Liberty: A Lake Wobegone Novel

Having been raised in the Midwest by a Lutheran family, I've always found that Garrison Keillor's tales of his created Lutheran town, Lake Wobegone, can really get under my skin and tickle. Keillor is willing to point out the contradictions and faults of his characters with gentle affection and, of course, humor. I also enjoy Keillor's skill in world building. Lake Wobegone is a town whose geography, history, and population are consistent, and become pleasantly familiar the more stories I hear. I was thrilled to learn that the protagonist of Liberty bought his house from the woman who had a giant snake living under her porch. I remember listening to her story on the radio, years ago. This kind of self-referential history makes Lake Wobegone feel convincingly real.

It has been some time since I listened to Keillor's "News From Lake Wobegon." I remember the Lake Wobegon stories as something I could sit down and listen to with a parent or grandparent- funny family entertainment I would not hesitate to leave playing if a kid came into the room. So when I began the audiobook of Keillor's most recent Lake Wobegon novel (hearing Keillor narrate is half the fun), I was shocked to discover that Lake Wobegon had become a darker, more adult town. Lutherans meet up online to talk dirty, and adultery is not only central to the plot, but described in anatomical detail.

Once the blood drained back out of my cheeks, and I got over the surprise of hearing Garrison Keillor read: "my nipples are getting hard for some reason," I really began to appreciate this modern-day, grown-up Lake Wobegone. There is an endearing honesty to Keillor's portrayal of his characters. Yes, they now cheat on their husbands and wives, vie for air time on CNN, and have DNA tests done to determine their heredity- but they also make mounds of potato salad, bake rhubarb pie, and march an ocarina band in the Fourth of July parade.

In Liberty, Keillor asks, what happens to small town folk who never leave the place where they were born? Their geographical situation may never change, but time still passes, the Internet and the television connect them to a larger world. Something in their individual character and social structure must shift, and Keillor paints this shift with the small details and little stories that make up our lives.

I was also extremely impressed by how Keillor treated the theme of his book. Liberty is the title of the novel, and key to the libertarian character of the protagonist. Liberty is the setting of the novel (A Fourth of July parade), and the conflict (will the protagonist ever get free of Lake Wobegone?). Miss Liberty also plays a crucial role in the story. I have rarely read a book so tightly and delightfully tied to one central concept- in this case, liberty.

Liberty ranks around #22,300 in Kindle books. On Amazon the hardcover is selling at about #153,300.

The Women

Growing up in the Midwest, the highlight of our third grade school year was a trip to Spring Green, Wisconsin. We traveled hours by bus to tour the dwarven homes of Welsh miners and eat delicious pasties. We also took a tour of Taliesin, the home and studio of architect, Frank Lloyd Wright. Little did I imagine, on that third grade tour, that Taliesin and its beautiful organic architecture had a history of scandal and brutal murder.

Appropriate to its subject of a great architect, The Women has a beautiful and unusual structure. The novel is divided into three sections, each describing the residence of Frank and one of his wives/mistresses at Taliesin. The reader encounters these sections in reverse historical order, first learning the tale of Olgiavanna, the woman of Wright's senior years, then moving back in time to learn of Miriam's reign at Taliesin, then going back to when Wright bought the property for, designed, and built Taliesin for its first mistress, Mamhah. The effect of the backwards storytelling is to form a portrait of Frank Lloyd Wright using negative space, defining the man through the progression of his love interests. As in an epic poem or tragic opera, the reader knows most of the plot before it unfolds. The interest isn't so much in what will happen next, as it is how it will take place, and why.

As I neared the end of the first section (Olgiavanna's section), I was eager to read the second (Miriam's) section, to learn what Wright could have done to twist Miriam so, to make her into the monster of their older age. Yet the first paragraph of Miriam's section, written at a time when Miriam and Frank had not yet met, makes it clear that Miriam was twisted from the very start. Her relationship with Wright did not change her even a little bit- for better or worse. So the question then became, what could have happened to Wright to bring him to a point where Miriam seemed a fit companion? And this question drew me into the third section.

In an interview with the New York Times, Boyle discusses why he was drawn to Frank Lloyd Wright (Boyle lives in Wright's first Californian house) and why he is drawn to similar historical figures. Boyle discusses the magnetism of men such as Wright, the way they draw a community of people around them, and the way they draft their own utopias founded on personal ideals. Taliesin, the builders, apprentice architects, house staff, and the women and family Wright gathered to his home, created just such a little utopia. The ideal upon which Wright founded the Taliesin community was this: that convention was for small men, with small minds, and that great men with great minds required a different set of rules, especially in the realm of love and marriage (and also in debt repayment). Throughout the book, Boyle seems to question this ideal, showing that not even Wright's beautiful retreat, or convenient way of ignoring abandoned wives and creditors, could shield him from the consequences of shedding convention.

My only (small) disappointment was with the end of the book, in which the deep probing of this question ceases, abruptly, and the focus of the novel shifts to tell the shocking and gruesome story of the murders at Taliesin. Boyle does give the murderer the motive of his conventional views of women and marriage clashing with the free love ideas of Taliesin. But the murderer is clearly insane, his violence not a consequence of differing world views, but of personal mental imbalance. The murders at Taliesin do not read like justice, or moral consequence, but as brutal and almost random acts of violence. Boyle's decision to end with the murders makes sense- they are the most sensational and exciting events in Wright's life story. And it could be argued that the ending paints the consequence of living in a closed, Utopian community, flaunting the rules of convention. But for me the sheer brutality and personal emotional imbalance of the murderer erases all sense, lets the important and difficult question of the book slide, and instead of concluding the discussion, abandons it to shock and horror.

Regardless, The Women was a pleasure to read. Boyle raised very poignant questions about men of greatness, and about what makes them large, and what makes them small. I had a fantastic time learning more about Frank Lloyd Wright and the home and studio I toured as a child. And I was thrilled by the way in which Boyle chose to write his story. His previous book, Talk Talk, used reference to explore the theme of communication. The Women used structure as its primary narrative device because it was a story about grand ideas, and the difficult reality of bringing those ideas into the world through structure. It is very exciting to follow a writer who has the skill set and flexibility to use the just the right tool to tell each new story.

The Women ranks #539 in Amazon's bestselling paper books, and #422 in Kindle books.

Mr. Magorium's Wonder Emporium

Mr. Magorium's Wonder Emporium is one of those films whose title gives an accurate description of what the viewer is about to experience. Whimsy abounds in this fantasy- from the quaint cartoon opening, to the unique credits at the end. The 2007 film boasts a cast of well-known actors: Dustin Hoffman, Natalie Portman, even Kermit the Frog, and was written and directed by Zach Helm.

I'm used to fantasy films that take place in fantasy worlds, leaving the audience to connect the vital points between the fantasy experience and their own lives. But Mr. Magorium's Wonder Emporium expresses its theme quite explicitly- proposing to prove that the successful adult carries childlike wonder with him throughout his life. Mr. Magorium's Wonder Emporium is all about maintaining that childhood sense of wonder in adulthood, and even into old age and approaching death. The film isn't very subtle in making its point. The plot, the toy store setting, the candy-colored palette, and the typical, hard-nosed accountant foil, all constantly echo the theme- and for extra emphasis, the film's dialog and narration also underline the point. The explicit statement of theme doesn't detract from the fun, the story, or the sense of wonder which Helm invokes. It creates an open-hearted, direct dialog with the viewer, asking the audience to remain wide-eyed and childlike, in keeping with its theme.

The Dressmaker's Child

For the second post in a row I'll be discussing a knighted author. Previously I wrote about Englishman, (Sir) Terry Pratchett, and his first Discworld book. Today I'll be discussing a haunting short story by the Irish (Sir) William Trevor.

I wonder what it would be like to live in a country where authors were knighted for service to literature...

Far from the glory of knighthood, "The Dressmaker's Child" is a story about ordinary folks . It is, in fact, the very ordinariness of Trevor's characters that makes the story so honest and strangely beautiful.

Just like The Story of Edgar Sawtelle, "The Dressmaker's Child" is mainstream literary fiction that takes on some speculative overtones. The child in the story is not a ghost, yet she haunts like one. The mother is an outcast woman, not a witch- yet her spell entrances, just the same. The story is not really supernatural fiction, but it certainly owes much of its ambiance to the ghost story genre.

I loved the way Trevor established the concrete, the familiar, the real, then blended it with subtle mysticism. "The Dressmaker's Child" makes the reader feel as though magic might brush past at any moment- particularly when it's least expected.

The story is part of a collection, Cheating at Canasta, which ranks at #34,288 in the Kindle store and #228,971 in Amazon's Bestselling Books.

The Colour of Magic

I just had a great time reading the first book of Terry Pratchett's Discworld series, The Colour of Magic. The Discworld series is an astounding 36 books long and still running. The most recent novel in the series is available for pre-order in the US and the UK, and will be released in October 2009. On amazon.com this pre-order ranks #84 in comic literature and fiction, and around #17,000 in books, overall. Not bad sales for a book buyers can't even read until October! According to Wikipedia, as of 2006 Pratchett was the #2 bestselling author in the UK and the #7 non-US bestselling author in America.

Discworld began its impressive and popular career in 1983 with The Colour of Magic. The story is charming, its cosmology enchanting. As in many successful firsts of fantasy series, The Colour of Magic introduces the reader to its magical world through the arrival of a newcomer- although Pratchett turns this convention on its head, because the protagonist is not the newcomer, but his seasoned guide.

A lot of the pleasure of reading The Colour of Magic comes from its not-so-subtle parallels to our real world experience. The characters in the book grub for money, lie, cheat, steal, go on vacation, take photographs, and worry about their luggage- but it's all incredibly fun and clever while they do it.

The Colour of Magic is a bird's-eye-view narrative, the camera zooming in and then zooming very far out. We see the story from many angles, aware not just of the main characters' struggles, but of the interplay of the gods, of the cosmology of the universe (four elephants atop a giant turtle), and even of the multiverse. As a result of this constant panning in and out, the reader gains the emotional distance from the story needed to make it funny. The trade-off is that the reader (at least this reader) cares very little whether protagonist Rincewind lives or dies- and the story's entire dramatic structure is built on the question- will Rincewind live or die? Fortunately I was having so much fun sight-seeing in Discworld, that I didn't need any genuine concern for the characters or deep involvement with the plot in order to enjoy the book.

Dollhouse- The Mythical Episode 13

Over the weekend I heard that Fox was going to cancel Joss Whedon's sci-fi drama series, Dollhouse. Reports of Dollhouse's demise were apparently exaggerated. The fate of the series for next year is still unknown. The only thing fans know for sure is that Fox has decided not to air what Producer, Tim Minear, termed the "mythical" 13th, and final episode of the season (You can read his explanation here).

As a huge Joss Whedon fan, I'd normally be up in arms about this sort of thing. But I don't know if I want Dollhouse to air next year, or not- because I haven't been watching it.

In Angel goes out with the old, which I posted in January of this year, I talked about how much I love Whedon's work, and how sitting down to watch episodes of BTvS as they aired was a special event in my life, a fun and rewarding treat that I looked forward to all week long. In Dollhouse: Thoughts after the First Three Episodes posted in early March, I came to terms with the fact that, although I didn't feel the same way about Dollhouse that I do about BTvS, the series still had potential.

Then, somewhere in the middle of March, episodes of Dollhouse began to pile up, unwatched, on my DVR. Two Fridays ago I forgot to record an episode.

I'll say that again, just to let it sink in: I am so little attached to the series, that I forgot to record the show.

I have a lot of respect for Joss Whedon, and I sincerely hope that there is something in one of the episodes waiting on the hard drive of my DVR that not just grabs me, but holds me so tight that I become addicted to the characters and the world. In the first month or so of airing, Dollhouse did plenty of grabbing, but very little holding. I was usually more excited by the preview for the next episode, than I was about the show that had just aired. Perhaps Dollhouse just didn't get going fast enough. Maybe it dithered with introductions too long, and didn't get right to the heart of making friends.

But my fear is that Dollhouse lacks a fully developed speculative fiction world with consistent rules where it's fun to play, fun to create and imagine. I also worry that without the smart sense of humor that has always been a Whedon hallmark, Dollhouse is simply a well-crafted drama, lacking that special Whedonesque sparkle.

Gunnerkrigg Court

Gunnerkrigg Court is a free, serialized, online graphic novel updated page by page on Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays. It took me awhile to warm to Tom Siddell's heroine, Antimony, and her strange school. But once I did, I found myself really looking forward to spending time in Gunnerkrigg Court.

At first glance, Gunnerkrigg Court is a Harry Potter wanna-be: a young girl, practically an orphan, enrolls in the magical school where her parents and their friends (now teachers at the school) were once students, only to find she has special talents critical to the fate of her community. Despite sharing this basic premise with the Harry Potter series, Gunnerkrigg Court has its own well-developed speculative world, its own vast cast of charming characters, and an interesting theme quite different from that in J.K. Rowling's books. Gunnerkrigg Court is decidedly a fun story in its own right.

From the opening pages of the graphic novel, Siddell sets up the main conflict of the story: science and technology vs. magic and nature. Gunnerkrigg Court is a place where advanced scientists and magical creatures meet, mingle...and sometimes kill each other. Besides creating an interesting story, this theme is very relevant to a world in which people are going hiking, using the compass application on their iPhone, a world interested in combining and reconciling our "magical" sense of wonder and our connection to nature, with the fruit of scientific reason and technological advancement.

The Meaning of Everything

I was really excited to read Simon Winchester's account of the making of the Oxford English Dictionary. As a linguistics buff, I was hoping Winchester would delve more deeply into the process of unearthing etymologies through the use of specific, juicy examples. Although some lists of words and their geographical origins were included, they were far from meaty or detailed, and I did not feel as though I got to experience the thrill of ferreting out any especially interesting etymologies. There were a few small inaccuracies when wandering outside the author's expertise in the English language (such as the influence of the Florentine Academy of the Italian Language- which, quite unlike the Academie Française, does nothing whatsoever to defend the Italian language from the encroachment of English language words, and does little more than give exams for Italian language learners). Further, Winchester made a lot of remarks about the fact that English is the dominant world language now (agreed) and will continue to be forever...a fortune telling whose likelihood would be fun to discuss, but is certainly not 100% guaranteed.

The most joy I got from reading the book was its trivia. Did you know that J.R.R. Tolkien labored on much of the W section of the dictionary- and loved every minute of it? That editor Murray paid his eleven children pocket money for sorting quotation slips- rates based, not on productivity, but on age? That the famous Scriptorium in which much of the work was done was a prefab garden shed erected in Murray's yard? That the dictionary was originally released in fascicles (small, periodical releases of a larger work) that generally did not even encompass an entire letter? That the standard English-language dictionary before the OED was the American Webster's Dictionary?

More interesting still was learning about the scores of volunteers who made the project possible. Although I would hardly compare the OED to Wikipedia, there is no doubt the OED was a precursor to popular volunteerism aimed at collecting, preserving, and distributing knowledge. The OED project began with a call to readers to collect words, and quotations which accurately illustrated their meaning, from a set reading list. Thousands of volunteer readers from around the world responded, flooding the editors with millions and millions of quotation slips. Among these volunteer quotation-gatherers, certain volunteers were chosen to help with editing and proofing tasks- and these volunteers were far from English professors. One of the most prolific volunteer contributors lived in an asylum for the criminally insane, and only stopped his long and diligent work on the OED after cutting off his own manhood in a fit of madness. Even John Murray, editor through the bulk of the hard-working years of the dictionary, was not a traditional scholar. Murray left school at the age of fourteen, went to work at a bank, and only received honorary college degrees well into his work on the dictionary. The OED was a labor of love for the people by the people, a truly great achievement.

I have the two-volume Compact Edition of the OED, complete with magnifying glass (this edition was supposedly very popular in America). It's out in the garage, now. My Kindle has an OED search function (I used it yesterday to look up the word "purlieu"). I wonder what John Murray would have thought if he could see his Scriptorium full of quotations living in a small device I can hold in the palm of my hand.

Magic for Beginners

My husband wanted to reread one of his all-time favorite short stories- speculative, or otherwise- "Magic for Beginners" by Kelly Link. What appeals to my husband about the story is its spirited mix of danger and fun.

Since it had been some time since I'd read the story, we decided to read it together, out loud. The pacing of the story was much different than I'd remembered- much more of the action takes place before the road trip portion, which I had remembered, erroneously, as the bulk of the story. The other thing I had failed to remember was just how funny the story is. We had to halt the narrative over and over to accommodate my fits of laughter.

I love the characters in the story- especially the protagonist's father. His quirks seem so real, both because elements of his personality remind me of people I've known, and because these distinctive elements of his character organically meld character to situation, situation to plot.

I also love the way Link turns the mundane into fantasy. What could be more everyday than a bunch of kids obsessed with their favorite TV show? Yet Link takes their show, their burgeoning hormones, mixes in discarded sofas and a phone booth- and manages to make magic.

"Magic for Beginners" is available in a short story collection by the same name (which includes another of my favorite Kelly Link tales, "The Faery Handbag"). Amazon ranks Magic for Beginners #44 in best selling paper science fiction and fantasy anthologies. The Kindle edition ranks in the top 10% of sales in Kindle books .

The Life Aquatic with Steve Zissou

This weekend we watched an especially fun film by Wes Anderson. The Life Aquatic with Steve Zissou was the immediate predecessor to his better-known The Darjeeling Limited.

There's a lot to love about The Life Aquatic- the stop motion animation depicting fantasy marine life, Brazilian singer/songwriter, Seu Jorge, strumming the guitar and singing David Bowie songs in Portuguese- and, of course, lots of comedy and wacky, high-seas adventure. Fans of The Darjeeling Limited will find some familiar Wes Anderson themes in The Life Aquatic, such as adult children searching for absent parents, and a quite unusual twist on the "road trip" movie.

What I particularly liked about The Life Aquatic was the way it treated the spirit of adventure. The film seemed to ask why we bother to live, to love, to hope and dream, when so often life treats us to sickness, the death of those we love, and failure. Tripping and falling, laughing and crying, Steve Zissou and his rag-tag band of marine adventurers leaves the viewer feeling that, yes, the journey of life is worthwhile, after all.

The Wisdom of Joseph Campbell

Several nights ago I had a nightmare. I was moving, but could only carry an armful of possessions if I meant to make it out of the apartment alive- because the apartment kept morphing as did the house in the House of Leaves. The part of the nightmare I found most interesting was that, on several occasions, my husband tried to telephone me. As I attempted to slide the bar on my iPhone to answer his call, the slider began to swirl and wriggle around on the screen. No matter how my finger chased it, the sliding bar kept eluding me, and I could not make contact with him.

If he were still alive, I think Joseph Campbell would have gotten a kick out of the way my subconscious brought together my modern, daily experience and mythic archetype.

The Wisdom of Joseph Campbell is a collection of interviews conducted toward the end of Campbell's life by Michael Toms. As Campbell, himself, points out, Toms does an excellent job of asking questions, of providing a springboard from which Campbell can really get to the essence of what he'd learned during a lifetime of studying mythology.

During the interviews Campbell explains why humans need mythology- that is, to provide a way to connect to the spiritual, to bring the spiritual in accord with nature, to bring the spiritual in accord with society, and to guide the individual through the stages of his life.

Campbell posits that the mythic link between the spiritual and society has been broken. Myths were once culture-specific, geographic-specific stories that defined an in-group and the way the individual related to his in-group. In our modern world in which the in-group is becoming the entire world, there is no universal mythology which binds all of humanity together- at least, not yet.

So the individual is left with two problems. First, he has to find some way to relate to his in-group. This identification can be accomplished by the old-fashioned method of defining an "us" and a "them," or it can be accomplished by a realization of spiritual unity, the idea that all of humanity is in the same boat. Campbell obviously believes that the latter method is the healthier, more indicative of maturity in human evolution. Even if the individual manages to identify with the vast and overwhelming everything and everyone, he is still left with the problem of finding a mythology- a symbolic link to the spiritual- that has meaning to him, personally, and can help guide him through the stages of his own life.

Much of Campbell's life work consisted of comparing and contrasting the different forms which different cultures assign to the same myths. During one interview, he discussed a Buddhist myth in which the future Buddha has an encounter with a monster called "Sticky Hair." As Campbell proceeds to tell the tale, it becomes clear that this ancient, oriental story is quite similar to Br'er Rabbit and the Tar Baby. Through study we can learn that the myths of many cultures tell one story, that they address the spiritual needs we all share. But if the individual is no longer tied to the stories of his tribe, his country, or his local religion, where will he find the symbols and stories that link him to the spiritual?

Campbell notes that occasionally an artist, such as Picasso, James Joyce, or T.S. Eliot can help the individual begin to forge those connections. Yet Campbell insists that the ultimate solution to finding a symbolic system of links to the spiritual, is for each individual to create a personal mythology, appropriate to himself, alone.

I find the juxtaposition of these seemingly disparate ideas- the need to identify with humanity as one community, one spirit- and at the same time, for each individual to create his own, unique mythology- a problem as sticky as the Tar Baby.

Campbell also mentions that, when established mythic symbols fail to define a connection to spirituality for the individual, and that individual has not yet built a link of his own, the result is frequently nightmares. In dream the subconscious tries to construct a mythology of its own.

This insight brought me back to my dream involving the slider bar on the iPhone. In the nightmare my subconscious started with mythic symbols established in the book House of Leaves (morphing architecture), then went on to feverishly invent its own version of a chasing myth using the iPhone.

There are lots of chasing myths involving lovers, in which a man smitten by love begins a fruitless chase for a woman. The most obvious example is Daphne's flight from Apollo. Countless other cultures have personified astronomical bodies, so that man chases woman, wronged, eternally across the sky. Even the story of Pecos Bill and Slue-foot Sue addresses this idea of one lover chasing the other (hopelessly) when Slue-foot Sue bounces endlessly from the earth to the moon, and back again. The fact that my subconscious recreated this myth, referencing iPhone touch screen technology instead of the natural world, indicates one way in which I might attempt to build my own, personal link to the spiritual.

Just as Michael Toms knew exactly what questions to ask Joseph Campbell during the interviews, Joseph Campbell knows just the questions to bring up in his listener's mind. Do you belong to a group? Who are they- what defines them? Do you have some way to connect to something greater than yourself? How do you forge that connection? What has influenced your symbolic links to the spiritual, and what can you do to make those symbolic links really mean something to you?

If any of these questions interest you, I highly recommend listening to "The Wisdom of Joseph Campbell."

Coyote

Coyote by Allen Steele is the first in a series of seven (as of March 3, 2009) science fiction books. In print, Coyote has an Amazon sales rank of #145,794 in books, and it ranks #28,867 in the Kindle store.

I read Coyote neither in print nor in Kindle format, but listened to it as an audiobook read by Peter Gamin. There is a cool introduction to the audiobook in which Allen Steele discusses the origin of the series. However, Peter Gamin really annoyed me as narrator. His reading style was emotionless, reminding me of a computer converting text to speech. Worse, when he attempted to change his voice to depict Spanish-speaking or female characters, his voice had a mocking quality which, I'm sure, was unintentional- but, nevertheless, detracted from the story.

Like the hills and valleys on the planet Coyote, the first novel of the Coyote series had its high points and low points. The opening of the book was written in present tense. I'd guess Steele made the present tense decision in order to add even more tension to the already nail-biting events of the opening. I was about to despair that the entire book would be in the present tense, but was relieved to find that large stretches of the book, such as journal entries, were written in the storytelling past tense.

The opening also suffered from an overly black and white political landscape. The conflict between the mean-for-no-reason establishment, and the tragic Dissident Intellectuals being shipped like Jews to concentration camps, was painted in broad, uninteresting strokes just to establish the good guys and bad guys. However, once I suspended disbelief and accepted the naively conceived political climate, I found myself looking for any excuse to listen to more Coyote. Steele ratcheted the tension of the "Journey from Earth" with a visceral sense of dread that left my heart racing.

Coyote seems to me a fantasy novel wearing science fiction clothing. Sure, there are space ships, biostasis fields, and Savants (people who have traded in their bodies for machines)- but the mysteries for those who journey to Coyote do not lie in the wonder of technology or human aspiration and reason. Visions, ghosts, dreams, and, ironically, a fantasy novel written by one of the colonists, are key to the novel's sense of wonder. What's more, those who reach the planet aren't setting up state-of-the-art research labs- they are farmers, barkeeps, adventurers. And the world they attempt to colonize is filled with fantastical beasts. The creatures on Coyote reminded me of those in John Varley's Gaea Trilogy, in which space explorers land on a new planet to find centaurs and flying angels. Steele does not use traditional fantasy archetypes to populate his alien planet the way Varley did, but descriptions of his creatures have more in common with fantasy than they do science fiction.

Coyote is a great world for adventure, for stretching out the cramped limbs of your imagination. If, as the ending of the first novel implied, politics are going to play a large role in the Coyote series, I hope Steele portrays political conflict with a deeper and more realistic investigation into the motives of the "bad guys."

La Jetée

This weekend I watched a unique, post-apocalyptic, French science fiction film. When Chris Marker made La Jetée in 1962, motion picture technology was churning out such films as To Kill a Mockingbird and Dr. No, but Marker chose to shoot his film as a series of black and white still shots. With only one brief exception, the entire 28 minutes of La Jetée is a slide show of images with narration and orchestral soundtrack. The only dialog is some creepy muttering in German that the original French audience was not meant to understand (and neither did I).

The result of Marker's still-shot and narrative techniques is the manipulation of time- a manipulation in beautiful harmony with the time travel plot at the heart of the story.

The 1962 vision of a scary future is the aftermath of World War III. Germans occupied Paris, took prisoners- then victors and captors alike suffered the same fate of radiation poisoning and slow starvation. Desperate to survive, German scientists single out a French prisoner with a strong link to his past, to send on a torturous journey back in time to a France that had not yet been destroyed in order to obtain food, medicine, and aid. The prisoner's link to the past is the memory of a woman, and each trip back to the time of his childhood, he is drawn to her. The still shots of Paris before its destruction are full of life, light, and hope, in strong contrast to the post-apocalyptic world the prisoner has just left. I especially loved the series of stills in which the prisoner and the woman explore a natural history museum. The taxidermied species on display are a beautiful metaphor for the prisoner. Even the title of the film, while ostensibly referring to the pier on which the film opens, has a second meaning that refers to the prisoner- one thrown out, cast out, tossed back in time.

Although there was a lot of potential for this film to be corny- still shots, narration, ideas, such as WW III, which no longer seem fresh to modern audiences- it was overall a beautiful and intense experience. With the exception of some decidedly 1962-esque visions of humanity's future, La Jetée has aged pretty well. The film also lives on as the inspiration for the well-known 1995 science fiction film, Twelve Monkeys.

The Phoenix Requiem

More fun than working, and free, too- if you've never followed an online graphic novel, you might consider giving Sarah Ellerton's The Phoenix Requiem a try. The Phoenix Requiem is a Victorian-style fantasy tale with horror overtones and just enough polite sexual tension to keep things interesting. The artwork is pretty- Ellerton renders her human characters with warmth and humor, and her supernatural beings are appropriately ethereal or horrid, depending on whether they are spirits or shades.

At first I wasn't sold on heroine, Anya, a marriage-averse guy magnet. Anya is a doctor in training, fighting against the idea that a woman's place is in the home. Based on the feminist premise, I feared she'd become a one-sided character- but Anya's struggle is mostly with herself, as she attempts to balance her career goals and personal desires. This conflict resonates well with modern audiences of both sexes, and when combined with Anya's genuine empathy for the health and well-being of those around her, creates an endearing heroine.

The Phoenix Requiem is a work in progress. I just finished reading up to Volume 3. Ellerton posts 2-3 pages twice a week. Those who enjoy watching the novel take form, little by little, can eagerly await each new post. I prefer to let several chapters build up, and then pig out on Phoenix Requiem fun.

Anathem a Modern-Day Number of the Beast

I was a big fan of Neal Stephenson during his cyber phase (Snow Crash, The Diamond Age). I completely skipped out on his historical phase (Cryptonomicon and the Baroque Cycle), but wanted to catch up with his most recent book, Anathem, which I can only hope is the beginning of a new philosophical phase.

In my review below I've kept spoilers to a minimum, but it would be impossible to discuss such a lengthy book without delving past the initial mysteries. So be warned that there are some spoilers below.

I was particularly tickled by Anathem because of the way it treated alternate universes. That's not to discount the fact that I got a huge kick out of Stephenson's invented language. Of course Stephenson also wove physics, technology, and mathematics into his adventure- and he drew the plot together with a fascinating dose of philosophy and spirituality. This may sound like a lot of topics to cover while writing the story of an alien invasion- but Stephenson took 960 pages to draw all these subjects into an intriguing plot, and he made (nearly) every page exciting while doing it.

For years I cited Robert Heinlein as my favorite science fiction writer. He largely won that place through Number of the Beast, in which he explored the consequences of small party that learned to travel between the multitude of alternate universes. Heinlein leaned toward a fantasy aesthetic in his interpretation of alternate universes, having his party travel to worlds such as Oz, become real because his characters imagined them. I was enamoured by the idea that imaginary people could dream imaginary characters into existence- especially when those characters shared my own fictional references.

Stephenson does not fail to pull the heart strings of the familiar when writing a tale of alternate universe interaction. But first he extrapolates a carefully researched scientific and philosophical framework to explain how interaction between different universes becomes possible.

Another difference between Number of the Beast and Anathem- Heinlein starts his adventure from our universe, and travels to a multitude of others. In Anathem, the story begins in Arbre, a world hauntingly similar to ours- but which is clearly not Earth past, present, or future. Stephenson creates this sense of other-worldliness through the vocabulary of his created Arbran language. After spending months reading Anathem, "reticulum" seems a perfectly valid synonym for the Internet, and I might almost ask my husband if he felt like going to see a "speely" (movie). Continuing his manipulation of linguistics, Stephenson then cleverly creates a sense of pleasant notstalgia and connection when Earth words (in French) begin to seep into the Arbran vocabulary. Stephenson then deepens this sense of familiarity using the same trick Heinlein used- by tipping his hat to golden age spec fiction. Gets me every time.

Released in September 2008, Anathem is now 17th on Amazon's science fiction bestseller list. Interestingly, as of today, the Kindle edition of the book is not even in the top 100 of the Kindle's science fiction bestseller list. I, myself, read the book in print. The discrepancy may be explained by the fact that the Calcas (mathematical proofs) in the back of the book are more comfortable to flip to (and in some cases easier to view) in paper format. Perhaps readers were lured by the bundling of the book with companion CD (IOLET: Music from the World of Anathem) when the book was released. Perhaps there is simply more satisfaction weighing a huge, 960-page book in one's hands than comparing its storage space to other books saved to memory. At any rate, Anathem is selling much better in print than in Kindle format.

The Curious Case of Benjamin Button

I've been reading a lot of door-stoppers lately. It was fun to take a break and enjoy something short and satisfying.

"The Curious Case of Benjamin Button" was written by F. Scott Fitzgerald in 1921. The story does just what my favorite science fiction always accomplishes- illuminates the human experience by looking at it from an unusual perspective. In the case of Benjamin Button, this perspective is, literally, backwards.

The Sharing Knife, Book 1

I just finished Book 1 of Lois McMaster Bujold's Sharing Knife fantasy series, of which the fourth (and series final) book was published in January 2009. Books 1, 2, and 4 are available in Kindle format. Book 4 ranks #31 in Kindle's "Epic Fantasy" category. Publisher, Eos, is proud to point out that Book 4 ranked #30 on the NY Times Extended Bestseller list (as of Feb 15th).

This gives a picture of The Sharing Knife as a current fantasy series which, while not topping the charts, is certainly selling.

The Sharing Knife series is a down-to-earth romantic fantasy. In Book 1 Bujold balances life and death, procreation and a grim fight to save the world- all with endearingly honest characters, and a sense of humor. She treats sexuality with a no-nonsense, mature attitude that addresses both its pleasures and social complications. This book is far too explicit for teens and those who blush easily, yet Bujold never crosses the line into vulgarity. The worst I can say of her love story is that it serves little purpose other than to entertain and confirm mainstream values of love, sexual union, and marriage. The conventional aspect of the story can be forgiven as these values are explored by a man and woman of conflicting cultures. Book 1 foreshadows dangers in which this special union may cause painful conflict, but may also offer hope in the battle against evil.

We have already seen the smash success series like Twilight have enjoyed by stirring together spec fiction and soft-core romance. It will be interesting to see how the popularity of different spec fiction genres, such as fantasy, react to the infusion of romance.

House of Leaves

Over the past months I've been talking a lot about eBooks. Today I'm going to discuss a book that absolutely has to be read on paper- thick volume weighty in your lap, paper sliding between your fingers. House of Leaves needs to be read right-side-up, upside-down, diagonally. It needs to be read in color. You'll need easy access to the footnotes, or you'll miss at least half the story, and you'll want easy access to the appendices in back. Don't skip parts like this written in red, they are some of the best bits.

The book is a haunted house tale, but if you're expecting ghosts, think again. The protagonist of the story has never even been to the house. He simply had the misfortune of finding a manuscript- presumably the very manuscript we, as readers, hold in our hands. Truant has annotated the manuscript with his own comments and experience, which grow more disturbing and...creative in layout...as the story progresses. The manuscript itself is a scholarly work on the subject of a documentary film which, as Truant tells us, probably never existed. The non-existent documentary is about a house which mistreats three-dimensional space much the way the layout of House of Leaves mistreats traditional manuscript format.

I thoroughly enjoyed House of Leaves. It would be tempting to think all the crazy formats, colors, and footnotes were mere gimmicks to garner attention- but Danielewski proves that he uses each special effect to draw his reader deeper into the story. There is an artful resonance between the printed layout and the plot. No opportunity is wasted, be it a footnote, a translation, an exhaustive list of architects- to blur the line between what is real, and what is nightmare.

Kindle and iPhone make friends

Amazon has announced a free iPhone (or iPod Touch) application that allows the iPhone to read Kindle eBooks.

Wow.

This means iPhone and iPod Touch owners don't have to shell out the money for an expensive Kindle device in order to purchase and read Kindle books. No doubt Amazon hopes this will create a huge increase in the market for Kindle books. I certainly hope this development will lead to an increase in the already impressive number of titles available in Kindle format.

For those who do own Kindles, the new iPhone software can synchronize your place between the Kindle and the iPhone. So if you read a few chapters on your iPhone while on the train, you can pick up your Kindle when you get home and not have to waste a moment searching for where you left off in your reading. As a Kindle owner whose device is strictly used at home, this opens up exciting new possibilities for never being without my book!

Dollhouse- Thoughts after the First Three Episodes

I've been a Joss Whedon fan since the very first time I caught a random Season Two episode of Buffy the Vampire Slayer on the WB. My admiration for Whedon TV greatly deepened when he created Firefly, translating his special mix of comedy and drama, wordplay, and ensemble acting, from the horror realm to science fiction.

So I was pretty excited about the premiere of his latest series, Dollhouse. Now that the first three episodes have aired, it's time to think about how the series is living up to my expectations.

Dollhouse is not exactly what I expected. And, strangely, that's okay.

The first big departure from Whedon's previous work is a change in his recipe for equal parts comedy and drama. Dollhouse mixes action and intrigue (with some strategic drama). Is there any comedy in the series at all? A little- the comedy is sparsely sprinkled in, like raisins in a cookie you were hoping was chocolate chip.

Hand-in-hand with the departure of comedy's role is the absence of wordplay. Heroine Echo has no time to quip or bandy pop culture references with her foes- she is normally too busy racing across the screen on foot, on motorcycle, in helicopter. And the show's other characters are usually too caught up casting conspiratorial glances to produce either comedy or drama.

One of the three big hallmarks of Whedon TV stands firm in Dollhouse: ensemble acting. Whedon makes no mistake about his leading lady- like Buffy, Echo is core to the story, and without her the plot and the world would crumble. At the same time Whedon is slowly, carefully, filling in the backgrounds of other intriguing characters: an FBI agent obsessed by uncovering the Dollhouse, Echo's Handler (who echoes the BtVS Watcher- pun intended), fellow Active, Sierra, and the mysterious and dangerous Alpha.

I'm really looking forward to the next episode of Dollhouse. So far it has been a well-crafted blend of action and intrigue, with drama popping up where I least expected it- in the course of exploring Echo's temporary, imprinted personalities. The fact that Whedon draws drama out of a character who essentially arises from nowhere and disappears at the end of every episode, fascinates me.

My biggest concerns with the series are the depth of the world, and how Whedon will draw out and deepen the intrigue. Why does the Dollhouse exist- simply as a screenwriting convenience to explore a character like Echo? I'm trusting Whedon has deeper motivations in mind, that will draw his ensemble of characters into stickier and stickier moral territory.

So, am I disappointed by the changes in Whedon's yummy TV recipe? No. I'm tasting, I'm chewing, I'm tasting again. Of course I like chocolate chip cookies. But oatmeal raisin is pretty scrumptious, too.