The Devil in the White City

When I was growing up in Iowa, Chicago was "The City," a place of wonder, with museums, exotic animals, musicals, and skyscrapers. All the best field trips and family vacations took me to Chicago. I saw Phantom of the Opera at the Auditorium Theater, went up to the top of the Sears Tower, saw my very first dinosaur skeletons at the Field Museum and marveled at the creatures of the deep at the Field Aquarium. I saw Picasso for the very first time at the Art Institute of Chicago, and went to an exhibition that introduced me to Monet. It might sound funny, but my first sight of water that stretched to the horizon was Lake Michigan in downtown Chicago. The boats and the infinity of the water made a huge impression on me. And, did I forget to mention the zoo?

So maybe that's why I enjoyed Erik Larson's The Devil in the White City so much. Sure, there were people burned alive in kilns, some graphic dissections, and a taste of the body snatching trade to appeal to my spec fiction sensibilities, but what really kept me reading Larson's book was the architecture. The book recounts the events that led up to the Chicago World's Fair of 1893, and along the way, the history of the architects who designed and built the fair's famous White City. Some readers may thrill at the mention of the first Ferris Wheel, but I got goosebumps hearing about how the Auditorium Theater was built, and how landscape architect, Frederick Olmstead (who also designed Central Park in New York), chose Andrew Jackson Park as the site for the World's Fair, because it looked over Lake Michigan, the best view in Chicago.

The Devil in the White City showed the Chicago of the 1890's for what it was- a filthy urban center based on the meat packing industry. How could a city of butchers that built its suburbs upwind of the stockyards and whose garbage-strewn streets bred cholera transform itself into the host of the spectacular World's Colombian Exhibition? Larson takes us step by step through the transformation of the fairgrounds and the city. He contrasts this move toward the modern, the civilized, the striving toward establishing culture in the Midwest, with the brutal acts of a serial killer who dwelt and killed in Chicago as the White City rose up, then burned down.

The 1893 Chicago World's fair is coming up in a lot of my reading lately- Sarah Vowell's books, as well as Against the Day by Thomas Pynchon. It was a lot of fun to delve more deeply into this historic event.

Flash Gordon SciFi Pilot

Since the SciFi network had a hand in creating Farscape and Battlestar Galactica, I decided to give their remake of Flash Gordon a try (despite the channel's constant and annoying promos for shows about people who see ghosts).

A Flash virgin, I knew nothing about the original series except that it was supposed to be campy sci fi pulp. So I went into the pilot episode of the remake expecting campy served with a big spoon.

The pilot episode ended up being part camp, part cheese. Before I launch into the series' faults, let me say that it was far better than I expected- and I was interested enough to stick with it until the end of the show.

The world of Flash Gordon has two components: the real-world, modern-day America, and the fantasy world to which Flash travels. The fantasy world was rendered in a TV equivalent of pulp comics. Unfortunately the real world was made of the same flimsy cardboard cutouts as the fantasy world- making the stakes of Flash's success or failure lackluster.

I wasn't looking for remarkable depth from the characters in the series, but it would have been nice if casting had chosen three leading ladies I could tell apart. Brave heroine or evil minx, all Flash's potential love interests looked exactly the same.

Pacing was also an issue. I'm willing to cut some slack in a pilot episode, since it's not easy to create an entire series set up in one hour. However, far too often plot was advanced through dialog. The old writer's adage "show, don't tell" seems especially important in visual media like television and film.

Flash Gordon came close to being the tasty junk food of sci fi TV veg-out, but lacked the hooks needed to keep me coming back for more.

What's missing in the French rentrée littéraire

This afternoon I threw together a Niçoise salad, bought a fresh baguette, and got my gruyère and grapes ready to go. I logged onto amazon.fr, and checked out the 2007 offerings for the rentrée littéraire.

The rentrée refers to the nationwide phenomenon of the French returning home from their long August holidays. The rentrée littéraire takes place throughout the month of September. Publishing houses release their most anticipated books from their most celebrated authors. Books released in September are fresh in judges' minds when it comes time to award coveted literary prizes, such as the Prix Goncourt.

As I scanned the new releases for September 2007, I couldn't help but notice a large number of novels whose plot revolved around an author who mysteriously disappears. Editors, journalists, and other literary professionals much search for the missing author finding, not only the man, but the essence of his work.

Disappearance is a big theme in the 2007 rentrée littéraire. Whether the subject is missing authors (Le Livreur, Les romans n'interessent pas les voleurs), the disappearance of Jewish writer David Mendelsohn's family in 1941 Nazi-occupied Poland (The Lost: A Search for Six of Six Million ), or an Alzheimer's sufferer who no one sees (On n'est pas là pour disparaître), the idea of disappearance shows up again and again.

As you may have noticed from the Mendelsohn autobiography, the rentrée littéraire is far from an exclusively French affair. I noticed a new book by one of my favorite Italian authors, Andrea Camilleri, translated into French. Talk Talk, T.C. Boyle's 2006 English release, has also been translated and is featured in the rentrée littéraire. When the prizes are awarded later this year, most have a special category for foreign authors translated into French.

One 2007 appearance I very much anticipated didn't disappoint. Amelie Nothomb's latest book, Ni d'Eve ni d'Adam, will be making its way to me across the Atalantic soon. There's nothing like reading a Belgian author write in French about her affair in Tokyo. (Here is my post on Nothomb's 2006 contribution to the rentrée littéraire)

The wheel weaves as the wheel wills

Fantasy author Robert Jordan died yesterday afternoon. He saw eleven of the twelve books of his bestselling fantasy series, The Wheel of Time, published before his death.

There is a lot of speculation about what will happen with the final book in the series (working title, Memory of Light). As you might expect, wikipedia.org has all the latest details of Jordan's death and what is known about the final manuscript in the series- while Tor's website lists the author as available for interviews on a variety of fantasy-related subjects. Jordan's official blog is down.

At news of Jordan's death, I saw lots of discussion about the worth of his series. I'll repeat now what I've said to many spec fiction fans who love or hate Jordan: like his character, Thom Merrilin, Robert Jordan was a gleeman- part storyteller, part entertainer. His narrative style in The Wheel of Time had more in common with the technique of ancient storytellers than the modern- he made use of repetition, a sprawling cast of characters, and the larger-than-life canvass of a detailed magical world to tell his tale. The books in his series aren't meant to be read as individual literary treasures, but as live entertainment. People and places readers have come to know and love come to life in intricate situations that Jordan juggled like his minstrel predecessors juggled bottles and balls.

To delve into The Wheel of Time is to curl up with a full belly, grease dripping down our chins, and watch the performer's shadow cast by flickering torches on a damp stone wall. The shadow shivers and grows into a story that becomes a part of our experience. The power of the tale doesn't come from language, pacing, or anything typically found in the writer's toolkit: the power is raw, unadulterated story.

I wish the gleeman was still around to finish the tale.

The Partly Cloudy Patriot

When it comes to books by Sarah Vowell I agree with Mae West: too much of a good thing can be wonderful. Add to that the fact I can listen to Vowell chatter through her own narrative (with occasional help from voice actors like Seth Green and Stephen Colbert) while making coffee and peeling potatoes, and her audio books make a pretty addictive combination.

The Partly Cloudy Patriot covers Vowell's thoughts from the Bush-Gore campaign through the aftermath of September 11th. She renders this very un-funny period of American history in a series of humorous essays that explore her family, friends, and personal history.

In an essay called "The Nerd Voice" Vowell theorizes that Al Gore would have had a better shot at getting elected if he'd hired Buffy the Vampire Slayer creator, Joss Whedon, to write his campaign speeches. Vowell defines herself as a "post modern nerd-" that is, a nerd who has learned to be endearing to non-nerds through the art of self-deprecation. She cites Whedon's character, Willow, as the ideal post modern nerd, and asks if a dose of self-deprecation to squash the media's know-it-all perception of Gore might have given him enough of a landslide to take the presidency.

In another essay Vowell talks about going to Bush's inauguration. She cried. She also insisted on singing the national anthem as loudly as she could- even when the protesters all around her refused to sing. That is, in essence, The Partly Cloudy Patriot. It is Sarah Vowell expressing her genuine care for her country by both loving and criticizing it.

Michael Palin's Himalaya

When I read Sarah Vowell's Assassination Vacation, I had such a good time listening to an audio book narrated by its author that I picked up Michael Palin's account of his journey through the Himalayas. The former Python's travel log wasn't half as interesting as Vowell's trips to sleepy small towns and historic home tours. One thing I can say for Himalaya, is that it got better the more Palin read.

Palin's attempts to paint the scenery of his travels were well meant, but poorly executed. "Lugubrious" may score well in a game of scrabble, but using it to describe a train whistle results in purple prose.

Another detractor was Palin's focus on the tourist aspect of travel- bars, restaurants, hotels, cars, itineraries, and bathrooms. I'd have rather heard more about Palin's interesting experiences than reminiscences involving a former trip to Africa and his use of Imodium.

That said, Palin had several shining advantages over the many British tourists I met in Italy, that made the book a pleasure to read despite the purple prose and tourist's woes:

1. He had a genuine enthusiasm for the places he traveled, and felt real joy at the opportunity to see the sights of the Himalayas and to get to meet the people.

2. Palin's fame as a comedian allowed a special kind of interaction between himself and the locals that a regular tourist just can't experience. It was delightful to listen to how folks from Pakistan to Bangladesh reacted to his presence.

Probability Moon

My copy of Probability Moon is a First Edition July 2000 stamped WITHDRAWN from the Palmyra Town Library. I picked it up in a used book store in Palmyra in the summer of 2005.

Why did Probability Moon get such a short shelf life?

The answer was clear in the first few chapters of the book: the beginning of Probability Moon stinks. As it happens, Kress's Beggars in Spain is on my top ten favorite science fiction books of all time. So, I slogged through the awkward space-tech info dump, the stock characters on the space ship bridge, the introduction to an alien world where the entire society seemed trivial and immature.

Recently (see Stardust in our eyes) I cited a bad opening as the reason I can't seem to read Neil Gaiman's Stardust. So why did I not only read all of Probability Moon, but enjoy it? I was hooked the moment that Syree, the stock military smart chick, expressed her first weakness.

See, Syree lost a leg in battle. They army grew her a new leg, cloned on the "skinless back of a permanently immobilized dog without an immune system. The dog was the problem. Syree could not get the dog out of her mind. She found she could not- could not- put her full weight on her left leg." Syree's limp ended her army career, and began my fascination with Probability Moon.

Probability Moon got better and better as it neared its exciting conclusion, and all that info dump at the beginning paid off in a satisfying ending that successfully married science with story. However, Kress's info dump habit never got any better. Up until the last, I felt like there were jolting moments of "As you know Bob" and similar Turkey City Lexicon violations.

The Harry Potter Summer in NYC

As summertime comes to a close this Labor Day weekend, and friends and family report with bittersweet satisfaction that they've finally finished The Deathly Hallows, I got a little nostalgic, myself, and thought back on what I've come to think of as the summer of Harry Potter.

Harry Potter anticipation stirred all summer long. When I ordered my Order of the Phoenix movie tickets online, there were already dozens of reviews of the film- by people who hadn't seen it, but were just so excited that they had to give it five stars. A similar phenomenon occurred on iTunes- we eagerly downloaded a five star rated Order of the Phoenix soundtrack touted as the "best of the Harry Potter soundtracks" only to find that it was by far the worst.

But the first truly exciting Harry Potter event came July 11th with the opening of the The Order of the Phoenix. We went to see the movie at Loews Lincoln Square- a short walk from the Lincoln Center of the Performing Arts in Manhattan. As we exited the theater, a man who hadn't seen the movie called out to my husband,

"Was it any good?"

Good question. The Order of the Phoenix certainly wasn't bad. It felt like a visual highlight tour of the book, which is fine for dedicated fans, but seemed a little shallow when the movie stands alone.

All the Harry Potter films suffer from the fact that the books have hundreds of pages to express the passage of time, the rhythm of the school year and the seasons, and the frustration that builds as time passes, and Harry and his friends seemingly make no progress toward their goal. That said, some Harry Potter movies have translated to film better than others.

My favorite of the six movies is The Prisoner of Azkaban. What I like about the third Harry Potter movie is the way it handles time. A huge pendulum clock and gears dominates the movie's set. A major theme of The Prisoner of Azkaban is time, and the movie makes an exciting sequence out of Harry and Hermione's challenge to go back and change the past.

The 2007 The Order of the Phoenix was the first time my throat didn't catch when William's leitmotif, "A Change of Seasons," was used to mark the passage of time. Director David Yates didn't know how to use the music- not that he had much to work with. As I said, the soundtrack wasn't so hot- it was flat, generic movie music that I wouldn't have known belonged to the Harry Potter universe without the track info.

My husband gave the expectant movie-goer outside Loews' an "above average" rating (given in his charming New Yorkese). Our questioner immediately asked:

"But I heard it was all talk, no action!"

This comment stunned us- we'd been struck by the fact that The Order of the Phoenix was an intense action experience. We heard this "all talk, no action" meme on the street, in the subway, pretty much wherever we went. Somebody had gotten the idea there was a scene between Harry and Dumbledore with too much exposition, and had cast the entire film as talking heads.

Ten days after the opening of the movie, the seventh and final volume in the Harry Potter series arrived at our door by priority mail. The USPS box containing the book had been specially printed to accommodate the huge Amazon.com Book 7 pre-order turnout.

For the seventh time, my husband and I sat down and began the Harry Potter adventure together. He probably deserves a purple heart for the damage to his vocal chords. We finished about a week after the book came to our door, at two in the morning. The ending was so intense, we wouldn't have slept if we didn't see Harry and his friends through to the end.

A lot of interesting stuff happened this summer: Live Earth Concerts for a Climate in Crisis, the release of the iPhone. But I'll always remember summer of 2007 as the Harry Potter summer, and picture the photo in The New York Daily News- a whole row of commuters on the subway, noses buried The Deathly Hallows.