still, I came away wishing I could be that self-sufficient and self-confident, which is pretty high praise for a funky cool little book.
Gabrielle Zevin: Memoirs of a Teenage Amnesiac
Ah! This book is amazing! This is one of the best books I've read in a really long time, not a misstep or a false move in it. Wonderful!
I was just thinking about how so many YA books are about figuring out who you are. And then I just read Emily the Strange, which is about an amnesiac 13-year-old (though we could talk all day about whether what happens in that book really happens, or whether the heroine goes crazier and crazier all throughout, building a world out of the pieces that come to hand...) and of course I've recently read Gabrielle Zevin's Elsewhere, about the same theme.
Is YA about figuring out who you are? Or becoming who you are? Maybe. I really loved how this book framed that whole question in terms of remembering who you are, rediscovering it.
Figuring out who you are isn't just about knowing it but doing it, actually making it happen, letting go of the things that don't work anymore, and opening up to things that are really yours but that you're scared of.
Lovely book. Highest recommendation!
I was just thinking about how so many YA books are about figuring out who you are. And then I just read Emily the Strange, which is about an amnesiac 13-year-old (though we could talk all day about whether what happens in that book really happens, or whether the heroine goes crazier and crazier all throughout, building a world out of the pieces that come to hand...) and of course I've recently read Gabrielle Zevin's Elsewhere, about the same theme.
Is YA about figuring out who you are? Or becoming who you are? Maybe. I really loved how this book framed that whole question in terms of remembering who you are, rediscovering it.
Figuring out who you are isn't just about knowing it but doing it, actually making it happen, letting go of the things that don't work anymore, and opening up to things that are really yours but that you're scared of.
Lovely book. Highest recommendation!
Sara Zarr: Sweethearts
Excellent book. All about the performance that is adolescence and after, how we create stories about ourselves and personas that suit what we want to be. The heroine's artificial persona cracks in the very best way.
Things I loved: the horrible, abusive dad, the distant mom, the wonderful step-dad. I was just thinking that the parents in YA are far too patient and kind and relaxed about things, which of course says more about my childhood than it does about YA. But then we got Cameron's dad, whose type of emotional and physical abuse is far too familiar. Zarr captures that pervasive fear perfectly, the fear that stays with you forever because what should make sense in the world doesn't fit any sensible pattern. People will be suddenly vicious and cruel with no warning and everyone will pretend that they aren't.
In other words, Zarr did a fantastic job recreating that helpless cautious childhood fear, but also perfectly recreated the bond between two kids. And I loved the way the two interacted. I loved the way Zarr kept allowing little bubbles of memory to pop and add to the story.
Alan has to be one of my favorite characters in all of fiction. What a good and whole person he is! Noisy knees, patience, understanding, and the ability to listen. And I adore that he's the one who saves Cameron by showing him what a dad is supposed to be like.
I guess you know you're too old for YA when you fall for the step-dad, huh? It's like when I was all hearts in the eyes for Giles on Buffy, paying no attention to all those young whippersnappers. Or I suppose I could still be looking for someone in that category who doesn't inspire terror, come to think of it.
Looking forward to reading every word Sara Zarr has ever written, over and over and over. I'm so glad I randomly went to the Z area of the YA section in the library last time!
Things I loved: the horrible, abusive dad, the distant mom, the wonderful step-dad. I was just thinking that the parents in YA are far too patient and kind and relaxed about things, which of course says more about my childhood than it does about YA. But then we got Cameron's dad, whose type of emotional and physical abuse is far too familiar. Zarr captures that pervasive fear perfectly, the fear that stays with you forever because what should make sense in the world doesn't fit any sensible pattern. People will be suddenly vicious and cruel with no warning and everyone will pretend that they aren't.
In other words, Zarr did a fantastic job recreating that helpless cautious childhood fear, but also perfectly recreated the bond between two kids. And I loved the way the two interacted. I loved the way Zarr kept allowing little bubbles of memory to pop and add to the story.
Alan has to be one of my favorite characters in all of fiction. What a good and whole person he is! Noisy knees, patience, understanding, and the ability to listen. And I adore that he's the one who saves Cameron by showing him what a dad is supposed to be like.
I guess you know you're too old for YA when you fall for the step-dad, huh? It's like when I was all hearts in the eyes for Giles on Buffy, paying no attention to all those young whippersnappers. Or I suppose I could still be looking for someone in that category who doesn't inspire terror, come to think of it.
Looking forward to reading every word Sara Zarr has ever written, over and over and over. I'm so glad I randomly went to the Z area of the YA section in the library last time!
Sunday, January 9, 2011
Merlin
It's adorable! Mean King Giles is fabulous--thank you, whoever is responsible for putting Anthony Head into medieval garb and short hair with a crown. He is so very very awesome. And Merlin is a skinny boy, all cheekbones and big eyes and downtrodden heroics, with a fairly useless mentor person named Gaius. Imagine! I know it's the most common Roman name, and even Julius Caesar had it as a first name, but Gaius to me is always and forever Baltar. Do you suppose the name Guy came from Gaius? Except it's pronounced gee, but that doesn't matter. French pronunciation has been all around the block and back in two thousand years.
Where was I?
Merlin! Right. It's adorable indeed. I like Merlin and of course Arthur is an excellent sort of football player golden boy who's loyal to his father and does all the right things. I can't think when I've ever seen a pairing like that before. Well, I mean, Apollo. Come to think of it. Golden boys who are good boys seem to be a kind of 1950s thing that I would be so happy to see come back into existence. You can be good and still be awesome! You do not have to be some kind of lame rebellious youth!
There is actually a Norman Rockwell calendar at work, from the disabled veterans, of course. Unironic self-referentiality is something you'd better enjoy if you live around here.
I was trying to explain decadence in art one day. When was that? How it's not a judgment but an actual phenomenon, a way of representing one thing as another instead of making the thing itself beautiful or functional or letting it be itself. Love of artifice for the sake of artifice.
Well anyway. Merlin was also kind of aimed at eight year olds, which made it a little hard to manage. Though at least they got the concept that the story must be clear, unlike A Certain Show that has lost its way story-wise. But the two I saw were all gross-out humor and really broad strokes and fart jokes. But then at the end there was an awesome moment where Arthur goes to pat Merlin on the shoulder, and Merlin thinks he's going for a hug, and there's an excellent awkward thing and I just wondered, how on earth do you write that? And how brilliant to write such a thing into a show, because it perfectly encapsulates their relationship.
So there's that.
Mostly there's this whole giant monster weight of all of Arthurian legend on top of everything. How can you watch this and not think about it? Granted I taught Arthurian legend as a class, and I've read pretty much every medieval text there is from the tradition. But still!
You have Arthur, who's going to be king and unite the various warring kingdoms under one banner to fight a common enemy. You have Merlin, who's going to be a mighty wizard who saves Arthur's bacon half the time.
I love seeing remakes. Do you know why they're the best thing ever? Because that's how literature always used to be, for all of recorded time, until about the 1800-1900s, and now it is again. I can't explain why we stopped for a while. I mean, I could try, but I'd be guessing at best, and I don't know enough about it. Probably Romanticism and the cult of the individual. Or else industrialization which brought cheap duplication and copyright law. Maybe a combination of the two.
But remakes! Or maybe I mean retreads, like Battlestar was a completely different version of a previous story. Or the way everyone remakes A Christmas Carol eighteen million different ways. Plays that can be put on over and over with different actors in all crazy different ways.
That's ALIVE, that's what that is. That's a story that's alive. We want more! We want it again!
So I'm very happy to see the Arthur/Merlin story getting told again. Why do we love it so much? Is it because of destiny? We do love a good destiny story, it's true.
And Michelle Ryan only had to sit there looking pretty most of the time in Merlin, which she does very well--she's very pretty--but then she totally came through with expressions and reactions and who knows, maybe she got a whole lot better, yay! I would love that. Remember watching Grace Park learn to act infinitely better on Battlestar? Remember how awful Boreanaz used to be before he got better? I love that because people can grow and learn and change. Like the stories, no?
I suddenly came up with a Little Red Riding Hood story yesterday after showing my sister the place where the coyote dug into the snowbank to get at the mice. You know mice make all these tunnels in the grass under the snow, so that when it melts, there are runways and nests clearly marked. Well, something about that gave me an idea, at long last. Or maybe it was being around my sister. If a wolf came to eat her, she would scratch its ears and give it a steak and have it sleeping on the foot of her bed and defending the house in no time flat.
Isn't that also what you do with a story? You find a way that it fits into your own world and tell it again. Battlestar was half about 9/11 and the war in Iraq and Afghanistan. But it was also about hatred and racism and survivalism and militarism and making our lives the way you know they should be. It was about despair and hope and religion and impossible things.
Which all makes me wonder what I would do if I were going to tell the Battlestar story my own way. What a mind-bender! But it's not like it was new in the 70s. It's the Exodus. It's one of the oldest stories we have around. Though not as old as Gilgamesh. Boy, I'd love to see Gilgamesh retold in a brilliant way. Maybe I'll think about doing that myself.
Where was I?
Merlin! Right. It's adorable indeed. I like Merlin and of course Arthur is an excellent sort of football player golden boy who's loyal to his father and does all the right things. I can't think when I've ever seen a pairing like that before. Well, I mean, Apollo. Come to think of it. Golden boys who are good boys seem to be a kind of 1950s thing that I would be so happy to see come back into existence. You can be good and still be awesome! You do not have to be some kind of lame rebellious youth!
There is actually a Norman Rockwell calendar at work, from the disabled veterans, of course. Unironic self-referentiality is something you'd better enjoy if you live around here.
I was trying to explain decadence in art one day. When was that? How it's not a judgment but an actual phenomenon, a way of representing one thing as another instead of making the thing itself beautiful or functional or letting it be itself. Love of artifice for the sake of artifice.
Well anyway. Merlin was also kind of aimed at eight year olds, which made it a little hard to manage. Though at least they got the concept that the story must be clear, unlike A Certain Show that has lost its way story-wise. But the two I saw were all gross-out humor and really broad strokes and fart jokes. But then at the end there was an awesome moment where Arthur goes to pat Merlin on the shoulder, and Merlin thinks he's going for a hug, and there's an excellent awkward thing and I just wondered, how on earth do you write that? And how brilliant to write such a thing into a show, because it perfectly encapsulates their relationship.
So there's that.
Mostly there's this whole giant monster weight of all of Arthurian legend on top of everything. How can you watch this and not think about it? Granted I taught Arthurian legend as a class, and I've read pretty much every medieval text there is from the tradition. But still!
You have Arthur, who's going to be king and unite the various warring kingdoms under one banner to fight a common enemy. You have Merlin, who's going to be a mighty wizard who saves Arthur's bacon half the time.
I love seeing remakes. Do you know why they're the best thing ever? Because that's how literature always used to be, for all of recorded time, until about the 1800-1900s, and now it is again. I can't explain why we stopped for a while. I mean, I could try, but I'd be guessing at best, and I don't know enough about it. Probably Romanticism and the cult of the individual. Or else industrialization which brought cheap duplication and copyright law. Maybe a combination of the two.
But remakes! Or maybe I mean retreads, like Battlestar was a completely different version of a previous story. Or the way everyone remakes A Christmas Carol eighteen million different ways. Plays that can be put on over and over with different actors in all crazy different ways.
That's ALIVE, that's what that is. That's a story that's alive. We want more! We want it again!
So I'm very happy to see the Arthur/Merlin story getting told again. Why do we love it so much? Is it because of destiny? We do love a good destiny story, it's true.
And Michelle Ryan only had to sit there looking pretty most of the time in Merlin, which she does very well--she's very pretty--but then she totally came through with expressions and reactions and who knows, maybe she got a whole lot better, yay! I would love that. Remember watching Grace Park learn to act infinitely better on Battlestar? Remember how awful Boreanaz used to be before he got better? I love that because people can grow and learn and change. Like the stories, no?
I suddenly came up with a Little Red Riding Hood story yesterday after showing my sister the place where the coyote dug into the snowbank to get at the mice. You know mice make all these tunnels in the grass under the snow, so that when it melts, there are runways and nests clearly marked. Well, something about that gave me an idea, at long last. Or maybe it was being around my sister. If a wolf came to eat her, she would scratch its ears and give it a steak and have it sleeping on the foot of her bed and defending the house in no time flat.
Isn't that also what you do with a story? You find a way that it fits into your own world and tell it again. Battlestar was half about 9/11 and the war in Iraq and Afghanistan. But it was also about hatred and racism and survivalism and militarism and making our lives the way you know they should be. It was about despair and hope and religion and impossible things.
Which all makes me wonder what I would do if I were going to tell the Battlestar story my own way. What a mind-bender! But it's not like it was new in the 70s. It's the Exodus. It's one of the oldest stories we have around. Though not as old as Gilgamesh. Boy, I'd love to see Gilgamesh retold in a brilliant way. Maybe I'll think about doing that myself.
Saturday, January 8, 2011
Carrie Ryan does it right
Carrie Ryan, ladies and gentlemen. Remember how infuriating it was when the main character of that one book (and its sequel) kept on doing the thing she knew not to do, just because she was sulky or whatever? And I didn't know whether that was a trope or bad writing?
Well! I discovered what it was. Doing things you're not supposed to do is a perfectly fine and common YA literary trope, but only when the character has some kind of motivation for doing it that makes sense. Yay!
Carrie Ryan's The Dead-Tossed Waves, the cover of which features a fetching young zombie in her nightie washing up on the beach, starts out with a character who does something extremely stupid and dangerous, breaking essentially the only rule of their society. But why? Because she's sulky and bratty? No! Because this cute boy is going and he likes her and she likes him! And he asks her specifically! And he stands kind of close to her in the darkness!
See. That is fabulous motivation for a YA character of YA age! I read that and I think, "Obviously!" I could totally see doing exactly the same thing.
Whereas the whole "I know better and it endangers everyone I care about but so?" kind of thing just makes me tired. That thing...I know it's there to push the plot forward. But it doesn't have to be pointless endangerment to do that. It can be pointful!
For example:
That character is a runner. She could have the unbearable claustrophobic drive to get out of the house and go running. She could call everyone to see if they would go with her, but they're all unavailable. She could try riding the stationary bike but go crazy from the heat and dry air of the house and absolutely have to get outside or else explode. That's maybe neurotic but at least self-consistent.
Or: She could hear someone in distress outside. A person! A cat! A flapping bird! Even though she knows not to go outside, she has to go help. I could relate to that! Anyone could!
Or: She could be going about her normal business, on the way to school or to go to the library or a concert or I don't know, the bead store. I had to go to the bead store! I was all out of beads for...my grandmother's birthday present! And it's tomorrow!
See what I'm saying? MOTIVATION.
This writer didn't give her motivation most of the time when the character deliberately walked out into danger. I shut the book after the most recent time. Enough.
I don't mind if people do stupid things, as long as there's a reason. It can even be a dumb reason. But if it's always a selfish reason that reeks of lazy writing, I'm not going to like that character or that writer anymore.
I *really* don't like when I'm reading something and instead of seeing what someone would do or the pressure of events, I see giant creaking plot machinery pushing a character to do something. Hey! That was my suspension of disbelief you just stomped on! I close your book and walk away!
Robot Roman Rory, I am looking at you. In fact, I'm all fiercely glaring and stuff.
I don't think characters have to do dumb stuff or make mistakes for events to unfold. In fact, I'm positive that it's much better writing if they're doing something perfectly legitimate or even going a step beyond, like making extra effort to do something awesome, and that instigates events. Maybe one of those excellent internal/external struggle things, right? Like say your character is struggling with self-worth and its obvious external metaphor/representation, money! Just for example. And therefore steps out of normal daily routine to apply for a job when she sees a sign posted on that store down in that old strip mall with the garage at the end where the very tall silent Iraq vet fixes cars perfectly but freaks everyone out with his scary PTSD so no one goes there, but she does because he works for cheap and her car is busted.
Nobody did anything stupid. Nobody spent two pages going, "I shouldn't do this for the following excellent reasons, but I am going to anyway, because I'm a selfish brat." Obviously it's bad storytelling, but also BOY is that not an attractive quality in a person.
Actually that's a thing I see online more often than I'd like, that defiant story about doing a stupid, selfish, or rude thing. I mean, knock yourself out, whatever, but I don't think it's the most appealing thing to tell people about. Is it? Or is the idea that we're all selfish and so we will relate to that? Do people like to read that sort of thing? What do you think when you read that? Is this that whole thing about bragging about being an asshole that I ran into a while back? I get really turned off by that, but do other people enjoy it? Is it a power thing? It seems gratuitously transgressive and manipulative. I'm bad, look at me! You must participate or condemn!
It seems very teenager, which I guess is why I wondered if it was a YA thing in particular.
You may not have spent as much extended time recently with the 18-22 age bracket as I have with all the teaching, but there is this thing they do.
Teenaged personage: Says flagrantly provocative thing.
Old person (me): Tries to turn it aside without engaging either to agree or disagree.
Teenaged personage: But, flagrantly provocative thing!
Old person (me): Changes the subject.
And so on. If you teach college (or are around children, come to think of it) you learn quickly how to be No Fun At All in these situations. Oh, I quell.
Actually it seems to apply to toddlers just as well. I'm doing something I'm not supposed to! What are you going to do about it? So is it just to get attention? I mean, in terms of a character doing bratty things, does the character just want attention? Testing behavior tests the rules of the world and tests reactions from people and tests the limits of what the person can get away with. Maybe that character is really just seeking attention and all her idiotic self-endangerment is a cry for help. Could be that simple, I guess.
Now I want to find out what happens in the story with the person who goes to get her car fixed with the scary PTSD guy and applies for the job in that store in the strip mall. Hmmm! See you later!
Well! I discovered what it was. Doing things you're not supposed to do is a perfectly fine and common YA literary trope, but only when the character has some kind of motivation for doing it that makes sense. Yay!
Carrie Ryan's The Dead-Tossed Waves, the cover of which features a fetching young zombie in her nightie washing up on the beach, starts out with a character who does something extremely stupid and dangerous, breaking essentially the only rule of their society. But why? Because she's sulky and bratty? No! Because this cute boy is going and he likes her and she likes him! And he asks her specifically! And he stands kind of close to her in the darkness!
See. That is fabulous motivation for a YA character of YA age! I read that and I think, "Obviously!" I could totally see doing exactly the same thing.
Whereas the whole "I know better and it endangers everyone I care about but so?" kind of thing just makes me tired. That thing...I know it's there to push the plot forward. But it doesn't have to be pointless endangerment to do that. It can be pointful!
For example:
That character is a runner. She could have the unbearable claustrophobic drive to get out of the house and go running. She could call everyone to see if they would go with her, but they're all unavailable. She could try riding the stationary bike but go crazy from the heat and dry air of the house and absolutely have to get outside or else explode. That's maybe neurotic but at least self-consistent.
Or: She could hear someone in distress outside. A person! A cat! A flapping bird! Even though she knows not to go outside, she has to go help. I could relate to that! Anyone could!
Or: She could be going about her normal business, on the way to school or to go to the library or a concert or I don't know, the bead store. I had to go to the bead store! I was all out of beads for...my grandmother's birthday present! And it's tomorrow!
See what I'm saying? MOTIVATION.
This writer didn't give her motivation most of the time when the character deliberately walked out into danger. I shut the book after the most recent time. Enough.
I don't mind if people do stupid things, as long as there's a reason. It can even be a dumb reason. But if it's always a selfish reason that reeks of lazy writing, I'm not going to like that character or that writer anymore.
I *really* don't like when I'm reading something and instead of seeing what someone would do or the pressure of events, I see giant creaking plot machinery pushing a character to do something. Hey! That was my suspension of disbelief you just stomped on! I close your book and walk away!
Robot Roman Rory, I am looking at you. In fact, I'm all fiercely glaring and stuff.
I don't think characters have to do dumb stuff or make mistakes for events to unfold. In fact, I'm positive that it's much better writing if they're doing something perfectly legitimate or even going a step beyond, like making extra effort to do something awesome, and that instigates events. Maybe one of those excellent internal/external struggle things, right? Like say your character is struggling with self-worth and its obvious external metaphor/representation, money! Just for example. And therefore steps out of normal daily routine to apply for a job when she sees a sign posted on that store down in that old strip mall with the garage at the end where the very tall silent Iraq vet fixes cars perfectly but freaks everyone out with his scary PTSD so no one goes there, but she does because he works for cheap and her car is busted.
Nobody did anything stupid. Nobody spent two pages going, "I shouldn't do this for the following excellent reasons, but I am going to anyway, because I'm a selfish brat." Obviously it's bad storytelling, but also BOY is that not an attractive quality in a person.
Actually that's a thing I see online more often than I'd like, that defiant story about doing a stupid, selfish, or rude thing. I mean, knock yourself out, whatever, but I don't think it's the most appealing thing to tell people about. Is it? Or is the idea that we're all selfish and so we will relate to that? Do people like to read that sort of thing? What do you think when you read that? Is this that whole thing about bragging about being an asshole that I ran into a while back? I get really turned off by that, but do other people enjoy it? Is it a power thing? It seems gratuitously transgressive and manipulative. I'm bad, look at me! You must participate or condemn!
It seems very teenager, which I guess is why I wondered if it was a YA thing in particular.
You may not have spent as much extended time recently with the 18-22 age bracket as I have with all the teaching, but there is this thing they do.
Teenaged personage: Says flagrantly provocative thing.
Old person (me): Tries to turn it aside without engaging either to agree or disagree.
Teenaged personage: But, flagrantly provocative thing!
Old person (me): Changes the subject.
And so on. If you teach college (or are around children, come to think of it) you learn quickly how to be No Fun At All in these situations. Oh, I quell.
Actually it seems to apply to toddlers just as well. I'm doing something I'm not supposed to! What are you going to do about it? So is it just to get attention? I mean, in terms of a character doing bratty things, does the character just want attention? Testing behavior tests the rules of the world and tests reactions from people and tests the limits of what the person can get away with. Maybe that character is really just seeking attention and all her idiotic self-endangerment is a cry for help. Could be that simple, I guess.
Now I want to find out what happens in the story with the person who goes to get her car fixed with the scary PTSD guy and applies for the job in that store in the strip mall. Hmmm! See you later!
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