I'm reading Interworld, by Neil Gaiman and some other guy. A colaboration. It's interesting. It seems not to have been written by Neil Gaiman much--it's missing the Neil Gaiman prose. It's missing the Neil Gaiman thing where, even though he's introducing crazy-weird stuff that sometimes doesn't initially make ANY sense, it does in the long run all fit into the same odd tapestry. It sort of seems to be a book written by this other guy based on ideas that Neil Gaiman hadn't finished developing yet.
Sort of weird.
Showing posts with label reading. Show all posts
Showing posts with label reading. Show all posts
Saturday, October 18, 2008
Thursday, March 27, 2008
Favorite Kind of Squash?
I have three favorite books. The Hobbit is one. Has been for nigh on a decade and I ain't hardly ever wavered in m'loyalty. Starship Troopers a second, and of my favorite books this is the only one I've only read once. In itself peculiar, because the last time I picked it up I didn't get very far into it, yet I still consider it one of my favorites. Then Jonathan Strange & Mr. Norrel is the third.
All these books have one thing in common, and that's the feeling I got as I read them. Not after, but in the process of actually beginning and middling and ending them. The feeling of "this is really something special. I'll never forget this."
The first time I read The Hobbit.... I must have been nine. Maybe ten or eleven. I almost have not a single memory of it. I was given a nice--and terribly durable--copy of it for some special occasion, and it's lasted me all that time without a single change. I don't remember exactly what I was thinking about at the time, but I remember what I was in to. Power Rangers. Martial arts, kicking people, punching people. So I'm compelled to wonder: what mystical energy made this story about a scared, short, furry footed, unwilling burglar so wonderful? I can't say. I just know it's on the faves list.
I read Starship Troopers maybe five, four or five, years after that. Once again, I was given a copy for a gift, I think. At the time, I'd been reading a lot of YAs. Animorphs was a great series, folks. And I read YAs about Jedi. Books on a monthly release schedule. Not a lot of depth, just a lot of fast, blatant, excitement.
Starship Troopers, the book anyway, isn't a lot of fast, isn't a lot of blatant, isn't a lot of shallow. It's a lot of gradual, it's a lot of subtle, it's a lot of deep. It's almost only deep-subtle. How did THIS book possibly engage me? The answer's some where, I'm sure. Go find Freud dude.
Jonathan Strange & Mr. Norrel wormed a funny course. I thought it was, anyway. I was bored. I wanted something to read. I took to going to the library, starting at the top left, opening the books and reading the first paragraph, and slamming the book shut. If I liked that first paragraph, I slammed it shut after the second paragraph, which I generally didn't like.
JS&MN took up a lot of space on that shelf. Nice shade of brown. I didn't really like that first paragraph. It seemed to me not to have all the things a first paragraph needs to be engaging. I kept thinking that for a few days, then went back to check if I was right. I thought I was, but I figured, to make a thorough study, I should take it home with me and check again later.
I read almost half of it. But it proved bulky, and I got it on CD and started again at the beginning, then got to the end. Then got it again a couple months later and started over.
This was a few months ago. These days, I like quick. I like direct. I like TV.... While I think JS&MN would make a good BBC Masterpiece Theater, I don't think it's very TV, or quick, or direct.
So I guess I'm concluding that the word "favorite" means that which changes your mind.... Or maybe that what we think we like is our way of lying to ourselves about reality. Or maybe I'm just concluding that nothing makes sense.
There you go: life is perfect, because nothing makes sense.
All these books have one thing in common, and that's the feeling I got as I read them. Not after, but in the process of actually beginning and middling and ending them. The feeling of "this is really something special. I'll never forget this."
The first time I read The Hobbit.... I must have been nine. Maybe ten or eleven. I almost have not a single memory of it. I was given a nice--and terribly durable--copy of it for some special occasion, and it's lasted me all that time without a single change. I don't remember exactly what I was thinking about at the time, but I remember what I was in to. Power Rangers. Martial arts, kicking people, punching people. So I'm compelled to wonder: what mystical energy made this story about a scared, short, furry footed, unwilling burglar so wonderful? I can't say. I just know it's on the faves list.
I read Starship Troopers maybe five, four or five, years after that. Once again, I was given a copy for a gift, I think. At the time, I'd been reading a lot of YAs. Animorphs was a great series, folks. And I read YAs about Jedi. Books on a monthly release schedule. Not a lot of depth, just a lot of fast, blatant, excitement.
Starship Troopers, the book anyway, isn't a lot of fast, isn't a lot of blatant, isn't a lot of shallow. It's a lot of gradual, it's a lot of subtle, it's a lot of deep. It's almost only deep-subtle. How did THIS book possibly engage me? The answer's some where, I'm sure. Go find Freud dude.
Jonathan Strange & Mr. Norrel wormed a funny course. I thought it was, anyway. I was bored. I wanted something to read. I took to going to the library, starting at the top left, opening the books and reading the first paragraph, and slamming the book shut. If I liked that first paragraph, I slammed it shut after the second paragraph, which I generally didn't like.
JS&MN took up a lot of space on that shelf. Nice shade of brown. I didn't really like that first paragraph. It seemed to me not to have all the things a first paragraph needs to be engaging. I kept thinking that for a few days, then went back to check if I was right. I thought I was, but I figured, to make a thorough study, I should take it home with me and check again later.
I read almost half of it. But it proved bulky, and I got it on CD and started again at the beginning, then got to the end. Then got it again a couple months later and started over.
This was a few months ago. These days, I like quick. I like direct. I like TV.... While I think JS&MN would make a good BBC Masterpiece Theater, I don't think it's very TV, or quick, or direct.
So I guess I'm concluding that the word "favorite" means that which changes your mind.... Or maybe that what we think we like is our way of lying to ourselves about reality. Or maybe I'm just concluding that nothing makes sense.
There you go: life is perfect, because nothing makes sense.
Wednesday, March 05, 2008
Mr. Midshipman Hornblower
"Damme if I'll let him see he has made me angry."--Captain Sir Edward Pellew
Apart from this strange spelling of damn, this is a thought provoking piece of dialog.
This is a direct quote from the book Mr. Midshipman Hornblower. Not long ago, Ioan Groffud starred in a television adaptation of the same, and this Edward Pellew dude said this exact line in that as well. And this wasn't the only occurance of a piece of dialog being the same in both media. A great deal of the dialog out of the Hornblower book got without deviation into the television shows.
In the television shows, though, there was a lot more talking. There was hours of television, sometimes, that in the book was only a paragraph. One particular instance, near the end Hornblower is in a Spanish prison, a POW, and it says that he was there for a few months and didn't like it much. In the television show during that time period there was a return of a character from an earlier episode thought dead and an attempted escape and subsequent punishment at least.
C.S. Forester is an excellent writer. I entertain myself these days, when reading, by judging the sentences, seeing if I have a problem with them, and if so how to fix them. Or judging if they're clear, or if they could be more clever. In general, there wasn't an occurance of an unclear or badly phrased sentence in this book. The dialog was also good, but there really wasn't much of it. Forester concentrated on two things: Hornblower himself, and boats. He spent more time describing messing about in boats than anything else, and the only character that he seems to enjoy at all is his main character. Who is, admittedly, and agreeable and interesting character. But another, I think good, change that the television shows made from the book was to bring in some other characters. Throughout the book Forester will mention seamen who only stick around for a couple seconds. In the television shows there are about four seamen who are constant through the stories instead.
An interesting sort of juxtaposition. A good piece of literature and a good movie adaptation and the changes that were made and the changes that were not.
Apart from this strange spelling of damn, this is a thought provoking piece of dialog.
This is a direct quote from the book Mr. Midshipman Hornblower. Not long ago, Ioan Groffud starred in a television adaptation of the same, and this Edward Pellew dude said this exact line in that as well. And this wasn't the only occurance of a piece of dialog being the same in both media. A great deal of the dialog out of the Hornblower book got without deviation into the television shows.
In the television shows, though, there was a lot more talking. There was hours of television, sometimes, that in the book was only a paragraph. One particular instance, near the end Hornblower is in a Spanish prison, a POW, and it says that he was there for a few months and didn't like it much. In the television show during that time period there was a return of a character from an earlier episode thought dead and an attempted escape and subsequent punishment at least.
C.S. Forester is an excellent writer. I entertain myself these days, when reading, by judging the sentences, seeing if I have a problem with them, and if so how to fix them. Or judging if they're clear, or if they could be more clever. In general, there wasn't an occurance of an unclear or badly phrased sentence in this book. The dialog was also good, but there really wasn't much of it. Forester concentrated on two things: Hornblower himself, and boats. He spent more time describing messing about in boats than anything else, and the only character that he seems to enjoy at all is his main character. Who is, admittedly, and agreeable and interesting character. But another, I think good, change that the television shows made from the book was to bring in some other characters. Throughout the book Forester will mention seamen who only stick around for a couple seconds. In the television shows there are about four seamen who are constant through the stories instead.
An interesting sort of juxtaposition. A good piece of literature and a good movie adaptation and the changes that were made and the changes that were not.
Thursday, February 28, 2008
Gateway
My dad, when he was my age, decided he would go to the library, look at the sci-fi section, start at the upper left hand corner and work his way right and down. So he did.
Now, every now and then, randomly and out of the azure emptiness, he'll stick me with a book and say, "Hey, read this." I'll take it and say, "Yeah, okay, sure." And he'll go on to sort of say why he's chosen it, if not what wending mind-work and/or external triggers led him to this choosing. Hefty napkins-full of time I've spent wondering if this book was brought to his mind by a movie he'd seen recently, or if that one was inspired by his Russian boss who cusses like a couple sailors. But I haven't been able to figure it out.
Anyway, one day he gave me Gateway, an most ancient classic by Frederick Pohl. He said, "There is surprise at the end, m'lad. Read on."
He said the same thing about The Dispossessed. When I finished that one, I went and asked him what he thought the surprise was, because I missed it. He couldn't remember. After talking on it for a while, we still couldn't really figure it out.
So I had some skepticism about this Gateway surprise. It took me something like seven months, off and on, but I've just finished it. Hurrahz! And there was a surprise at the end. And it really surprised me. But it was in the last effing paragraph, which was, additionally, terribly short, which also annoys me. Up to that paragraph, the book had no meaning to me. Or very little. Almost none. Close to zero. Maybe a level four meaning.
And I could almost feel frustrated. Except that having finished, I really liked the ending. That last paragraph and its meaning-inducing brevity.
And so, though I was bored in reading it, and though the ending seemed to have next to no indication that it was coming, there seemed no probability that the plot was what the ending said that it was...even after all that, I'm glad I read this book. It felt like time wasted, and now it does not.
The book had a moral: life is fucking complicated.
Now, every now and then, randomly and out of the azure emptiness, he'll stick me with a book and say, "Hey, read this." I'll take it and say, "Yeah, okay, sure." And he'll go on to sort of say why he's chosen it, if not what wending mind-work and/or external triggers led him to this choosing. Hefty napkins-full of time I've spent wondering if this book was brought to his mind by a movie he'd seen recently, or if that one was inspired by his Russian boss who cusses like a couple sailors. But I haven't been able to figure it out.
Anyway, one day he gave me Gateway, an most ancient classic by Frederick Pohl. He said, "There is surprise at the end, m'lad. Read on."
He said the same thing about The Dispossessed. When I finished that one, I went and asked him what he thought the surprise was, because I missed it. He couldn't remember. After talking on it for a while, we still couldn't really figure it out.
So I had some skepticism about this Gateway surprise. It took me something like seven months, off and on, but I've just finished it. Hurrahz! And there was a surprise at the end. And it really surprised me. But it was in the last effing paragraph, which was, additionally, terribly short, which also annoys me. Up to that paragraph, the book had no meaning to me. Or very little. Almost none. Close to zero. Maybe a level four meaning.
And I could almost feel frustrated. Except that having finished, I really liked the ending. That last paragraph and its meaning-inducing brevity.
And so, though I was bored in reading it, and though the ending seemed to have next to no indication that it was coming, there seemed no probability that the plot was what the ending said that it was...even after all that, I'm glad I read this book. It felt like time wasted, and now it does not.
The book had a moral: life is fucking complicated.
Friday, December 07, 2007
Kirk
"No, this is not a blog about Star Trek."--Me
"Refine Doomsday Device ideas."--Iron John, and, oddly enough, this guy Doctor Metropolis who wrote a book called "How to be a Superhero."
"The thermos is a great invention. You put something hot in it, it stays hot. You put something cold in it, it stays cold."
"Well?"
"Well, how does it know the difference?"--Porig and KAthleen, on Ballykissangel.
"Me I'm dishonest. And a dishonest man you can always trust to be dishonest. Honestly, it's the honest ones you got to watch out for. 'Cause you can never tell when an honest man is going to do something incredibly...stupid."--Jack Sparrow, in POTC: COTBP.
"Boding style of fing." Gaspode the Wonder Dog, in Moving Pictures, by Terry Pratchett.
The longer I live, the more I discover there are, like, other people in the world. And they're, like, doing stuff when I can't see them.
Terry Pratchett, for example. He watches the same TV I watched. Entirely, I might add, without telling me about it. It's the craziest thing.
And Iron John as well. A while back, I got this book called How to be a Superhero. It has a picture of a Superman style of guy, with the face blotted out and "your face here" written there. It's a handy tips and tools of the trade manual for any aspiring superhero, and a thoroughly useful book for anyone who thinks he may someday be a masked crime fighter. What to expect, stories of the legends of the trade--none of which, I feel inclined to point out, I have heard of; I imagine I don't hang out with the right people, I have the same problem with video games. And on his list of things to do on his blog, Iron John has quoted, almost verbatum, a manifesto/to-do list of a nefarious villain used as an example for nefarious villains in the last chapter of How to be a Superhero.
It's a weird sort of circle thing.
Here's another: I heard on JAG, back when it was still on TV, that kirk is some Welch or something word for circle.
See. Circles.
Okay, now that your I.Q. has dropped ten points, I'm that much closer to my own world domination.
HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!
*caff caff*
Back to your pitiful lives, insects. I have moody brooding in the shadows to do.
"Refine Doomsday Device ideas."--Iron John, and, oddly enough, this guy Doctor Metropolis who wrote a book called "How to be a Superhero."
"The thermos is a great invention. You put something hot in it, it stays hot. You put something cold in it, it stays cold."
"Well?"
"Well, how does it know the difference?"--Porig and KAthleen, on Ballykissangel.
"Me I'm dishonest. And a dishonest man you can always trust to be dishonest. Honestly, it's the honest ones you got to watch out for. 'Cause you can never tell when an honest man is going to do something incredibly...stupid."--Jack Sparrow, in POTC: COTBP.
"Boding style of fing." Gaspode the Wonder Dog, in Moving Pictures, by Terry Pratchett.
The longer I live, the more I discover there are, like, other people in the world. And they're, like, doing stuff when I can't see them.
Terry Pratchett, for example. He watches the same TV I watched. Entirely, I might add, without telling me about it. It's the craziest thing.
And Iron John as well. A while back, I got this book called How to be a Superhero. It has a picture of a Superman style of guy, with the face blotted out and "your face here" written there. It's a handy tips and tools of the trade manual for any aspiring superhero, and a thoroughly useful book for anyone who thinks he may someday be a masked crime fighter. What to expect, stories of the legends of the trade--none of which, I feel inclined to point out, I have heard of; I imagine I don't hang out with the right people, I have the same problem with video games. And on his list of things to do on his blog, Iron John has quoted, almost verbatum, a manifesto/to-do list of a nefarious villain used as an example for nefarious villains in the last chapter of How to be a Superhero.
It's a weird sort of circle thing.
Here's another: I heard on JAG, back when it was still on TV, that kirk is some Welch or something word for circle.
See. Circles.
Okay, now that your I.Q. has dropped ten points, I'm that much closer to my own world domination.
HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!
*caff caff*
Back to your pitiful lives, insects. I have moody brooding in the shadows to do.
Thursday, September 20, 2007
American freaking Gods
So I'm reading American Gods. And it pleases me to an absolute cordiallity. Not only is it keeping me interested, not only is it getting me to think about how stories go together, and about foreshadowing, and plot twists, and how to take existing folklore and sort of twist it around into a really interesting shape. Not only am I enjoying this book, I'm enjoying it so much I want to tell people about it. I never tell people about what I'm reading, unless they ask specifically. I keep beginning this conversation: I'm reading this great book. It basically has the premise that America is a godless land, and as people immigrated here they brought their gods with them, then forgot about them, but the gods survived. And the gods got bitter...
I haven't managed to get anyone as psyched as I am...but my sales pitch is still evolving.
I keep having the experience of having a really good idea, and then finding out that someone famous has done it. I thought to myself, "fucking cowboys in space, man!" Then I saw Firefly. I was mad at Joss Whedon for a few days.
I had a similar experience with this book. A while ago I had a really vague and half formed thought that sort of took the form of, "Modern Odin...." I read the first chapter or so of this book. Guy says, "It's Wednesday. My day. Call me Wednesday." And I sort of wished I was more ignorant. I already knew Wednesday is Odin's Day. (Say Odin's Day a bajillion times fast, and, actually, pronounce like the Russian dude--can't remember his name, sledgehammer cow slayer--Votan, which, I think, should be pronounced "Wotan" more or less. Wednesday comes pretty painlessly from that.) So that gave that whole surprise away. But I sat and I thought about it for a bit, and went, "aw, cool." I kept reading the book, and decided I didn't have much of a reason to make up Modern Odin. Gaiman did it well. He has my blessing.
I freaking love this book, though. It's so awesome. The criticism I have of it, having gotten half-way through, I don't think there's enough really happening. Not in this whole Lakeside/Pleasantville stretch. I think the modern gods should be more proactive. It seems as if they aren't trying to accomplish anything. But I feel that Gaiman is probably good enough an author that because I'm thinking that, it means something is about to happen. And if it doesn't I will lose most of the faith I have built up in him.
Lakeside/Pleasantville is a wonderful example of complexity. It is Pleasantville. It really is. Everyone's nice, everyone's helpful and friendly, it's pretty all the time, comfortable and just all around groovy. But there's that undercurrent of a town not too much more than one medium sized disaster from just throwing in the towel. The people love it, but they see that it's dead-end. It isn't growing, it isn't prospering, but none of the citizens have any illusions about that. They know it. So while being that absolutely gorgeous place that you know you want to live, it's still somewhat sad and poignant. Plot-wise, it is the reprieve place: the resting place, the quiet place where our hero is protected, where nothing can get him, where the problems milling around, the mounting storm, are somewhere else and distant. But it's still a place where sadness can get to.
Realy cool.
I haven't managed to get anyone as psyched as I am...but my sales pitch is still evolving.
I keep having the experience of having a really good idea, and then finding out that someone famous has done it. I thought to myself, "fucking cowboys in space, man!" Then I saw Firefly. I was mad at Joss Whedon for a few days.
I had a similar experience with this book. A while ago I had a really vague and half formed thought that sort of took the form of, "Modern Odin...." I read the first chapter or so of this book. Guy says, "It's Wednesday. My day. Call me Wednesday." And I sort of wished I was more ignorant. I already knew Wednesday is Odin's Day. (Say Odin's Day a bajillion times fast, and, actually, pronounce like the Russian dude--can't remember his name, sledgehammer cow slayer--Votan, which, I think, should be pronounced "Wotan" more or less. Wednesday comes pretty painlessly from that.) So that gave that whole surprise away. But I sat and I thought about it for a bit, and went, "aw, cool." I kept reading the book, and decided I didn't have much of a reason to make up Modern Odin. Gaiman did it well. He has my blessing.
I freaking love this book, though. It's so awesome. The criticism I have of it, having gotten half-way through, I don't think there's enough really happening. Not in this whole Lakeside/Pleasantville stretch. I think the modern gods should be more proactive. It seems as if they aren't trying to accomplish anything. But I feel that Gaiman is probably good enough an author that because I'm thinking that, it means something is about to happen. And if it doesn't I will lose most of the faith I have built up in him.
Lakeside/Pleasantville is a wonderful example of complexity. It is Pleasantville. It really is. Everyone's nice, everyone's helpful and friendly, it's pretty all the time, comfortable and just all around groovy. But there's that undercurrent of a town not too much more than one medium sized disaster from just throwing in the towel. The people love it, but they see that it's dead-end. It isn't growing, it isn't prospering, but none of the citizens have any illusions about that. They know it. So while being that absolutely gorgeous place that you know you want to live, it's still somewhat sad and poignant. Plot-wise, it is the reprieve place: the resting place, the quiet place where our hero is protected, where nothing can get him, where the problems milling around, the mounting storm, are somewhere else and distant. But it's still a place where sadness can get to.
Realy cool.
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