"Far too long, for very little reward" – Me, 2007
There isn't much to be gleaned from my exhaustively long-winded high school and student book reviews, beyond helping me neurotically maintain a never-comprehensive record of everything I've read like an Art Garfunkel. That's reason enough to post it. Why do I bother posting anything?
Here are 99,000 words about books, written for dooyoo.co.uk for pocket money aged 17–22. I didn't write about absolutely everything I read during those years, especially since I was supposed to read two to three books a week for my literature course during term time (though didn't always), but some of those still made it in.
The switch between comedy travelogues read for pleasure and 17th-century plays where I'm trying to monetise revision is often very subtle, so I've highlighted the study books to make those easier to spot. I don't think I went so far as to copy-paste my essays, but you wouldn't call them "reviews" either.
A
From Ultra Violent to Infra Dead
Written on 02.07.04 [2017 update]
*****
The first three books in the Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy trilogy of five were published in consecutive years from 1980 to 1982 and as such share a common style and similar themes more than the final two books that were written some time later. 'Life, the Universe and Everything' offers a satisfying conclusion (although one that was not destined to be permanent) to the very funny and ingenious storyline that started with a man lying in his dressing gown in front of a bulldozer.
Some of the late Douglas Adams' fans do not hold this third instalment in the same regard as the first two books, both of which were based largely on the original BBC radio show written by Adams, but there are a number of reasons why I consider it to be one of the very best, beaten only by the classic first book: the plot is fast-paced and constantly changing, every character receives their due attention, some seemingly trivial points from the first book are expanded upon out of all proportion and it is also the first of the books comprised of completely new material. All that, and it also introduces one of my favourite concepts in the entire Hitchhiker's series, on the subject of spontaneous non-assisted flight:
"There is an art, or rather, a knack to flying.
The knack lies in learning how to throw yourself at the ground and miss."
STYLE
Anyone who hasn't read the award-winning first book in this series should not begin here; the plot is largely self-contained and certainly enjoyable on its own, but knowledge of the characters and their situations adds to the enjoyment greatly. Simply looking at the original front cover of the book, depicting a ring-pull floating through space under the grandiose title 'Life, the universe and everything,' should give a clear indication that this is a well-crafted exploration of space, time and the meaning of everything, but with jokes.
Unlike some of Adams' later works, such as 'So Long and Thanks For All the Fish' and the Dirk Gently series that deliberately relied on perplexing the reader and constructing a mysterious and intricate plot, 'Life, the Universe and Everything' follows a linear path that is only broken up by brief extracts from the Hitchhiker's Guide database itself (resulting in some of the shortest chapters known to man) and the backstory of galactic history, something which follows its own linear path amongst the other chapters. Although some concepts require a bit of re-reading and thought, this isn't aimed solely at intellectuals and is actually quite straightforward in terms of its plot, and can be read by all ages as there is only one swear word (but it's a good 'un).
It's clear that Adams' own educated, thirty-something views of life form the basis for these books, however exaggerated and celestial they may be, as many of the jokes give clear insight into his feelings about humanity in general. After briefly exploring how the development and subsequent abuse of time machines led to corporate sponsorship applying itself to classical literature, Adams notes: "the past is now truly like a foreign country. They do things exactly the same there." And there is no doubt left in the reader's mind about Adams' views of restaurants in the lengthy Bistromath explanation based on "non-absolute numbers" involving the relationship between the number of people who say they will turn up and the ones that actually do, the times they say they will arrive and the much later times they actually do arrive and finally the relationship between what a meal should theoretically cost and the extortionate amount that is eventually presented. To say that Douglas Adams was ever frustrated in a restaurant would be a clear understatement.
CHARACTERS
The hero of the series (if such a contradiction could be applied) is the very ordinary Arthur Philip Dent, a man initially described in the first book as "about thirty: dark haired and never quite at ease with himself," whose borderline middle-class attitude and inability to really cope with having his perceptions of life, the universe and everything shattered as soon as he was beamed away from the exploding planet Earth and is never really given time to recover. In this book, Arthur again spends a lot of time with his old friend Ford Prefect and again has quite a miserable time of it, especially when confronted with his arch nemesis Agrajag.
Ford Prefect is quite odd, but then again he is an alien from Betelgeuse. The first book describes Ford brilliantly in terms of everything about his appearance and mannerisms being not quite right, and although he could be potentially annoying (especially in the TV series when played by a quite annoying actor), his mixture of enthusiasm, confidence and questionable reliability makes him another of my favourites. It's good to see him finally out of his depth a little when confronted with the dire situations of this book.
Zaphod Beeblebrox is the smooth-talking, dual-headed, three-armed ex-President of the Galaxy, and as such he is fairly self-obsessed. Zaphod has less of a role to play here than in the last book but he still manages to be very funny, especially when confronted with danger, and I've never understood why Adams omitted him from the later books.
Trillian (Tricia McMillan) is the token lady of the bunch in a novel of men written by a man, but she is again shown to be the only really capable one of the group in her few scenes. There's sadly not that much to endear the reader to Trillian as her scenes are very brief and there is no ability to get the visual appeal, but she still feels like an important presence. Trillian was also not present in the fourth book, but played a very large role in its successor.
Marvin, the constantly depressed robot, had most of the classic lines in the first book but felt a little underused in the sequel. This book again sees less focus on Marvin than the other characters, which is how I think it should be to avoid this becoming 'the Paranoid Android series,' but he inadvertently plays quite a major role when his leg is stolen by evil robots. He also has a great scene early on, discussing life with a mattress in a swamp. You should know by know whether this book is your cup of tea, or something best avoided.
Slartibartfast isn't strictly speaking a major character but he is still a very important and notable presence, and he's a funny old man which is always interesting. Having spent decades designing planets for wealthy races of pan-dimensional beings, Slartibartfast has now dedicated his life to the preservation of the universe which is quite nice, but he could have made the physics of his spacecraft a little less confusing.
PLOT
A lot of stuff happened in the first two books. I think that's the only brief description I'm able to provide. A lot of stuff happened, resulting in Arthur Dent and Ford Prefect being sent back in time to prehistoric Earth. Not defying convention, the third book opens where the second left off, although many months have passed and Arthur has started to make his cave his home when Ford decides to return from his antics just in time to see a sofa speeding across the land. The men give chase and eventually find themselves sitting in Lord's cricket ground some time in the very early eighties, witnessing a horde of robots emerging from a space craft and stealing the cricket bails. Arthur and Ford are reunited with their old acquaintance Slartibartfast, and as soon as they learn the bistro-oriented nature of his craft's Somebody Else's Problem field, it's clear that Douglas Adams' writing has lost none of its charm, wit and incomprehensibility.
Throughout the course of the book, characters are reunited and isolated, jokes are made at the expense of parties and handbags, the Norse god Thor shows up in a minor role and the very existence of the universe is threatened when the expiry date on a time-freezing field surrounding the deadly planet Krikkit essentially expires.
The planet Krikkit is located inside a dark nebula and as such offered a starless night to the enlightened and peaceful inhabitants for millennia before an important event happened: a small spacecraft fell through the sky and landed in a field. Those who discovered it used it to emerge from their planet, only to be confronted with a view of millions of stars forming what appeared to be a vast universe. The somewhat xenophobic race noted, "it has to go."
Meanwhile there's plenty of space opera in the struggling relationship between Trillian and Zaphod Beeblebrox (he does have one more head and arm than her after all) and there's still plenty of time for Marvin the paranoid android to criticise everything and everyone like some Canadian stand-up comedian, except that he's very funny.
VERDICT
As a long-time fan of television series such as Red Dwarf, and even the Red Dwarf books, I assumed I would enjoy the original Hitchhiker's Guide book, but I didn't realise how much I would love reading it. The first book is a brilliant and flawless offering from Douglas Adams that never gets boring or too weird for the sake of it, but I found the sequel 'The Restaurant at the End of the Universe' a bit of a disappointment in comparison; it was still funny, but it seemed to drag on far too much and was never hilarious to the point of making me laugh out loud and smack my thigh. Thankfully, 'Life, the Universe and Everything' was very competent at causing these outbursts and spontaneous reflex actions, although the introduction of genuine danger into a light-hearted series does seem a little unnecessary. I love this book primarily for the characters, especially the hapless Arthur who is essentially showing the untrained human response to bizarre situations, but who is becoming experienced and a little strange himself.
In my opinion this is the final of the 'classic' Hitchhiker's Guide books before they took a different direction in the late eighties to nineties, but there are so many different views on the series that I can't really criticise them. The fourth and fifth books are still very amusing and enjoyable, but lack a bit of the wacky eighties space sitcom element that crosses into cartoon territory on a number of occasions. This third instalment is a vital middle chapter of the series that was never permitted to be properly concluded due to Douglas Adams' unexpected death in 2001 at the age of forty-nine. There were two radio series and one very low-budget but much-loved television series in the early eighties that mostly mirror the plots of the first two books, but 'Life, the Universe and Everything' is an original work that brings everything to an excellent conclusion, while also presenting opportunities for the future of the franchise.
Best Title, Weakest Book
****
Written on 02.08.03 [2017 update]
A very different, but interesting direction for what was originally the final volume in the Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy "trilogy" of four books, So Long and Thanks for All the Fish does not deal so much with adventure, life-threatening situations and hilariously inventive alien species so much as a return home for the series' protagonist, Arthur Dent; the last-but-one human before the confusing events herein, and romance.
Firstly, an apology for writing three reviews in one day, but I wanted to get this sorted while the ending was still clear in my head! Secondly, I would wholeheartedly reccomend that anyone interested in this series of books should start from the beginning- this book makes more sense that way, and the characters have really grown on me by this point! Oh and thirdly, I still like this book a lot despite the title, and have not yet read the fifth and final book written a long time after.
I'm not sure how this book was acclaimed when it was first released in the mid-1980s, but it seems to me to be a deliberate change in the style of storytelling. the major differences are as follows:
- No sign of two-headed, three-armed alien Zaphod Beeblebrox or his girlfriend Trillian, while Betelgeusian Ford Prefect does not feature heavily until the end, and Marvin the Paranoid Android making a small cameo
- No bizarre, sarcastic and inventive technologies, like the ill-at-ease lifts, satisfied doors, personality computers and restaurant powered Somebody Else's Problem drives (if you didn't understand that last reference, join the club- and I read those books!)
- Very few outer-space shenanigans, apart from the very end of the book. It mostly takes place on Earth
My personal favourite in the trilogy, if we're going to call it that, is still the first book, "The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy," and one of the main things I loved about it was the way it could develop insane concepts loosely based on what's been done before in science fiction. As this book features less of these, although there's still more than a sprinkling, I did not like it as much, but there is still enough character humour and clever silliness to make it a 'classic.' Notions such as a man who finds it is literally always raining on him turning out to be a Rain God, 'but nobody knows'- classic stuff! There is also a very big come-back for one of my favourite lines in the whole series, from the third book: the knack to flying is the art of learning to try and hit the ground, but miss. All one needs is a distraction at the critical moment, and for the confused Arthur Dent this is no problem.
Talking about the characters, here's a brief overview:
Arthur Dent is tall and around 40 by the time of this book, originally described as "never quite at ease with himself" and certainly no more at ease following his misadventures through time and space over the years. The return to Earth allows Arthur to finally ditch the dressing gown he's donned throughout the series, and some well earned rest.
Fenchurch is a bit of a mysterious character who Arthur falls in love with, which has something to do with them being some of the only 'real' humans left. Their romance among the clouds is certainly unlike anything that's happened in these books before.
Hoping that I don't spoil anyone's enjoyment, if you were planning to read this, Marvin the Paranoid Android (the character I found the funniest in the first book, but not too much in the others) finally experiences a state of non-annoyance and non-depression as he 'dies', which is a nice end, but I still feel quite disappointed at the omission of Zaphod Beeblebrox. A bit too much of a weirdo in the first book, I'd really started to like the guy in the last two books, but here he is simply said to have had children with trillian. Not too bothered about her exclusion; she wasn't too interesting I didn't find.
Overall, while I did not find it as enjoyable a read as the first book and "Life, the Universe and Everything," my favourites out of the four I've read so far, I can certainly realise how a reader skimming through all the books in several sittings would appreciate some cosy, fireside comedy love story after the Krikkit Wars of the previous book, but I do have some problems with the book. The title refers to the last message left by the dolphins when they left the original Earth just before it was destroyed, (the dolphins were the second most intelligent creatures on Earth, after the mice of course) which led me to believe that this book would deal with them much more than it does. The dolphins do not appear, and the book seems more concerned with Earth's reappearance and God's final message to his creation. Which is quite a nice ending.
I was not disappointed with this book, but it was a little too different for me to enjoy it as much as the others. I have yet to read the final instalment, "Mostly Harmless," and will try to get hold of the radio show as well.
Advantages: Nicely different, Arthur Dent receiving some good luck at last
Disadvantages: Different from what I would have hoped, but possibly better than if Adams had simply re-treaded old ground
Douglas Adams, Mostly Harmless
The End
***
Written on 27.11.03 [2017 update]
Douglas Adams' Hitch-Hiker's Guide 'trilogy' entertained and inspired me, and I was wary to read this final instalment due to reviews on the internet which suggested it was of poor quality and may hunder my enjoyment of the series. The fifth and final book chronicling the experiences of Arthur Dent and his less human comrades does seem much less original and enjoyable than the previous books, and although this was my opinion of the fourth book "So Long, and Thanks for all the Fish" I could admire the way that book's style was taken in a different direction. This book seems to be a mix between the fast-paced comedy adventures of the first three books and the reflective, stationary nature of the fourth, and it doesn't fit together too well.
"Mostly Harmless," once again taking the title from a memorable concept in the first book, occurs an unspecified several years after the events of the last book and sees the "thirty-ish, tall and never quite at ease with himself" last human survivor Arthur Dent living the simple life of a sandwich maker on a planet not dissimilar to his own Earth which was destroyed by the Vogons surprisingly early in the first book. Similar to the way he last book was handled, a device which I was not fond of in either book, the different characters' experiences are told in seperate chapters before their meeting later on. One of my favourite aspects of the earlier books was the interaction between all of the characters who, despite occasionally having extra heads and arms, being robotic and basically not being human, were all very ordinary and fallible human beings. Arthur's story once again seems to be the main plot, while those of Ford Prefect, Trillian (the forgettable human woman from the earlier books who solved everything but was never too funny), Random an
d Trillian: another one.
Arthur's newfound peace is a welcome relief from the unrewarding search for alternate-dimension equivalents of the planet Earth, during which he would trade in his own semen for trips to what would turn out to be undesirable locations. The spaceship crash which strands him amongst the underdeveloped civilisation seems to be one of the only things to go right for him in a long time, until the arrival of his daughter and his old friend Ford Prefect who is not made particularly welcome.
Ford's story seems a little more loose and irrelevant as he finds the new owners of the Hitch-Hiker's Guide offices are not very nice. He goes to a lot of trouble escaping and eventually arrives at Arthur's planet with a strange device which just gets stolen by Arthur's daughter anyway.
The 'regular' Trillian apparentlly became pregnant some time ago and inevitably, as a large number of pregnant women do, gave birth to a daughter. The father is not Zaphod Beeblebrox, who was supposed to be her husband at the time of the last book, but Arthur. The book leaves the reader to ponder how this could have happened for a while, before revealing that she used his sperm samples; I'm sure my shocking use of the word semen earlier ensured that this was no surprise here. Trillian has not paid due attention to her daughter, who has accidentally aged before her time thanks to temporal day-care, and has decided that she should meet her father.
Random would be the star of the book if she was in the majority of it, but her appearance is quite far in. Suffering from a case of severe curiosity she steals Arthur's package from Ford and heads back to a version of Earth in her rebellious teenage way.
The alternate version of Trillian inhabiting this 'other' Earth has led a very different life, having never taken Zaphod up on his offer to join her in space manyyears ago. She eventually meets with the others when they arrive at her version of Earth at the end.
If the above summaries seem difficult to grasp or appreciate, it is because there are many flaws in this book. Adams' humour, while less prominent, does manage to shine through at regular intervals much more than in the last book, however the number of irrelevant plot features make it difficult and at times uninteresting to follow. The book certainly has a bit of a 'necessity' feel to it, as if Adams simply desired to get another Hitch-Hiker's Guide under his belt rather than writing a true classic. There are still a number of positives however:
- The locations in this book are described in great detail in a way that makes them much easier to envisage than in the previous books. The village, the seedy planets and the desert towards the end are all very well written in a way that shows Adams' writing style has clearly evolved in the fifteen years since he wrote the first book.
- The true and wry observations of humanity's failings are as present as ever, with Arthur's belief that he is from a superior culture and can teach the villagers how to build new technology hampered when he realises he doesn't actually know how to make anything, just how to use stuff.
- The ingenious sci-fi concepts are less ingenious this time round than a Restaurant at the End of the Universe, a computer calculating the answer to the Ultimate Question and an Infinite Improbability Drive, but they stull have their moments. The Perfectly Normal Beasts are a great idea, (that was meant to be 'beasts,' it isn't a mis-type) and the mystics sitting on poles are some of the highlights of the book.
- The continuation of some great ideas, most notably that of Agrajag from the third book. Agrajag was a creature who was aware of his own reincarnations and whose life was always, constantly ended accidentally by Arthur Dent. This was one of my favourite parts of the third book and is continued here, although not completely satisfactorily.
- Arthur's character shows real progress and effects from his experiences, something which was lacking in the earlier books. Unfortunately this does not stem to the other characters.
My major criticisms of the book are the already-mentioned weak plot structure, as well as the way it does not seem to fit into the series very much at all. The style makes it a much different read to the first few, but no reference is made to anything which happened in "Thanks for all the Fish" apart from a brief sentence explaining the death of Arthur's girlfriend Fenchurch. The popular character Marvin the Paranoid Android is admittedly absent after the climax of the last book, however there is still no sign of Zaphod Beeblebrox who was also missing from the previous outing. Ford Prefect never seems as funny any more either.
I'm aware that most of these criticisms don't evaluate the book as a stand-alone novel, but with the tragic death of Douglas Adams in 2001 and nothing amounting to a successful sixth book on his hard drive, this is the final instalment in the inventive, witty and very enjoyable series. The book has not ruined the enjoyment of the others for me, although I was disappointed that it hadn't amounted to more; the endings of every book from number 2 onwards have been left at satisfying conclusions however this one seems to demand a sequel more than the others simply so the series can end on a positive and more understandable note. Another flaw in the book is that it doesn't offer many memorable quotes, whereas the others provided such countless classics as "life, don't talk to me about life," "Zaphod's just this guy you know," "stick this fish in your ear" and the unforgettable and unexplained answer to the Ultimate Question, "forty-two." The actual question to this answer was never discovered.
Fans of light-hearted science fiction will likely enjoy this excursion into space, however it's even more likely that the earlier books in the series will appeal much more, especially the famous first novel which I can't recommend enough. Read it, listen to the original radio show or at least watch the old TV series, there are plenty of crazy and enjoyable ideas to last you a lifetime. Speaking of that, I think I'm off to buy it on the internet.
Advantages: More of Adams' witty and funny style
Disadvantages: Disappointing and anticlimactic ending
Douglas Adams, Dirk Gently's Holistic Detective Agency
A Horse in the Bathroom
Written on 10.06.04 [2017 update]
*****
Dirk Gently’s Holistic Detective Agency is described by the author as “a thumping good detective-ghost-horror-who dunnit-time travel-romantic-musical-comedy-epic” and certainly lives up to all of these claims, improbable as that may seem. A modern detective tale based firmly in the paranormal, Douglas Adams has created another very interesting and detailed universe in this book.
PLOT
Well it’s a little more complicated than that, but I’ll try. The story essentially follows a few days in the life of Richard MacDuff, a promising and skilled computer programmer working for one of the big firms called WayForward technologies, as he is led to the services of the enigmatic Dirk Gently, a man he previously knew as Svlad Cjelli but who changed his name due to past legal mishaps, following a number of very strange occurrences. A horse appeared in his old lecturer’s bathroom, his boss was shot and subsequently leaped at his car in ghost form and he risked his life climbing into his girlfriend’s window without a vital justification.
As Gently’s detective agency is based on the principle of the fundamental interconnectedness of all thing, the man himself is very interested in solving some of these mysteries. Dirk respects the techniques of the fictional Sherlock Holmes, the man who stated “eliminate the impossible. Then whatever remains, however improbable, must be the truth”; Dirk is only different in that he doesn’t eliminate the impossible, finding it the only rational explanation in some cases, and a verdict that can often only be reached by imaginative children uncorrupted by the tedium of the world. Needless to say, the answers to some of the stranger mysteries dwell within the realm of what was previously considered impossible.
DOUGLAS ADAMS
The late, great Douglas Adams is one of my favourite authors, and would have doubtless written many more entertaining books had he not suffered an unexpected fatal heart attack in 2001 at the age of 49. An author, radio presenter and ardent supporter of animal charities, Douglas Adams’ wit and writing talent live on in his published works.
Fans of the Hitch-Hiker’s Guide to the Galaxy series will not necessarily love these books, although at times it’s clear that they are both the product of the same mind. Where the Hitch-Hiker’s Guide was silly, quirky, epic and often hilarious, the humour and ideas in Dirk Gently are more subtle and planned out. The scale is also much more limited, with the majority of the story focusing on events around Cambridgeshire with the protagonists.
Some Hitch-Hiker’s Guide fans found the changes in the author’s lifestyle between books very obvious and revealing in some aspects of the books; for example, the first book featured a local bar and minor stabs at decisions made by local councils, while the later efforts discussed Bistros and flights worldwide. The first Dirk Gently book makes Douglas Adams’ somewhat famous fascination with computers and computer programming, especially with the Macintosh variety of machine, very clear and the many detailed pages on the operations and functions of the computer software in solving complex puzzles gets very dull and feels like my dad or my brother has started going on about Linux again.
VERDICT
I really enjoyed this book, however I did have some problems with it (aside for the afore-mentioned computer jargon). The deliberately muddled and mysterious organisation of the events is sometimes a little distracting and misleading, especially when reading the book over a number of days, as less interesting and important characters take up chapters that could have been better served with the main plot. But in many ways this is the essence of the book. The main characters all have interesting and entertaining traits, even the incredibly regular main character – something that made Arthur Dent in the Hitch-Hiker’s Guide so endearing – and each chapter holds new insights.
It’s clear that Douglas Adams was attempting a different writing style to the one he was more famous for and thankfully it worked, although it’s clear that his experiences and experiments here impacted on the style of the later books in the Hitch-Hiker’s series that were, as a result, less entertaining than the original trilogy. Dirk Gently’s Holistic Detective Agency was first published in 1987 and Adams soon wrote a sequel, ‘The Long Dark Tea Time of the Soul.’ I plan to check this book out, but I’ve heard that it isn’t as entertaining.
This book should please fans of detective stories who enjoy a little absurdity, and would have made a great film.
Advantages: Funny and very clever, An entertaining and compelling story, Great characters
Disadvantages: Difficult to follow sometimes, Needs to be read in a short period of time, lest the reader forget everything
David Baddiel, Time for Bed
Enter Sandman
Written on 03.08.04
****
Even those who pride themselves on having earned their fortunes through an alternative lifestyle choice will inevitably conform to a number of clichés, demonstrated by stand up comedian David Baddiel’s first foray into novel writing in 1996. One of the self-professed overeducated middle class Oxbridge elite who have never done a decent day’s work in their lives [Sad that I accepted and internalised this common joke about writers, even as I spent my teenage years worked on reviews for hours on end], Baddiel’s experiences with presenting speech and enjoying pornography far too much lead to a high quality story of love, obsession and grim reality that is believable, sad and very funny.
THE PLOT
This fairly low-key story concerns Gabriel Jacoby, an unemployed man in his late twenties who lives with his flatmate and cat in London. Gabriel is a long-time insomniac whose refusal to demean himself by getting a regular job is the least of his problems as he is, as he confides very early on, madly in love with his brother’s wife Alice, and this is the driving force of the novel: Alice is perfect in every way, apart from the fact that she is married to Ben Jacoby, and she would literally be the woman of Gabriel’s dreams if he ever had a chance to fall asleep. When Alice’s sister Dina returns from America after serious problems with her fiancée, Gabriel sees it as both an opportunity and a disappointment: she may be open to experimentation in the bedroom, but he may never shake off the comparisons he very consciously makes every time he sees them together.
The domestic quadrangle isn’t the only thing Gabriel has to deal with though, as his flatmate’s sudden deterioration from a lazy, laddish football fan to a mad, naked preacher throws up even more problems at home. Gabriel’s dad has also been shouting creative obscenities at his wife at all times of the day, but this isn’t a recent development and it takes a family tragedy to change him into a caring husband.
THE AUTHOR
Having resorted to watching ‘Baddiel & Skinner Unplanned’ on far, far too many occasions for it to be accurately described as a resort, I noticed more than a few similarities between the comedic author and his protagonist here. Aside from their shared backgrounds as intellectual, unmarried wisecrackers of Jewish background sharing flats in London and never really doing any work, the numerous and detailed references to pornography and the media make it clear that Baddiel follows the ‘write about what you know’ idea, and does so very skilfully. Baddiel & Skinner is probably on now actually. Yes, it is.
There are sections of the book that are noticeably less enjoyable and compelling than others and the plot does get a little tedious at times, but Baddiel’s writing style and use of excellent cheap jokes (as opposed to rubbish ones) kept me interested throughout. I don’t have a great deal of experience in comparing authors’ earlier works with their later offerings but I’d imagine that this shows less signs of being his first work than the book of a lesser writer would be, apart from the fact that he’s chosen to exaggerate and alter his life and stick it in novel form.
The line between events based on reality and fiction is a little too transparent at times, making it very obvious that David Baddiel has, for example, visited old relatives in retirement homes and had trouble sleeping, but has never had to cope with his friend turning into a lunatic or trying to deceive an RAC man. Other events are fictional to the point of relief, as David’s proud, caring parents are a far cry from Gabriel’s unbalanced, mismatched pair in this novel. He probably never had a secret passion for his relative’s wife either, simply because it would be very stupid to write about that.
THE READER
That’s me, or at least it was at the time. When I noticed this book it seemed to be the exact sort of thing I enjoy, and for the most part it was: an ordinary if a little underachieving and pathetic guy with unhealthy obsessions, I can always relate to that kind of thing (draw your own conclusions, although I think I just did it for you). Aside from these character traits, I can also relate to many aspects of the book, although the parts I can’t relate to I’m not going to tell you. The titular concern of the book, that of insomnia, is something I enjoyed reading about as I suffer from this quite a lot myself, although thankfully not as seriously as the character here. The line from the very first page of the book that “a world-class insomniac doesn’t call it a bad night until at least, at least, half five, and then only if it’s accompanied by anxiety, bone-ache and two hundred visits to the toilet” has stuck with me: the same is true for the note that you don’t really have to go, but that you could probably urinate if you tried. So you have to go and do it.
I could also relate perfectly to Gabriel’s frustration with his cat Jezebel, refusing to sit on his lap adamantly and bringing in unwanted frogs and mice as loving gifts. There are a number of genuine laugh-out-loud moments in this book, even if they aren’t consistent throughout, my favourite being the embarrassingly true observation of forced pet affection: “I’ve tried squashing her on the bed, holding her underneath the duvet, putting Go-Cat on the pillow, but nothing will convince her to sleep with me.”
THE VERDICT
I really enjoyed this book, but the enjoyment did slip considerably after the half-way point when the deliberately dull story stops being funny in its mundanity and humdrumity and simply becomes a little annoying, however some well-timed (if a little obvious) plot twists at least bring up some more excitement. While it’s clearly not a classic book I found it a very fun read and I’d recommend it to anyone, principally, if they see any chance of relating to the material. The dialogue stretches credibility a little bit, in the style of American sit-coms where the characters always have a witty retort, but this doesn’t detract from the believability of the story: that’s left to Gabriel’s flatmate Nick, the true B-plot of the book who integrates into the main storyline but is still a bit of a distraction, probably to add some humour to the more serious final chapters.
It’s sad and never really fated to end happily, but as long as you can stomach strangely serious descriptions of pornography and sex, specifically a very descriptive scene involving an alternative entry point, you might really enjoy this book. The fact that some of the current events are a bit dated now only adds to the reading experience, and I’m fairly certain I would enjoy this a lot more than Baddiel’s second and more acclaimed novel. This is funny.
Advantages: Funny and enjoyable, Realistic, interesting characters, If you can relate to it, all the better
Disadvantages: Becomes a little too serious and 'soapy', Drags on in places, Not to everyone's taste
Cruelty Has a Human Heart
Written on 30.06.04 [2018 update]
***
I don't read Romantic-era literature for fun, and if it had not been an essential part of my English Literature course I would have never approached the poetry collections of William Blake, but in some ways I am glad for the opportunity. Although several months of almost clinical analysis by a clearly disinterested teacher extracted most of the enjoyment out of the experience, I was still able to appreciate the messages that Blake was trying to convey in the Songs of Experience. Although the Songs of Innocence are rubbish. Some of Blake's Songs still survive to this day, most notably the 'Jerusalem' anthem that every schoolboy grudgingly sings but secretly quite likes, and although the original 'tunes' of Blake's poems have largely been lost or improvised, his works are still examined and explored in the twenty-first century.
Before I receive any justified comments on spelling and punctuation, please lay all the blame on William Blake: although they could easily be corrected, his original writings are reproduced in this book exactly as he wrote them.
BLAKE & HIS TIME
William Blake's 'Songs Of Innocence and Of Experience' were created and published at the end of the eighteenth century to express the poet's views on the changing society of his time. Anyone who watched Adam Hart-Davies' 'What the Tudors Did For Us,' or simply has a Hart-Davies obsessed brother who watches it repeatedly on history channels, will know that astrological breakthroughs, the industrial revolution, overpopulation leading to poverty and the relocation of many people from the countryside to developing cities all resulted in drastic lifestyle changes for most people living in Britain during that time.
Blake was in essence one of the pioneers of what was later called 'the Romantic movement'; the Romantic poets and authors such as Wordsworth, Keats and Blake aimed to celebrate the beauty and splendour of the natural world using simplistic language to communicate with the general public, partly as a rebellion against the earlier intellectual literature that clouded everything in incomprehensible and generally pretentious metaphors.
As printing methods had not yet been invented, Blake employed a technique of embossing and carving his poems and illustrations into copper plates and producing individual prints as demanded. This technique was supposedly an instruction from the ghost of Blake’s brother, an entity that also had an impact on many of his poems; despite contemporary criticism that Blake was mad, and his own belief that his pen was guided by angels, his Songs and his later, more expansive works are impressive and understandable.
SONGS OF INNOCENCE
Produced in 1789, Blake's innocent Songs were largely a celebration of the joy and beauty of the world and were based largely on existing rhyme schemes and writing styles, some even reflecting traditional hymns in communicating Blake's messages. The poem 'Introduction' sets the goal of the innocent Songs, with a child (most of the innocent poems are spoken though children) asking a piper to "pipe a song about a Lamb," and to write his songs down "in a book that all may read." There are exceptions to the rule, but on the whole the innocent Songs are pastoral and pleasant in their portrayal of life's simplicity.
Some poems, such as the famous 'The Lamb,' show how a firm belief in religion and teaching can comfort children, as the child speaker asks a lamb:
"Little Lamb who made thee
Dost thou know who made thee
Little Lamb I'll tell thee"
God appears throughout the Songs of Innocence, but only as a protecting benefactor as the Songs are never committed specifically to a certain religion. In 'The Divine Image,' Blake even goes so far as to associate man with God through his virtues:
"Where Mercy, Love & Pity dwell,
There God is dwelling too."
Although the innocent Songs may appear to portray a perfect world, it's clear from reading them all that Blake still felt the need to show the inadequacies of his society. Blake himself stated, "active evil is better than passive good," and there are indications of evil throughout the Songs (for example, the simple poem 'The Shepherd' describes a shepherd watching over his flock, but leaves the reader wondering what dangers could exist if he was not so watchful). In 'The Chimney Sweeper,' Blake describes the plight of a chimney-sweeping boy in a fairly objective tone, but the description certainly produces pity in the reader:
"When my mother died I was very young,
And my father sold me while yet my tongue,
Could scarcely cry weep weep weep weep.
So your chimneys I sweep and in soot I sleep."
On the whole, the innocent Songs are very simplistic and potentially not worth deep exploration on their own, however it was the production of Blake's experienced Songs six years later that provide a contrary or supplementary stance to all of the poems here.
SONGS OF EXPERIENCE
Blake never published the Songs of Experience alone, always combining them with the Songs of Innocence to "shew the two contrary states of the human soul." Where the innocent Songs could get very tedious in their optimism and rhyme schemes, the experienced Songs have a negative tone throughout and even apply techniques such as irony and sarcasm that surprised me a little.
The most striking thing about Blake's changing opinions is that some of his earlier poems are completely contradicted in Experience: the innocent poem 'Infant Joy' was a brief conversation between a new mother and her imaginary responses from her child, stating that it knew nothing but joy at that tender age. In Experience, Blake offers 'Infant Sorrow,' a poem spoken from the viewpoint of a newborn child who is terrified and knowledgeable of the constraints of society, ineffectively trying to escape imprisonment by society but ultimately failing. I'll provide the whole poem as it's probably my favourite in the whole book, partly because of the over-the-top symbolism and the very different (and biologically inaccurate; babies don't know these things) nature of the poem:
"My mother groand! my father wept.
Into the dangerous world I leapt:
Helpless, naked, piping loud:
Like a fiend hid in a cloud.
Struggling in my father's hands:
Striving against my swaddling bands:
Bound and weary I thought best
To sulk upon my mother's breast."
Some ideas, such as the life of the unfortunate chimney sweep, is elaborated on in the poem 'The Chimney Sweeper' (Blake often used the same or similar titles to show direct relationships between poems). Where the innocent poem aroused sympathy for the child and a little contempt for his cruel father, the experienced poem is more dogmatic in attacking the institutions responsible for such actions: namely the church, which Blake saw as corrupt and hypocritical. When asked where his parents are, the freezing Chimney Sweeper says: "they are both gone up to the church to pray."
"Gone to praise God & his Priest & King
Who make up a heaven of our misery."
The poem 'The Lamb' is referenced in another of Blake's most famous poems, 'The Tyger.' In Innocence, the child speaker's faith in God and his powers of creation was unshakable, but the speaker in 'The Tyger' asks how the same divine entity could have created such a benign and peaceful creature as the Lamb (also a common symbol for Jesus Christ) as well as a powerful and destructive tiger:
"Tyger Tyger, burning bright,
In the forests of the night;
What immortal hand or eye,
Could frame thy fearful symmetry?"
Reading that last one aloud also shows Blake's somewhat irregular idea of rhyme.
OXFORD PAPERBACKS EDITION
This edition of Blake's Songs was my source of reference while studying his poetry, and is surely the definitive edition. Every poem is typed in an aesthetically pleasing brown font across a page, while Blake's original plate including the accompanying illustrations and borders is reproduced in full colour overleaf. An introduction and commentary by Geoffrey Keynes that briefly examine the messages in the poems and artwork also add to the usefulness of this book for anyone studying the poems for school, college or pleasure, although I would not say it is essential: the poems are widely available on the internet and in a more compressed form in many poetry collections, and these could be printed or photocopied into more manageable sizes. Still, you don't get the nice colourful artwork with that.
VERDICT
I enjoy reading classical literature, especially that concerned with ideas of religion, so some of the ideas in Blake's Songs of Experience that reflect his own unique mix of doctrines interested me, however I would certainly not have purchased this collection for my own enjoyment; the Songs of Innocence are basically very boring and occasionally childishly-simple poems that I don't feel deserve to be examined in the same way as the more interesting experienced Songs, but they do offer another perspective on Blake's views; he is never specifically committed to either 'state' himself, and mainly writes from the perspective of characters.
Blake's later works were longer and focused less on his contemporary society and more on his unorthodox views of religion, and as such I feel I would enjoy them a lot more. The Songs Of Innocence and Of Experience are only really for people who have a specific interest in industrial revolution-era Britain or poetry of the Romantic movement, but it was a lot more enjoyable to study than the more modern poetry of Philip Larkin. There's pessimistic, and then there's just being a miserable old curmudgeon with no more right to inhabit this green and pleasant land that Blake so admired than a fly. But then again, Blake did like his flies.
EPILOGUE: THE FLY
"Everything that lives is Holy" - William Blake
Little Fly
Thy summers play,
My thoughtless hand
Has brush'd away.
Am not I
A fly like thee?
Or art not thou
A man like me?
For I dance
And drink & sing:
Till some blind hand
Shall brush my wing.
If thought is life
And strength & breath:
And the want
Of thought is death;
Then am I
A happy fly,
If I live,
Or if I die.
He'd obviously never had a fly be sick on his beans.
Lament of the Lost Generation
Written on 26.05.04
***
Vera Brittain's autobiography is still seen as one of the most influential anti-war publications of the twentieth century, its revealing and honest presentation of the reluctant impotence of women to do anything about the political situation forming part of the foundation for the continuing work of the feminist movement.
THE LOST GENERATION
First published in 1933, put on hold a number of times due to its critical view of the Government, Brittain's book covers her experiences at home during the First World War in which she is subjected to relentless bereavement, as well as her campaigns thereafter to prevent future conflict. Brittain's letters and diary entries are included amidst her prose, which help the reader in empathising with her feelings of helplessness as her young lover, her brother and two of her close male friends die at the Front.
Reading isolated extracts from Brittain's book [There we go] as part of my English Literature course I found it difficult to understand the impact of 'Testament of Youth,' which seemed to be the over-passionate account of a woman with little understanding of the war. After reading more extracts I developed a larger perspective, and it's clear that Brittain did all she could, within the limitations imposed on her by the gender laws of the time, to bring back her loved ones; she joined the Red Cross as a field nurse and wrote letters to Generals, but in the end none of it proved effective.
WOMEN
The First World War was a difficult and influential time for the women of Britain. Many were forced to seek out factory work, often manufacturing ammunitions to keep money coming into the family, and the increasingly dominant numbers of women led to women being awarded the vote for the first time in 1919. During the war, often viewed as the last time men were allowed to be the 'dominant' gender, many soldiers criticised what they saw as the naivety of women.
In his poem 'Glory of Women,' Siegfried Sassoon claims, "You love us when we?re heroes, home on leave, or wounded in a mentionable place," sharing the view that women still held the misguided beliefs of an honourable war fought for the glory of Britain's green and pleasant land. It is clear from 'Testament of Youth' that this stereotype is largely untrue, it was simply that women were unable to bring about an immediate change.
STYLE
'Testament of Youth' is divided into several clearly separate sections covering different topics. The first describes Brittain's life up to the outbreak of the war, and her initial losses from the conflict, the second sees her first-hand view of casualties and death on the Front, and the third follows her pacifistic efforts with the League of Nations in attempting to create a more secure Europe; something that, we now know, was subject to another devastating World War despite such efforts.
Brittain writes in a grand style throughout, a trait of Georgian literature that was often replaced with the less formal trench poetry and subsequent novels. This makes the book seem slightly more dated than other literature of the period, but the messages are still clear throughout.
VERDICT
Possibly too sympathetic or tragic for all readers, 'Testament of Youth' is also a hefty read, but fans of deeply personal autobiographies or war literature should find it very moving and something of a large step for British women of the period. Brittain offers a different perspective on the conflict than the more popular novels by male authors such as Remarque and Graves, but will never be as effective due to its inherently "ineffective" presentation of the situation described.
Vera Brittain's later work was more politically motivated and as such not as insightful or personal, but 'Testament of Youth' explores a dark and important area of British history that left its mark. In a letter to her doomed brother, Brittain informs him, "Your battle wounds are scars upon my heart." Her subsequent problems with trauma in the 1920s prior to the release of this book show how deeply Brittain and her fellow British women were affected by the war, despite being in the safety of home, as they faced the daily problem of having to survive survival.
Advantages: Honest and moving account of a dark time from a different perspective, Historically accurate for research purposes, Feminists should love it
Disadvantages: Overly sentimental and depressing at times, Very long-winded, Writing style is often difficult to read
History is Written by the Victors
Written on 20.10.07
****
When he set out to expand upon the Christian Creation myth by incorporating apocryphal accounts of the war in heaven and the nature of hell, John Milton believed with unwavering arrogance that his ‘Paradise Lost’ would take a significant place in the literary canon, and the blind poet could have been confident that his epic would still inspire writers over three centuries later. Like many modern fantasies concerning the events that transpired before the Earth or humanity were created, Steven Brust’s novel ‘To Reign in Hell’ borrows heavily from Milton in terms of its premise (the war in Heaven, and its aftermath) and controversial sympathy for the traditionally ‘evil’ rebels, but differs significantly in its stripped-down, secularised take on the story.
Brust’s novel is classed as a fantasy and for the most part it is just that; the angels are a race birthed from the chaos surrounding Heaven, the Firstborn of which each possesses a striking ability more akin to a super-hero than a traditional deity. There is no omnipotent God who created all things, but rather Yaweh, who merely happened to be first born of the seven Firstborn, and who admits that while creation of Heaven and the angels almost certainly had something to do with him, his early memories are only vague and concern instinct more than rational thought or any form of plan. William Blake accused Milton of being ‘of the Devil’s party without knowing it’ due to the alleged sympathy he shows for the cause and suffering of his protagonist Satan in the early books of his poem, but Brust betters this by presenting Satan as an innocent and honourable figure who unwittingly finds himself as a symbol of the growing rebellion through tragic miscommunication and the deception of another. Conversely, while Yaweh is also duped by Abdiel (the novel’s true antagonist), he is shown to be an insecure and reluctant leader who ultimately reasons that self-confessed tyrannical rule is the only suitable method at his disposal, hence setting himself in his now-familiar role as Heaven’s ruler.
By ignoring religion and stripping the story down to its bare bones, Brust frees himself up to tackle a previously very vague story in whatever manner he sees fit, provided that the inevitable end conforms to Milton. This process of simplification extends to the individual angels involved, which Brust imagines as an increasing population numbering well over a thousand that is on the verge of becoming a populace rather than a small local community, something that dawns on Lilith when she articulates some of the previously unspoken problems in this earliest civilisation. Roughly a dozen angels feature prominently throughout, mostly of the prestigious first and second wave rather than the more humble and common third, and as there are no real rules regarding their exact names or characteristics in folklore, Brust writes them as he wishes. Even ones that are pretty well known, such as Lucifer and Mephistopheles, he disregards and changes as he sees fit, or makes into women for the sake of it. To ease matters, the issue of Satan’s numerous names in mythology is dealt with by making Satan and Lucifer different and distinct individuals, albeit ones who ultimately fall along the same path, and although the reader may find it a little hard to suspend their disbelief over the ‘obviously evil’ names of Belial, Beelzebub, Mephistopheles as opposed to the ‘obviously good’ Michael, Raphael and Ariel, it serves as another reminder of Heaven’s supreme and tragic innocence in all matters. Just because it would be insane to call a child Adolf today, doesn’t mean it wasn’t once a perfectly decent name (though still a bit of a silly one).
Brust’s tale is truly tragic as the reader sees an unstable but peaceful civilisation fall into disorder, war and division before their eyes, and just as ‘Paradise Lost’ was published partly in response to the English Revolution (and its ultimate failure), the crisis of ‘To Reign in Hell’ could act as a fitting metaphor for a number of situations at different points throughout history, particularly in regard to its ultimate message that facts and situations can be twisted and malformed to suit any individual’s purpose, as shown in the novel’s finest scenes. It’s certainly a very sad book, and the nefarious, conniving and murderous Abdiel is an interesting adversary in a similar manner to Milton’s Satan during his less prestigious moments in Eden in ‘Paradise Lost,’ acting on his apparently unique ability to think independently of the rest of the angelic host and to question the presumed order of things rather than follow blindly, but in doing so only causing destruction. The characterisation of this morality tale is fairly primitive but not to the point of being a disadvantage, as the cast is so weighty that each manages to achieve little outside a generalised profile to distinguish itself from the others. Some are more extremely diversified, particularly those who were mutated during the third wave into different forms: Belial is an enormous, fire-breathing dragon, Leviathan is now a sea monster, Ariel is an owl and Beelzebub is a dog who speaks in lofty Elizabethan English but still relieves himself on trees. In an interesting decision, most of the traditionally noble angels are presented as somewhat blind and easily led, but the character of those such as Michael is seen to change rather enjoyably as events unfold and awareness is raised that debate and free will can exist after all.
Even as each major player is profiled through the early chapters, Brust’s narrative is very light on actual description or in fact any narration at all beyond simple statements of the direction in which characters are walking, and an amusingly repetitive tendency for them to chew their lips while contemplating. The book is so dialogue heavy that it reads much like a play split into countless brief discussions between two or more characters before shifting to the next, and while this is perfect for establishing a sense of the characters without having to explicitly state their feelings (a chewed lip or five will satisfy for that), it does make many sections quite hard to follow if the reader is working through the book over a long period and has forgotten some of the pairings and alliances, as Brust largely avoids stating which character is speaking in each line. Fortunately, it’s very good dialogue and character-specific even outside of the gimmicks like Beelzebub, but the larger lack of description makes visualising any particular scene quite a challenge unless it’s one of the few that are intricately detailed, such as the awakening of Belial. Brust’s Heaven appears to be a large landmass, featuring fields, woods, mountains and seas, though once the reader gets beyond that to the realms of the Flux, things become a lot more complicated.
While Steven Brust’s acclaimed novel doesn’t have the same impact nor artistry as ‘Paradise Lost’ or the other classical works he pays homage to in the brief quotations that open each chapter (including Dante, Goethe and the Book of Job as well as more recent pop songs and poetry), his is a bold and enjoyable take on a story that has never been tackled in the appropriate depth. While some may take issue with his significant changes, particularly the reduction of Yaweh from an all-powerful God to a ‘mere’ Firstborn with powerful abilities, it was very likely the contradictions this omniscience entailed (as well as the foolish fear of being blasphemous to such an obviously made-up story and characters) that has caused lesser writers to veer away from these subjects over the centuries. It may not be exactly the same story, but Brust’s version makes a lot more sense and is ultimately more readable for it, though I did find that it became too much like a traditional swords and sorcery fantasy novel at some points, with the first battle in particular harking right back to genre staples like ‘Lord of the Rings.’ Nevertheless, the plot unfolds at a very satisfying and convincing rate, escalating gradually and horribly with each turn of the page.
At under 300 pages this isn’t especially heavy-going, though it does lose some of its appeal as it moves toward the conclusion – but I’m sure that these final pre-ordained events will be enough to keep readers flicking through. Some of the characters are a little too generic or theatrical, but others such as Yaweh (who is very much like the insecure God as portrayed throughout the Book of Genesis, at least as I read it), the noble Satan and the romantic Raphael keep it from being a mere allegory. It’s also pretty funny too, with some recurring jokes from the unlikely likes of Mephistopheles, and a regular running commentary from two marginal, unimportant angels Sith and Kyriel, whose pointless, often daft but always meaningful take on events unfolding before them is reminiscent of Tom Stoppard’s take on Rosencrantz and Guildenstern. Either that, or those heckling blokes in the gallery from ‘The Muppet Show,’ take your pick: it doesn’t all have to be literary.
Advantages: An interesting and imaginative take on an old but vague story, driven by entertaining dialogue.
Disadvantages: Lacks descriptiveness, which makes the whole thing a little confusing.
The Spectres of St. Andrews
Written on 17.11.07
***
This neat little paperback published by the St. Andrews Preservation Trust is a loving reproduction of George H. Bushnell's original and sole collection of ghost stories, originally published by the University in 1945. Set in and around the area of Scotland's oldest University, these stories, however fanciful or based on alleged truths, were originally told to Bushnell's Celtic Society as entertainment during blackouts in the Second World War. The local basis serves to make it a little unapproachable for the wider readership that it never particularly sought out (and will never attain), but also adds a rather quaint and authentic atmosphere to the five tales, even if it's a little naive to assume anyone outside of his immediate, local, 1940s audience will be aided by directions such as "where Henderson's corner shop now stands."
There's a fair degree of variety across the stories in terms of subject matter, style, length and enjoyment, and it should be enjoyed by readers partial to the old-fashioned sort of ghost stories that insist on grounding themselves in specific facts, locations and dates at great length, perhaps in an effort to balance out the supernatural happenings. This is the book's most annoyingly outdated feature, as some stories such as the brief 'The Shadow Man' read like nothing more than a dull overview of a historical event that manages to be extremely long-winded despite lasting only seven pages. The conveyance of specifics also spoils some of the better stories by trying the reader's patience and thereby dispelling the atmosphere that had been fairly successfully built up by that point, leading to the odd meeting of dull lecture and exciting ghost story of 'The Screaming Horsemen,' which would be the best of the lot if the balance had been shifted towards the latter events rather than the former, unnecessarily long set-up.
As with some of the best ghost stories, the supernatural elements are all toned down into mere apparitions that could, at a stretch and with a considerable degree of scepticism, be put down to natural occurrence or sick tomfoolery. The first story, attractively titled 'The Closing of the Cloisters,' is the most substantial and among the most effective in its tale of an eighteenth-century University professor getting his comeuppance from beyond the grave, in the form of appearances of his erstwhile associate's skeletal corpse clad in academic robes, but is curiously and distractingly divided into two chapters; the second is not entirely related to the professor's story, and rather concerns a far less interesting account of Johnson and Boswell getting a little creeped-out by the skeleton on their famous Tour through Scotland. The second story, 'The Tenement,' is a shorter and wholly less satisfying account of a supposedly haunted house that it turns out, wasn't really haunted at all, but nevertheless allows its sole buyer to get a bargain purchase. It's not so much a ghost story as something a particularly boring relative would repeatedly tell you with a smug look on their face, but Bushnell's descriptions of location remain commendably vivid.
'The Screaming Horsemen,' when it finally gets round to it, has the book's most prominent ghostly appearance as a group of horse-mounted riders gallop into a frozen swamp, taking the body of a crazy old man with them, and it's a shame there’s so much tedious preamble as the encounter itself is Bushnell's writing at its best: genuinely creepy and descriptive, while grounded in realism, though the author's long career as St. Andrews University librarian do lead him to catalogue every detail in irritating depth. 'The Shadow Man' is the only story based entirely in the past and suffers for its lack of relation to (then-) contemporary events, centred around the apparent ghost of a warrior, but thankfully the final offering of the collection makes for a fitting exit. Titled 'I Shall Take Proper Precautions!' for reasons that will only become clear once the whole thing has been digested, this is the apparently true story of one of Bushnell's previous assistant librarians (although everything here most likely stems almost entirely from his imagination, it's nice to imagine that there's a basis for all of the stories), who finds a curiously new book arriving at the library just as she is closing up on Christmas Eve, and she is forced to take it home for a personal delivery to its local owner and author. This story is filled with everything I enjoyed about spooky short stories when I was a child, from the uncanny book itself that suddenly appears to be old, worn and stained when viewed in the dim bedside light, to the librarian's experiences and encounters with its supposed author and the ultimate revelation that the blank pages at the book's conclusion were never blank after all, containing everything she experiences on that fateful, snowy morning. This is the most enjoyable story of the lot, largely unhampered by the burden of far too much detail and making a nice link to the University library itself, from whence this whole thing originated.
As George H. Bushnell's only collection of stories, this noticeably lacks a distinctly characteristic style aside from its tedious insistence on relating all the information possible, but it fits in rather nicely with the tradition of gothic ghost stories and is interesting in its blending of the author's contemporary early twentieth century and the history of his local Scottish region, mostly through the 1700s. It's a little uneven in tone, with some such as the first story quite clearly being written for speaking without much in the way of adaptation for the page (mostly evident through repeated sound effects), but it's a nice gesture that this book was ever considered worth reprinting at all. This paperback is a slim volume of just over sixty pages, and features pretty pencil illustrations from one Mrs. D.H.L. Scott (née Bushnell) relevant to each tale without spoiling its conclusion. If the University of St. Andrews still entertains a Celtic Society, it's nice that they have something to show for their history (in a University steeped in history, as Bushnell's stories prove more than anything else), and I'm sure his own ghost must have been pleasantly surprised to see this new arrival in the Local Fiction section of a library he still watches over to this very day, the silent old man in the old-fashioned clothes...
Advantages: Five quick, traditional spooky stories set in St. Andrews University and the surrounding area.
Disadvantages: Short, outdated and alienating to non-locals.
Written on 14.11.07
****
Several years after Neil Gaiman’s influential comic series The Sandman ceased publication, its characters, settings and ideas continued to entertain readers as a profitable franchise of DC Comics’ Vertigo imprint. Probably the best conceived and executed of these spin-offs (some of which were pretty appalling) was the long-running ‘Lucifer,’ originally written by the talented Mike Carey to carry on directly from where Gaiman left the fallen angel and ex-ruler of Hell: wearing a snazzy suit and running a classy piano bar in Los Angeles, aided by his ever loyal half-faced assistant Mazikeen.
‘Devil in the Gateway’ is the first paperback anthology of Lucifer, collecting the three issue mini-series ‘The Sandman Presents Lucifer: The Morningstar Option’ from 1999 and the first four issues of the regular comic which began a year later, forming another three-part serial and a final, separate short story. It’s clear even from this first collection that the recognisable Sandman style is being followed diligently, allocating a finite number of issues to a particular story before moving on to the next and filling the spaces with entertaining one-shots focusing on comparatively marginal ideas and characters. As the titular protagonist, Lucifer (or whatever name your culture bestows him) is much more prominent in these plots than Gaiman’s Sandman was in the long run, though like Dream his role is pushed to the background in the short stories, presuming this book is going to be reflective of the series as a whole. In a further, clearly intentional homage to Sandman, the series would conclude after seventy-five issues in 2006, but now we’re getting ahead of ourselves.
The three stories of this volume – ‘The Morningstar Option,’ ‘A Six-Card Spread’ and the final ‘Born with the Dead’ – are all of commendably high quality, particularly considering this is a franchise spin-off targeted primarily at overly loyal comic fans desperate to part with their money for anything that boasts a relation to Sandman on its cover. Mike Carey presents a Lucifer entirely consistent with Gaiman’s arrogant, self-serving and witty angel, and although his turbulent loyalties and concerns keep him somewhat aloof over the course of these tales, his put-downs and charming sarcasm in the first mini-series particularly make him a strong and interesting character for the reader’s allegiance. Each story has a cast of prominent characters, who may or may not return as the series continues, and in the true Sandman spirit of attempted controversy and unwavering belief that progressive social statements are being made, the cast originates in troubled families, sexual deviations, jobs in the sex industry and angsty teenage goth girls with unrealised, repressed powers. Each story expands the Sandman continuity by introducing further figures from mythology, both based on cultural legends and entirely made-up, more often than not to act as an enemy for Lucifer to talk down to and eventually beat.
As the original mini-series, ‘The Morningstar Option’ is pivotal in demonstrating the potential for a larger series, much like a television pilot episode, and it succeeds admirably. The biggest disappointment is seeing Lucifer agree to work for heaven on a one-time assignment, admittedly for the reward it would grant him, but hearing him state “today I’m one of the good guys” only made me yearn for the series to begin in earnest, and for the David Bowie lookalike to start showing his true colours. Lucifer’s task in this first story is to track down the source of unusual luck being experienced by humans across the globe before it inevitably ends in that stupid, infantile species wiping itself out, and playing the role of detective he ends up recruiting Navajo-descended teenager Rachel Begai, who accompanies him and performs the required tasks of her heritage in the hope that Lucifer will be able to revive her mentally handicapped brother Paul, whom she accidentally wished dead. His investigations take him to the exiled Lilim, residing in dilapidated city back-streets and eventually attacking the angel in a sequence reminiscent of ‘Spawn,’ before the final issue crams in an uninspired Native American vision quest type thing in a rather shoddy attempt to wrap up the story in about the half the time it really needed. Like Neil Gaiman, Carey tries to pay respect to the mythologies of these exotic cultures to avoid getting too caught up in an explicitly heaven/hell argument, and like much of the Sandman, it doesn’t really convince. It’s also a little disappointing to see some plot points borrowed explicitly from the Sandman story ‘Brief Lives,’ though that’s likely more due to the personal grievances I have with that particular story.
While the plot may border precariously on being distinctly average, the mini-series is ultimately made a hugely rewarding experience through an abundance of great dialogue, intelligent use of existing characters (particularly in the contrast between the angels Remiel and Duma) and most of all, absolutely fantastic art from Scott Hampton who applies a painterly style throughout the three issues, handling all the pencils, lavish paints and the great covers himself. Hampton’s human characters and backgrounds are completely convincing and brought to life wonderfully through his use of colour, and the whole thing was clearly a labour of love, easily affording Hampton equal (or perhaps even greater) credit to Mike Carey in making this a great starting point. Of course, the task of a mainstream monthly series meant that Hampton’s virtuoso style would prove highly impractical, and although the more standard comic art of Chris Weston, Warren Pleece and Dean Ormston in the other issues initially seems a little disappointing with the unfair comparison, it’s still above average in depicting the earthbound tales with the necessary degree of realism above all else.
‘A Six-Card Spread’ is a little better plot-wise, but loses the fun dialogue along with the art, as Lucifer reverts to a more generic figure with unspecified powers. To its credit, this story takes the franchise back to its origins as a horror comic, with some really quite disturbing scenes of brutal, real-world violence in frequent racist and homophobic assaults (that’s right, Carey couldn’t set his story in Hamburg without including some neo-Nazis). Lucifer’s mission this time is entirely self-serving, as he tracks down former angel Meleos in his library for a tarot reading from his crazy living deck, but for some reason or other the spirits of the cards end up loose in the city, possessing or otherwise interfering with any characters whose lifestyles are alternative enough to be permitted entry into a Sandman cast. The more local tale plays out better across three issues than its lofty predecessor managed, and while it’s an entertaining enough read on its own, there are further scenes towards the beginning and end that weave plot threads for the future. The final tale ‘Born with the Dead’ makes for a very nice stand-alone issue and concerns a twelve-year-old girl’s investigation into her best friend’s murder, fuelled by drugs, aided by supernatural forces. While it presents the second occurrence even in this thin paperback of the author insisting he knows what makes teenage girls tick, it also possibly owes a debt to earlier Sandman spin-off ‘The Dead Boy Detectives.’ Then again, it might not. I haven’t read it.
Although the tone and appearance leap considerably at the half-way point, as is to be expected from a compilation like this, ‘Devil in the Gateway’ is a consistently high quality graphic novel, clearly taking many cues from the Sandman’s success but also starting to stand on its own feet, aided by its strong lead character. The mini-series is well plotted for the first two issues before cramming in too many clichéd details in the third, and even successfully integrates some back-story for newcomers through an early discussion between Lucifer and Amenadiel, for anyone who hasn’t read ‘Season of Mists.’ This is an explicitly adult title, perhaps even more than its predecessor, with frequent swearing and some grisly but never gratuitous violence, but its basis in heaven and hell mythologies taken from literature rather than holy books – particularly Milton’s ‘Paradise Lost’ and Dante’s ‘The Divine Comedy,’ the latter sharing influence with Bosch in the artistic rendering of Hell – keeps it from being blasphemous and offensive to more ignorant, right-wing Christian readers, though those sorts of people will complain about anything.
There are a few problems that threaten to spoil the continuing series, notably Lucifer’s accomplice Mazikeen who does little of interest other than “stand guard” while Lucifer goes about his business, and whose speech is now even more difficult to decipher than it was under Gaiman’s pen, particularly as the earlier author would always have Lucifer conveniently explain what his servant had just said in a manner reminiscent of Matthew Corbett and Sooty. Letterer Ellie DeVille (who I remember from ‘Sonic the Comic,’ quite embarrassingly) also seems to have trouble applying Todd Klein’s decorative style to the speech of otherworldly beings, which is a bit of a problem as this includes the series’ main character. But on the whole, this is an interesting and logical continuation of the fallen angel’s story that really could go anywhere next, but will probably restrict itself to gritty back-streets and various planes of the afterlife.
”A message written in blood. Everyone involved in this drama seems compelled to overact.”
Advantages: Impressive debut with some fantastic art.
Disadvantages: A bit of a copy-cat, falling for some of the Sandman's pitfalls.
Grow Up!
Written on 05.05.04
*****
All quotes taken from The Very Hungry Caterpillar by Eric Carle, published by Penguin Books, 1986. Buy it, it's good.
There are a number of colourful books that are staples of every junior school or playgroup, and 'The Very Hungry Caterpillar' by children's writer and artist Eric Carle is one of the most famous children's books internationally. It is incredibly simple, quite educational and, most of all, very fun for children.
STYLE
Carle wrote and illustrated this book, using very short and understandable sentences and phrases, and a mixture of painting and tissue paper collages for the pictures. This distinctive style sets the book apart and introduces children to an art form at a very early age, as they will appreciate the pictures and possible be inspired to make their own in a similar style.
The book is even more memorable for the simple level of interactivity it provides the child with, in the form of hole-punched circles over several pages. These fall over the pictures of food that the caterpillar gnaws its insatiable way through.
THE STORY [No kidding; for some reason I type up and analyse the entire thing]
Designed for very young children who are learning to read, or are being read to by an adult, the Very Hungry Caterpillar is the short tale of a caterpillar's life cycle, presented in an interesting way.
"In the light of the
moon a little egg
lay on a leaf."
The story begins with the genesis of the caterpillar, reaffirming children's knowledge of birth and life. This first double page spread features a leaf, the egg and a friendly-looking moon in the night sky.
"One Sunday morning the warm sun came up and - pop!
- out of the egg came a tiny and very hungry caterpillar."
This second double page features a large, grinning Sun, watching over the caterpillar, that is drawn very tiny. While older readers might at first mistake this for perspective, more innocent children will have no doubt as to the very simple meaning, and can watch the creature grow as the book progresses.
"He started to look
for some food."
This is where the fun begins, as the next four pages have been hole-punched lengthways, illustrating the caterpillar's eating pattern. The right hand side of the first double-page spread features five 'flaps' of incomplete pages, each getting bigger as more food is shown:
"On Monday
he ate through
one apple.
But he was still
hungry."
"On Tuesday
he ate through
two pears,
but he was still
hungry."
"On Wednesday
he ate through
three plums,
but he was still
hungry."
"On Thursday
he ate through
four strawberries,
but he was still
hungry."
"On Friday
he ate through
five oranges,
but he was still
hungry."
This repetition and the visual aids will have children enjoying, and telling aloud the story, even if they cannot read. If Teletubbies taught parents anything, it's that their children love repetition; Old McDonald's farm springs to mind.
The educational value of this section is also quite impressive, as it can help children to learn their numbers one to five, how to spell the numbers one to five, the days of the 'school week,' and the differences between types of fruit.
"On Saturday
he ate through
one piece of
chocolate cake, one ice-cream cone, one pickle, one slice of Swiss cheese, one slice of salami, one lollipop, one piece of cherry pie, one sausage, one cupcake, and one slice of watermelon.
That night he had a stomachache!"
This long-winded list of food covers the double page with illustrations, and is a chance for some humour after the repetition of the previous section. The strange list of very different food types keeps it interesting for the child, and the line about the stomach ache will likely be their first experience of humour through confounded expectations, as it was not what they expected. Even I can appreciate that one.
"The next day was Sunday again.
The caterpillar ate through
One nice green leaf,
And after that he felt
Much better."
Completing the week cycle, perhaps this could be seen as a message that children should eat their greens. I doubt any children would be stupid enough to try and eat leaves in the same manner.
"Now he wasn?t hungry any more - and he wasn't a little caterpillar any more.
He was a big, fat caterpillar."
Growth and change are highlighted here, especially with the drawing of the overweight minibeast. Use of the phrase "big, fat" marks this out as a book targeted towards the very young.
"He built a small house, called a cocoon, around himself. He stayed inside for
more than two weeks. Then he nibbled a hole in the cocoon, pushed his way out and..."
Limiting the educational value to caterpillars here, the illustration makes it easier for the child to visualise a chrysalis more than if they were simply told about them. Two weeks must seem like a much longer length of time for a child.
"he was a beautiful butterfly!"
The book ends with the caterpillar having achieved beauty and happiness, leaving all children satisfied. But they may well demand that the reader start from the beginning again.
THE AUTHOR
Eric Carle is an American who grew up in Germany and was inspired to illustrate for children's books, and proceeded to create his own highly successful works. Other famous examples of Carle's work include 'The Very Busy Spider' and 'Have You Seen My Cat?,' the focus on the natural world stemming from his own childhood interests and memories.
VERDICT
This is an incredibly popular child's book with good reason; it looks great, has a very interesting style, and the plot is very straightforward and familiar. The educational value should not be dismissed, nor should the fact that children will want to read this in their spare time due to the pictures, the simplicity and the humour. Children may even feel proud of their achievements when they can recite the story simply by looking at the pictures, or by noticing small details such as the picture of the caterpillar on the reverse side of each food 'flap.' Even the young need self-esteem.
I'm also sure that any parents who remember the book from when they were children will get a great deal of pleasure from reading it to their own children, safe in the knowledge that they are also helping their education and development.
Similar books, from my own experience:
Not Now Bernard / There's No Such Thing as Dragons - both of these books use repetition to get a point across, and teach valuable lessons about paying attention and being friendly and open-minded.
Don't Forget the Bacon - similar humour to this book, this also uses some fairly silly and bizarre objects that a child will be familiar with, and has a great ending.
Advantages: Simple and effective, Beautifully illustrated, Educational
Disadvantages: Can be expensive, even for smaller versions, due to the pictures and designer holes in pages, May get annoying!
Written on 15.09.07
***
Star Trek fan fiction and licensed or unlicensed spin-offs have existed for almost as long as the series, and provide an effective and enjoyable means for die-hard viewers to indulge their fandom and creativity by taking established concepts, characters and details and making their own stories, most of which are absolutely abysmal rip-offs of what has already come before. Advances in technology have made fan productions ever more lucrative, especially notable in the entirely fan-produced, fan-written and fan-starring live action series ‘New Voyages’ and the upcoming ‘Of Gods and Men’ film directed by and starring many authentic cast members. The canonical Star Trek universe is now so vast, expanded by five long-running series and ten feature films, that little mystery remains, and any spin-off media basing itself on the moribund franchise must either stick rigidly to its established frameworks, as most of them do, or branch out boldly into unexplored territory.
While fan fiction is pretty much free to do as it pleases, as long as no attempt is made to make money off the back of Paramount’s franchise, officially licensed publications such as the long-running Pocket Books novel series and the less stable comic book imprint have the benefit of using the real vessels, real characters and real likenesses to tell further adventures of the crews of the Enterprise and all those other ships. Paramount’s lenience is variable, often denying the use of recurring alien races or supporting characters in case this contradicts or upstages a continuing TV series, yet nothing outside the filmed medium has ever been considered part of the official Star Trek canon. Star Trek comics are a particularly popular and interesting feature of this expanded universe, acting as a bridge between the written word and the TV series in approaching something comparable to the latter, allowing fans the authentic experience of watching an un-filmed episode unfold before their eyes. At least, that’s the idea.
That’s why I enjoy naïve earlier publications, such as this six-issue mini-series, produced hurriedly by DC comics to cash in on excitement about the first new Star Trek series in twenty years, ‘Star Trek: The Next Generation.’ Fully licensed by Paramount to create exciting new adventures for the new crew of the U.S.S. Enterprise, it attempts to replicate the look and ‘feel’ of the series to an authentic standard, which is amusing as the writers and artists had, presumably, only seen an early screening of the series’ shaky pilot episode. Dedicated followers of the TV series will know that its look, tone and focus changed substantially in the first couple of years, beginning its third year as a more thoughtful and mature show, and one in which the characters no longer wore skin-tight spandex. Essentially written to occur between the pilot episode ‘Encounter at Farpoint’ and episode two of the series, DC’s enthusiastic ‘Volume 1’ captures all the simplistic, nostalgic charm of the show’s earliest period while also being forced to take hugely speculative leaps in covering areas that the show had understandably failed to address in what had so far amounted to ninety minutes of screen time. More sombre and serious TNG fans will doubtless find some of the content ridiculous and even offensive based on their superior knowledge of the series, but for me this stupid, over-eager innocence makes them far more readable than the dull, repetitive and far more authentic second volume that ran throughout the rest of the TV series.
All six issues, soon collected together in a hardback and paperback publication, are written by Michael Carlin, an established writer for Marvel comics before moving to DC, whose inexperience with Star Trek writing is on display throughout. In Carlin’s favour, no one really knew what to expect from the new Star Trek series, though I don’t recall as much frantic racing about and fist-fighting in the televised version, something that can be equally attributed to the lack of a TV budget hindering the writer’s creativity here. The art is similarly far more suited to traditional superhero comics than the diplomatic world of Trek, though long-time artist Pablo Marcos would oddly never learn that Jean-Luc Picard’s chest, arms and legs don’t bulge with tensed muscle like that, on the TV show. Marcos is a fairly good artist, successful in capturing the likenesses of the actors and only resorting to what are obviously the few available publicity shots on rare occasions, though as with all Trek comics featuring random, previously unseen alien races, he has the freedom to draw whatever he wants in some instances, regardless of whether it would show up on television or not (though the first two years of TNG did feature actors in dog, lizard and fish costumes, so anything is possible). Carlos Garzon and Arne Starr provide the definitive inks, which sees them indulging in their hobby of over-cross-hatching the already inaccurate muscles of each character’s tight outfit, while Carl Gafford screws up some of the ship, technology and costume colours wonderfully, in the true spirit of this volume’s innocence.
These comics, originally released monthly in the first half of 1988, act as a time capsule, preserving a moment of genuine excitement regarding the new series before the over-saturation of the franchise in the nineties. There’s an obvious enthusiasm stemming from every department in expressing the style of the series, from the highly detailed drawings of the sets and over-sized introductory images of main characters to Carlin’s valiant attempts to address issues of character background that were stated from the onset, but often largely ignored in the official canon. Thus, we see Captain Picard reminisce about his childhood in France, years before the series decided to offer the ‘true’ details that unfortunately contradict this, while the old romance between Riker and Troi is perhaps mentioned more than it ever would be again (outside of fan fiction, obviously). Most interesting is the focus granted to security chief Tasha Yar, whose character was killed off towards the end of the first TV season for a number of reasons, and who therefore got little screen time or development compared to the others. Yar is given a prominent role here, obviously due to her action-heroine persona, and her troubled past at a corrupt Federation colony is referred to several times, as it was in the show. Other fun details replicated true to the first season include a beardless Riker, Geordi LaForge wearing red and piloting the ship, and a reduced, confused role for Lieutenant Worf, who really didn’t do very much before Yar was killed off and he took her place. There are a number of entertaining out-of-character incidents from pretty much the entire cast, which is understandable as no one really knew what in-character meant at this point.
The stories themselves are a little far-fetched and not particularly impressive, clearly only serving as a foundation upon which to explore this new ship and crew that Star Trek fans were so eager to learn about. The first issue, titled ‘...Where No One Has Gone Before!’ (which was also used as an early episode title) concerns a hostile situation on a jungle planet, allowing for both an action-packed adventure and a full exploration of the Enterprise command structure, particularly its focus on staff meetings and the Captain’s absence from the away team. Annoying teenager Wesley Crusher is also featured, allowing for an overview of Starfleet’s new families-aboard-starships stance that annoys Picard no end, and characters get to show off their unique attributes that would feature less prominently thereafter, such as Geordi’s enhanced vision. ‘Spirit in the Sky’ and the final issue ‘Here Today’ are both stand-alone stories, while the remaining half of the collection comprises an extended mini-series-within-a-mini-series focusing on the adversary Q, who was introduced in the pilot episode. Q’s return, predicted in the pilot but not yet confirmed by this point, provides some interesting foreshadowing on the writers’ part (both Carlin and the presumed Star Trek writers who informed him of the types of things to include in these stories), as although Q is far more malevolent and childish here than he would ultimately prove to be in the series, his antagonistic relationship with Picard is completely true to form, and even the presence of ‘Q’ in each issue’s title predates that pattern in TNG, though in this instance they aren’t used as puns (unless “Q’s Day” is a really weak pun for ‘Tuesday’). The Q story is far too long, convoluted and ultimately pointless as anything other than a convenient means to explore the psyches, histories and fantasies of all the main characters, but as that was pretty much Carlin’s job, he performs it admirably.
Comics have always had a reputation (at least in the western world) as being a little childish and less literate than written publications – even if we are talking about Star Trek tie-in novels – and although there are many notable exceptions to this rule, it is mostly true. DC’s first volume of Star Trek: The Next Generation is valuable and entertaining as nothing more than a historical artefact of the series in its earliest stages when it was still struggling to find its identity, and each time Picard yells out a French curse, or Beverley strikes a sexy pose for no reason, or a background character crops up wearing some kind of helmet or non-existent green-coloured uniform, I can’t help but raise a delighted smile. These comics are trying so eagerly to reflect the style of the new series (though with a degree of artistic license granted in terms of huge green monsters and old men’s athleticism) that only the most anally retentive Trekkie would condemn them for their silliness... though they are undoubtedly very silly in places. This mini-series would be followed a year later with a long-running publication that lasted for 80 issues, still mostly illustrated by Marcos but written by more experienced Star Trek novelists and comic authors. The second volume reflected the established television series more accurately, but what’s the point in that?
Advantages: Nostalgic and comedic relic from a simpler time.
Disadvantages: Generally weak plots and some distracting art.
Very Interesting
Written on 03.08.03
****
A sci-fi fan's web page reccomended the Rama series, among many other books, as a classic of science fiction and while looking for anything interesting the local library I noticed this first book and the sequel.
The first thought that came to mind, and the reason why I hired it out, was "very interesting," and that basically sums it up for me. Like many books and films, although certainly not all of them, I preferred the initial discovery and exploration of the enormous craft to the events that followed, which I found became tedious and long-winded sometimes. Once the initial mysteries were out of the way and people started 'flooding in,' the plot lost something I think, but I still found it an engrossing and very interesting (that again) read.
The basic plot is that a huge, cylindrical and unidentified object has entered the solar system in the not-too-distant future of 2130, a time when most of the solar system has been colonised but no intergalactic exploration or alien contact has happened. The thing that most impressed me was the size of the alien object, we are talking doc-off for want of a better term, even though 'huge' summed it up really. Five kilometres in length I think it was, and constantly spinning to keep up gravity inside. When I was selecting a book to read, one of the criteria I thought would be nice would be to deal with something too massive to comprehend initially, and this is the perfect book for that kind of feeling.
Hoping I don't spoil the plot, but it is quite inevitable- rest assured I'm not familiar with the purpose of the whole probe thing however, as this is left to be tied up, I assume, in "Rama Revealed" which is the fourth book of this quadrilogy. I learned that word from a DVD set of the Alien movies. But once the crew of the Endeavour, a spaceship fortunately close enough to land on the Behemoth of a cylinder, become accustomed to the inside of the strange craft I find that much of the interest in it is lost; Commander Norton descending into the darkness, seeing what are believed to be towns down the edges of the craft only when flares are dropped, and the subsequent trek through the darkness, is tension and mystery at its very best.
The characters are not really developed, although we do learn a bit about Commander Norton's two wives living on different planets, each having children- a very usual arrangement by the 22nd century apparently, along with his hobby/obsession regarding Captain Cook's voyages. Other officers crop up regularly, but in action sequences involving 'space bikes' and exploration they do not distinguish themselves from each other in any remarkable way.
The latter half of the book deals with more action and danger, and throughout we are often redirected to a conference between the United Planets members regarding what to do with the craft. While interesting at first in seeing how politics can exist in the 22nd century with the human race spread out, nothing really entertains apart from the idea that 'Hermians' from Mercury are developing into a distinctly different type of human in terms of character and priorities. I'm sure that the political situations may be meant to mirror events happening in the 1970s when Clarke wrote this, but I have never had enough interest in politics to have a clue about this.
I may read the second and subsequent books when I have the time, but basically my enjoyment waned and the book failed to grab my attention quite so much towards the end, especially in the last 50 pages or so. It all seemed to end a little too abruptly in comparison to the slow pace of many of the scenes. Huge things are ace though, and if the book hadn't gone downhill towards the end I would have given it top marks.
Written on 22.11.03
*****
This book of the collected scripts for all four Blackadder series, titled The Black Adder, Blackadder II, Blackadder the Third and Blackadder Goes Forth respectively, was an inevitable and important release which was handled incredibly well.
For a start, the book is illustrated and themed to suit each relevant series, with interesting introductory designs and production photographs to each episode and small illustrations within the text to keep the pages interesting. The scripts of the Blackadder series were incredibly well written, despite the occasional obvious joke and the poorer quality of the first series before Ben Elton satirically aided the writing process, and reading it allows a long-time fan to remember famous lines, or newer fans to appreciate episodes and series they have yet to come across. This book kept me entertained on a very uninteresting family holiday several years ago.
The four series are preceeded by fully detailed cast lists, and the pleasant 'additions' to the book are the frequent articles inspired by episodes and characters between some episodes. These include double page spreads on topics such as "Medieval Medicine," the options of which are apparently 1. herbs, 2. leeches, 3. saw it off, "Duties of an Underscrogsman" and the hilarious "Baldrick's Family Tree." The book ends with a very useful and entertaining list of "Blackadder's Finest Insults"- usually following the 'stickiest situation since sticky the stick insect got stuck to a sticky bun' formula, and a brief history of the BBC's Comic Relief, to which some of the book's profits go toward.
Aided by a large number of black and white and colour photos, and very impressive covers on the hardback version, this book unfortunately falls short of perfection only due to the Blackadder episodes that it 'misses'; Blackadder and Baldrick's transitions between each series are described in detail, although no mention is made of the Blackadder specials "The Cavalier Years," a fifteen minute civil war Comic Relief special from the late 1980s, or "Blackadder's Christmas Carol." Considering that these special one-offs could conceivable fit into Blackadder's continuity between the third and fourth series, the fact that they receive no mention is something which maybe ought to have been remedied, although the lengthy scripts already contained certainly make the book an essential purchase to anyone who loves to quote great programmes. And there are certainly few modern comedies which even come close to rivalling the whole damn Blackadder dynasty.
It has also been very helpful in providing modern day comedy quips about the Great War for my eventual A-level English Literature exam. I hope to get some Iron Maiden lyrics in there as well. I would also recommend the complete Blackadder series on DVD, one of the finest comedy series of all time.
Roald Dahl, My Uncle Oswald
Written on 10.11.07
***
One of Roald Dahl’s few substantial works for adults, ‘My Uncle Oswald’ feels like it’s very self-consciously reaching for the higher shelves of ‘adult’ classification, as if the author needed a release from all the repressed sexuality of his increasingly popular children’s fiction, but was still too much of a gentlemen to include much in the way of graphic description or recognised swear words. Although the generous blurb and opening chapter indicate that the reader is in for a no-holds-barred account of raunch and sauce across pre-World War II Europe, the entire narrative is primarily focused on Oswald’s story of how he accrued his substantial wealth, explained in far more detail than is strictly necessary or, at times, palatable. It might give you some idea what to expect from the novel if I reveal that the most graphically descriptive sexual scene involves Oswald and his male associate catching a bull’s ejaculation in a bag, while the human encounters are either glossed over entirely or relegated to vague metaphors of engine pistons and jousts.
The book begins with a confusing and rather pointless chapter of introduction from the author, whether this is intended to be Dahl himself or simply a fictional, otherwise unseen character, and is correctly identified as the third publication of ‘his uncle’s memoirs’ following Dahl’s earlier short stories ‘The Visitor’ and ‘Bitch’ from the ‘Switch Bitch’ collection. Although I haven’t read those, this opening chapter indicates, most likely as a joke, that their raunchiness no doubt represented the most conservative and chaste sections available from his uncle’s diaries, and he promises not to hold anything back in this third offering, an unfulfilled promise that ultimately only makes it more disappointing in the end. The narration switches to Oswald from chapter two and continues through the rest of the two-hundred-plus pages, though it has to be said that it loses the sense of a memoir after a while, reading like just another novel told in the first person. Dahl’s cheery writing style is easy to follow and enjoy, and he has a knack for ending chapters on a comparatively exciting note, but the story’s main problem is that it really does drag by the end and becomes very repetitive, something the narrator even draws attention to, but fails to remedy.
The plot concerns Oswald’s early years as a young entrepreneur before and after the First World War, learning from his father’s well-travelled friend the secret of the Sudanese Blister Beetle and its powerful effect on the human sex drive. Using intelligence, care and cunning, the seventeen-year-old Oswald pays a trip to the Sudan to buy a crate of this legendary aphrodisiac, and applies his scientific knowledge and keen business sense to manufacture it in pill form, ready to sell to the rich and desperate. This first section of the book is largely a prelude and works very well in setting up the situation and character of Oswald, a young man who enjoys the finer things in life and lives by strict, self-imposed moral guidelines: firstly, he is adamant that he must be supremely wealthy to be truly happy, but insists that this wealth can only be accrued through means that he finds enjoyable, and that bring pleasure to his customers. Secondly, more importantly, he must have an enormous amount of sex, and can never sleep with the same girl twice; he compares the very idea to the disappointment of “reading a detective novel twice over.” Oswald really is a sexual connoisseur (though he limits himself to female homo sapiens), learning the intricacies and distinct stylings of women from different nationalities and backgrounds, and even basing his preferred choice of music on the more debauched scenes of operas due to their associations. The rest of the book focuses entirely on Oswald’s plan, based on the breakthroughs of his old University professor in artificial cattle insemination, to obtain and preserve the sperm of famous people for later sale to rich women desperate to have a child by Einstein, Picasso, Proust or King Alfonso of Spain, among many others.
Joining Oswald as a travelling companion and business associate for the second half of the book is the alluring Yasmin Howcomely, who agrees to take part in Oswald’s hare-brained scheme primarily for the enjoyment it would bring, stating that she was looking forward to being ravished by kings and artists. Obviously, this makes the book a little questionable in terms of its attitude towards women, and even an attempt to discredit Sigmund Freud’s famously phallocentric approach during Yasmin’s session with the Austrian doesn’t really work as an apology. It’s easy to treat this novel as harmless fun, though it does tend to ground itself a little too much in believable (and perhaps workable) science that even its slightly more ludicrous or exaggerated moments lack any of the fantastical nature of Dahl’s more famous works. One very strange aspect of the book is its unflattering parade of famous figures from the early twentieth century, some of whom come off better than others (Yasmin is particularly complimentary about the sexual practices and impressive size of writers, composers and artists, but isn’t so fond of intellectuals), but all of whom are presented losing their inhibitions and assaulting a woman, admittedly under the influence of Oswald’s beetle powder sneakily inserted into a chocolate. While this may please or indeed enrage fans of the many famous persons involved, the issues of libel make the whole thing pretty dodgy for being so grounded in reality.
‘My Uncle Oswald’ sticks out like a beetle-bitten pizzle in the bibliography of one of the country’s favourite children’s authors, and while it’s a fairly enjoyable read for the most part, it does unfortunately serve to demonstrate that Dahl didn’t really have the knack for making realistic adult stories as entertaining as his children’s fiction. The scheme is suitably zany to maintain interest for a while, but it drags on for far too long and becomes overly repetitive, and the author even makes a very disappointing decision by off-handedly spoiling the ending about half-way through with a mention that there are a number of Proust-descended children currently growing up across Europe as he writes this, thereby removing the doubt that this risky scheme would eventually succeed. The slight twist that does transpire at the end is minor by comparison, and not really worth wading through the long string of vague sexual encounters to reach.
If you enjoyed Roald Dahl’s children’s books in your youth and are interested in reading something similar now you’re grown up – well, don’t really bother with this, just dig out your battered copy of ‘The Witches’ and read it again, you’ve probably forgotten what happens. There are a few creatures that should never have been permitted into Roald Dahl’s literary menagerie, and spermatozoa are one of them. At least they don’t talk.
Advantages: Whimsical and unexpectedly adult romp (or rather, series of romps) from the beloved author.
Disadvantages: Overlong, over-repetitive and overall a fairly disappointing change of pace.
Never Trust a Woman
Written on 20.04.04
*****
Out of all the popular children's authors I read, or was told to read at school, only Roald Dahl seemed to earn his popularity. His stories were imaginative, engaging, strange and often a little scary. Not being his best known work, although a 1990 film ensured it gained more recognition, 'The Witches' is often regarded as his most sinister tale. Naturally it was also my favourite.
INTRODUCTION
The book opens with a section entitled 'A Note About Witches.' An introduction rather than an opening chapter, this is an objective viewpoint on how to spot the terror of the book, the witch. In a departure from the easily recognisable pointed hats and cloaks, Dahl instructs the reader that witches do indeed exist, but are easily able to disguise themselves as regular women. The fear of a beast in the reader's midst is amplified when Dahl voices their concerns, stating a number of possible familiar faces that may not be who they seem. There are several ways of telling whether someone is a witch, (they wear gloves, wigs and have blue teeth) but unfortunately these require the observer to be in close proximity and as such may be too late. The Witches' targets are, naturally, all children. All witches are evil.
PLOT
The story opens in the house of a boy's grandmother in Oslo, Norway. She is telling her son what would appear to be a ghost story, if not for her clear sincerity. Echoing the introduction's notes about witches, she relates the story of a girl who fell victim to a witch and became trapped in a painting. She would move position each day until she eventually vanished, unnoticed by her parents.
On her trip to England, the grandmother and her grandson stay in a seaside Hotel, but the boy soon discovers the truth about a group of women, under the guise of RSPCC representatives. They are a group of witches led by the Grand High Witch herself, and are in England to gather children. The Grand High Witch demonstrates a new sweet she has invented and a young boy, Bruno, arrives as per her instructions. On consuming the sweet he is changed into a mouse; the boy knows that his only hope is his grandmother, and they have to stop the Witches' plans as no one else will believe them.
CHARACTERS
The main character is an impressionable but confident and active child, as in most of Dahl's books, and he narrates the story from that perspective. The grandmother represents safety in a world where no one else can really be trusted, or no women at least, and the Witches come across as very evil indeed. Another staple of Dahl's books is modern-day, unimaginative adults whose humdrum lives have made them criticise everything. The boy's parents do not even begin to listen to his claims of Witches.
A CHILDREN'S BOOK?
The Witches is a book for children, but not for all children. I have read accounts of children crying or being terrified and although I was less sensitive to such things as a child (and really loved having nightmares; I wish I still had them), I remember fearing for the boy's safety throughout the book. The main passage that had an impact on me came near the start, with the child trapped in the painting; I remember finding this genuinely terrifying, being locked motionless in a painting and not being noticed by anyone until you simply cease to be. I tried reading it aloud to my younger brother at the time, but had to stop when I couldn't force some of the words out!
Terror in children's stories is nothing new or controversial. Ancient fairy stories and nursery rhymes are full of death and suffering, mostly used as lessons about what not to do, and the Witches is the child's equivalent of horror films. I would not hesitate in recommending this to any child, teacher or parent as there is a real incentive to read through the book and find out what happens. And it's not all pretty.
THE FILM
There was indeed a popular British film version of this book, released in 1990. I saw it once as a child, before I read the book, and found it to be a very good adaptation. The same scenes were scary and although the ending was less tragic (I'm not going to explain the differences here as it would spoil the enjoyment of any potential readers) it captured the essence of Dahl's story very well.
OVERALL
If I had a Frankingstein Junior I would make sure it was approaching bedtime and read him/her chapters from this book. Children love to be scared, at least everyone that I knew did, and this book does that very tastefully. I would have enjoyed some feminist backlash against this book which essentially states that no women can really be trusted, but the whole reason for this is that mother figures represent safety and trust to children: if you can't trust Mrs Miggins at the corner shop, who can you trust? One of the best children's books around, and certainly one of the undisputed best children's authors.
Advantages: Excellent for children, Compelling and frightening, Great writing style
Disadvantages: Probably won't be enjoyed so much by adults, Could be too scary for sensitive children
Bill Dare, Natural Selection
Who Wants to Be a Millionaire?
Written on 05.12.07
***
Bill Dare's first novel considers itself to be above the simple romantic comedy, and approaches the tediously popular genre from a self-consciously, slightly-different angle. Bearing in mind this desperation to avoid the clichés, it can't be argued that the plot still proceeds along the basic line of boy meets girl / boy falls desperately in love with girl, who is uninterested and/or afraid of spoiling the friendship / boy and girl begin relationship, ahh, and throws the customary potential threat of an potential impossibly charismatic and handsome male rival, balanced out by the safely asexual, funny, clinically depressed mate. The main difference is made clear right at the onset: although James is now living in apparent bliss with the girl of his dreams, he intentionally contrives an encounter between his beloved Victoria and his charming friend, seemingly for the noble and selfless reason that she would be much happier with Stefan than she would stuck with an unsuccessful dreamer such as himself. What a man.
However much this is based on the author's own character or experiences, the most effective aspect of this book is James' convincing exploration of his own psychology, as he writes this lengthy account of his past and present with Victoria in order to come to terms with his feelings, and to overcome the fears and lies he may have been telling himself. There's a little license granted for absurdity, mainly in the form of James' career decision to strike it rich as a game show designer with his slightly mad co-writer Gerard, but even this is grounded firmly in realism, clearly thanks to the author's experience with television production. Bill Dare has had a long and impressive career as a BBC producer and programme creator, responsible for respected comedy series including 'The Mary Whitehouse Experience' and 'Dead Ringers,' as well as producing Lee and Herring's controversial Sunday lunchtime show 'This Morning With Richard Not Judy' which just happens to be my favourite programme of all time, and this is the side of the novel I found the most entertaining and insightful, even if some of the game show analogies that creep into the text and dialogue become a little forced.
I always wanted to be a penniless, struggling writer when I grew up, so it's always interesting to read about people living the dream, and the story manages to be both inspiring and tragic as James and Gerard forsake the dully reliable option of proper employment in favour of making a quick million by selling their irresistibly simple gameshow idea to TV executives. Just as soon as they come up with one during their increasingly desperate brainstorming sessions that isn't implausibly reckless ('Shark Survivor'), stupid ('Climb Christopher Biggins') or conceptually impossible ('Whose Lung is it Anyway?') The relationship between these two works as both light comic relief from the more serious relationship anxiety, but is successfully turned on its head as the book approaches its conclusion.
James' book is written in the first person from his own perspective, apparently at a point towards the end of the narrative: the final chapters are evidently written at a slightly later date, which the (fictional) author uses as an excuse for going back on some of the promises he made at the start, and the whole account shifts between two time frames: the more substantial 'half' chronicling the events that have unfolded in the past few weeks as James and Victoria's relationship is put through its paces, and sections set at various points in their past, jumping forwards from their first encounter at University to key events in the strong friendship they developed over the next decade, before they finally got it together. Clearly deciding not to begin each 'past' section with an irritating date or other sign that the narrative has once again shifted to past events, Dare makes the slightly odd choice of typing these sections in italics - italicising entire chapters just to make them stand out from the 'present.' As well as being a little irritating on the eyes, this also seems a slightly amateurish way out of properly addressing the change of focus, which would otherwise be a little confusing and could have easily been remedied with some exposition in the chapter's opening sentence than through a gimmick of fonts, something that also comes into play through jarring use of his word processor's 'bold' and 'underline' options at other points. In terms of the actual balancing of events, the past is gradually brought very nicely up to speed with the present (or rather the start of the book, which is now itself in the past), and there's a very nice parallel of events between the two eras, the last fifty or so pages being the most dramatic and impressive, even if the very, very end left me feeling a little disappointed and slightly cheated.
The characters are all excellent, proving the writer's talent for creating notable and believable individuals (or at the very least, successfully stealing them from real life and translating them to the page), and although I found it difficult to agree or even relate to some of the apparently universal truths about blokes - probably because I'm not exactly the target audience of books like this, which are more for the Nick Hornby crowd - there were enough familiar events, thoughts and arguments to make this a successfully amusing and painful read. James is a good choice of main character partly because of his significant flaws, by which I don't mean the 'flawed' characters of Hollywood romance who have money, their dream job in the media, loads of friends, and get to sleep with Charlize Theron, but are maybe a bit miserable with envy because the fellow millionaires living next door have just bought a new yacht. James repeatedly explains and demonstrates his own dullness and lack of success, particularly with reference to the idolised Stefan, and he even expresses guilt at not making Stefan the central character in what would have been a far more interesting book. James seems unable to relax with the concept of writing a novel, particularly towards the beginning, and this ends up getting a little irritating; I couldn't say whether this was genuine anxiety on the part of the true author or just a character trait, but it was particularly annoying to be told what I was presumably thinking.
'Natural Selection' is a fairly average romantic comedy, but holds true to its slightly-different approach just enough to make it appealing to people who would normally be quite literally unable to stomach the genre, and would have to vomit before they reached the half-way point. It isn't soppy or idealistic, and feels very grounded in the real world, only stretching credibility a little when the author strives for something slightly more literary in his use of repeated metaphors of game shows and biology (particularly animal mating practices compared to that of humans), but the book is all the better for it; all the same, poncy English graduates such as myself will perhaps find his use of weather to parallel emotional moods a little too simplistic and obvious (and then there's the issue of inconsistent punctuation regarding full stops either inside or outside of brackets, but that would be too pedantic a point.).
Following on from this novel, Bill Dare most recently wrote the hour-long play 'Touch' for this year's Edinburgh festival, another romantic comedy of sorts that was also slightly-different, and quite enjoyable. It's actually to the writer's credit that his works fail to be tear-jerkers, having a greater basis in the exploration of particular human feelings, moods and aspects of character, and it's guaranteed that any future works that benefit from these earlier experiences will be a even better. He may never be as famous as his older, space-adventuring brother Dan,* but Bill Dare has played vital roles in bringing fairly mediocre, slightly-innovative comedy to the BBC, and is now extending his repertoire into further areas of entertainment. At least until he comes up with that elusive game show premise and can move abroad, leaving behind those hard days of desperately publicising his own Fringe show to queues. I found it quite cute, and it obviously worked.
* An excellent joke from me. Actually, his dad was Peter Jones who voiced The Book in Douglas Adams' legendary radio series 'The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy.'
Advantages: An enjoyable romantic comedy that forsakes soppy idealism for painful and amusing realism.
Disadvantages: First-time author's lack of experience is a bit obvious, and some creative decisions are a bit odd.
Empathy Towards Androids?
Written on 23.08.03
*****
The basic plot of this novel is "in the future a bit, following a big war, a legal bounty hunter is after six androids who are really hard to kill. Will he make it?" However, that is by no means all there is to it. Philip K. Dick's book manages to explore the real feelings that one would feel pursuing such a job, and also incorporates much deceit and mystery throughout.
I always love to see or read about the future, provided it's not in some cheesy adventure film or kid's cartoon, and the post-apocalyptic early 21st century world of "Androids," a necessary shorthand for the great title of this book that is not to be confused with Kryten's favourite soap opera on Red Dwarf, is both believable and incredibly well devised. Some of the more necessary concepts are explained along the way, such as the development of ever more intelligent androids and the desire to own an animal, but many others are inserted so subliminally that they are simply accepted.
On my second reading of this novel I noticed that many people remaining on the almost deserted Earth use mild narcotics such as snuff, but still have entertainment in the form of televisons. Necessary ideas such as laser weapons and flying cars are among the more basic notions, but the idea of a mood organ that can be calibrated to enhance or produce feelings such as "desire to watch TV" and "pleased acknowledgment of husband's superiority in all matters" and the 'Mercerism machine' (explained later) are truly original science fiction concepts.
A famous quote attached to this novel from Brian W. Aldiss, presumably a renowned writer, is that "Dick's novel is simply written but leaving all kinds of resonance in the mind." It is obvious that much of the science is far from possible, especially for modern times, and many of the characters seem purposefully retained at a single dimension. For instance, the protagonist' wife is a depressed but concerned woman who finds his job heartless, while John Isidore's boss is a token 'hate slip-ups, like money' character, but the descriptions in the novel are so perfect and easy to imagine that no one could ever describe this as badly written. The novel does not make many real attempts to surprise or shock, and leaves many obvious clues whenever there is a revelation in the works.
The main character of the novel is Rick Deckard, a bounty hunter who makes money only if he 'retires' an android with his laser pistol. The character is not made particularly likeable, often portrayed as a miserable man who is somewhat arrogant when in conversations. His huge desire to own another real animal, following the death of his sheep which he had to replace with a robotic replica to keep his status, seems to verge on obsession as it occupies the character's thoughts at many points of the novel. He even seems to value owning an animal more than keeping his wife, although he was in a very tense situation and bad mood when he thought, "I should have got rid of her two years ago."
But for all this, Deckard is certainly a character with whom the reader can relate, thanks to his inner turmoil. He originally forced himself to consider androids 'it' rather than 'he' and 'she,' but finds now that this is "no longer necessary." It does become more of an issue however when Deckard finds himself attracted to some of the advanced Nexus 6 androids, and begins to feel empathy towards them once he 'retires' one posing as an opera singer. "She was a wonderful singer. The planet could have used her. This is insane." His ambivalence culimnates with his seduction by Rachael Rosen, an android sent to make him feel those exact feelings so he cannot continue with his current assignment.
There are a number of other concepts in the book away from this storyline, but all tie together at the end. A second major character is John Isidore, a human who was refused permission to emigrate from Earth due to his status as a 'chickenhead,' one below what it considered average intelligence due to the radioactive dust. The character is much more sympathetic towards androids than anyone else in the novel, including the androids themselves; their lack of empathy for others is the only way they can be distinguished through the Voigt-Kampff scale. The idea of the religion/passtime 'Mercerism' also becomes increasingly important; participants grip handles of a machine within their homes and are linked with all othwer people throughout the solar system on their machines, feeling the pain and triumph of an old man climbing a mountain, being assaulted by rocks.
I won't divulge any more to keep the plot entertaining and hopefully surprising, but it is a very good book. This is the only Philip K. Dick book I have currently read, and often considered his best, although predictably not so by many hardcore fans, but it is always recommended as an introduction to Dick's novels. I may read more from the same author, however some of the major themes of his books don't appeal to me quite so much as the idea of this book: a bounty hunter in the future a bit, who kills androids that get back to Earth because we don't want them here.
However, saying that, I didn't think at first that I would enjoy this book; a far cry from the usual "space opera" of TV and film that I love so much. I was surprised at how much I enjoyed this book after I bought it for £1 off a market stall. I'd been interested to see the film "Blade Runner," which is based on this book and apparently does it justice but which also opts to miss several key ideas out, for several years and since my copy was emblazoned with nice artwork of a futuristic, post-apocalyptic city, flying cars, Han Solo- I mean Harrison Ford, I'm always doing that, and some woman, as well as the title "Blade Runner," I decided to purchase. My mental query of whether this was some form of 'film is based on' book or novelisation was also solved when I saw "Do Androids Dream of Electric Sheep? filmed as" in humorously small print above the huge logo "BLADE RUNNER." My copy was clearly trying to benefit as much as possible from the success of the film, which I still have not seen but would like to.
Overall, I wouldn't have likely ever read this book if I hadn't seen it so cheap in perfect condition. It certainly helped to expand my acceptance of science fiction, and thanks to reading this a couple of months ago I've now managed to read Arthur C. Clarke, Utopian novels [Specific] and even Richard Matheson's sci-fi/vampire novel "I am Legend."
Written on 07.07.07
***
This enjoyable pet project of authors Kevin L. Donihe and Carlton Mellick III, the latter of whom is known for writing less successful and more twisted versions of the type of thing Chuck Palahniuk makes a lot of money writing about, is a direct parody of the memorable 'Choose Your Own Adventure' books published by Bantam Books in the 1980s. Like those innovative books, and the legions of rip-offs and copies they produced (the first one I remember reading was licensed from the Children's ITV game show 'Knightmare'), the reading experience is turned into a game that the reader/player will struggle through based on their own personality. These are the books that describe a situation to the player in anonymous second person, finally presenting a number of choices at the bottom of the page that lead elsewhere in the book. To take an example from this book:
"Piratebeard selects a long, sticky specimen from the box. 'I don't feel generous very often, but I like ye. Kinda look like me son, god rest 'em.'
'Please, oh god no! Keep it!'
'But I insist.' The captain walks towards you, the painted turd cupped in his outstretched hand. 'Take it. I got plenty of treasure; it bothers me none.'
'Just stay back! I don't want your treasure!' You pause. 'My god, it stinks!'
'No need to be humble, me boy. And of course it stinks; it's fresh.'
If you tell the captain his treasure is sh**, turn to page 116.
If you take the treasure, turn to page 39."
Taking almost any example at random, it's very obvious what has happened here. Two grown men who lived part of their formative childhood through Bantam's adventure books have now grown into sad and depraved men, who wish to re-enter that fantasy realm for different pursuits. This book is both respectful homage and outright mockery, but it leans more towards the former, and despite the crudity of its juvenile toilet humour and disturbing no-holds-barred attitude towards sexuality, some effort has certainly been made to produce a genuine authentic adventure gamebook experience. I say "some effort," because the split authorship reveals a disappointingly uneven balance between the two scenarios offered by the story/game.
Carlton Mellick acknowledges in his introduction that the scenario of the vessel called 'The Eye World' is his, while Kevin L. Donihe wrote that of 'The Rotten Sore.' As the sole writer of the revealing introduction, Mellick admits that the concept was originally his idea, indicating that he had a certain passion for the adventure books, and Mellick's credit appears first in the copyright details for the two separate scenarios. I presume that Donihe is credited first on the cover out of alphabetical fairness that belies his true stance as secondary writer. Although both write roughly the same amount (something it's hard to discern as the book jumps all over the place with every page), Mellick's 'The Eye World' is more full of multiple choices and plot tangents than Donihe's 'The Rotten Sore,' which repeatedly ends sections with a singular "choice" in the style of 'Turn to page 72.' When a genuine choice is offered after three or four unchangeable sections that equate to simple linear prose, it's most often a case of choosing the "correct" path, or reaching the horror of the bold 'THE END' very soon after turning to the "wrong" page. This isn't true for the entire section, but on the whole, 'The Eye World' is a far more satisfying adventure than 'The Rotten Sore' in terms of freedom of choice, even if, as the authors acknowledge in the fake critical quotes at the beginning, "This series should be called: 'Make An Attempt To Choose Your Own Path In An Adventure F****d To The Extreme, But Realise That Your Choice Has No Effect On The Story. Jerk Off And Cry Yourself To Sleep Feeling Useless, Alone, And Empty."' There's an inevitable and necessary limitation to the number of paths that can be travelled in a 172 page book that makes excessive use of page breaks to separate the sections, but the fact remains that Mellick has crafted a far more authentic and worthwhile playing experience than Donihe, who seems more intent on mockery.
I should probably explain a little about the scenario of this book, as the strange things I've been saying might start to make more sense, though perhaps not. The first section informs us, whether we like it or not, that "You shouldn't have molested all those children," and that the unnamed protagonist we are controlling is now on the run from the cops in the wastelands of Wyoming, when he comes across a strange expanse of white, slimy sea, smelling like bacon and housing a fantastical Pirate Town. Deciding to take a job on board one of the hiring ships, or not (this latter option isn't exactly an unhappy ending, but it does end the game significantly sooner than you would probably have hoped), we are then exposed to the nautical eccentricities and weird, bestial eroticism of this alternate place. Through your adventure (or Mind-F*** Fest if you will), there will be encounters with alluring Sirens, twisted robots, stew, poo, and raving homosexuals. Your ultimate fate will be your own doing, making the least uncharacteristic choices possible from the admittedly single-minded options. And then, once you've done that, it's time to play again and embrace the perversity in all forms, until the game has been conquered (just make sure you don't leave your cowardly finger in the previous page just in case danger is approaching. It's like taking your hand off in Chess. Choose Your Own Adventure is a sport like any other, and we must play sportsmanly).
It's said that a book should never be judged by its cover, but in this instance, comprised of Terrasa Ulm's illustrations taken from within the narrative itself, the front of the book gives a very reasonable indication of what can be found within. The small image used by Dooyoo is thankfully too small to see all the glorious details, but clockwise from the top left the images are: a female cyborg pirate captain in a skin-tight bunny outfit; our unfortunate hero being assaulted and his orifices invaded, Anime-style, by tentacles; greasy heavy petting with a mermaid on the lard tide; and two nude women enjoying each other's company while the male protagonist enjoys their enjoyment and shows it all over their thighs. The central image in the magnifying glass sees our hero confronted with the spectacle of the Ocean of Lard for the first time, unaware of the perils and adventures that await him.
The design of the outer cover is authentic to the books its parodies, the branded 'Choose Your Own Adventure' banner replaced with a more accurate 'Choose Your Own Mind-F*** Fest.' There are some nice little details too, such as the reproduction of what I assume to be the original font of the publications for the bold title, the artificial yellowing of the cover towards the edges to imply it's an eighties relic, and even the inclusion of an irrelevant and thankfully misleading number '17' on the spine. I don't think I could handle a world in which sixteen more Mind-F*** Fests are allowed to roam free. The rear cover features a blurb that also seems to parody the CYOA format, introducing the scenario in typically exciting Hollywood terms, and then featuring an italicised extract of the first decision. Most amusing of all, there is a small disclaimer at the very bottom in which the authors legally inform readers that the book is not authorised or licensed by, or otherwise affiliated with Bantam Books Inc., or the original books.
The writing style of this book is a little clumsy and certainly isn't something you could really delve into for anything more than a bit of cheap, lewd entertainment. It's a book you can read and honestly think you could have done better, or at least equally, only perhaps not quite so foul. It's all about the nostalgic and naughty perversion of a genre written by people with a real appreciation for the source material, at least in Mellick's case. This product was probably rather hastily put together without much attempt to re-draft after the original choices had been made, and this is only made into a greater problem with the dual authors, though it's hardly striving to be literary. Perhaps I'm not the specific target audience, but I found most of the antics to be a little too much like something I might have written at school to make my friends laugh when I was about fourteen, more than something adult readers would find humorous and entertaining.
It's not that treasured poo and sex with a half-man/half-walrus aren't amusing, they're potentially hilarious concepts, but they tend to be dealt with in an unsatisfying schoolboy's-imagination kind of way. By contrast, some of the encounters on The Eye World are unashamedly pornographic in their strange descriptions, particularly with the long-tongued Frog Girl in the ship's dungeon, and illustrator Terrasa Ulm is keen on drawing the character's manhood in various stages of priapic excitement, climax and disgrace with far more detail than is given to characters' faces, so it's a little confusing just who this is aimed at. I think it's aimed at the fourteen-year-old me, most of all. Maybe I just wish this had been out then.
'Ocean of Lard' is great as a one-off idea, and certainly fulfils a very specific niche market that I can understand, having enjoyed the type of books it parodies as a child. I've come across adult-oriented 'Choose Your Own Adventures' before while searching on the internet, but most of them are extremely amateurish and incomplete to the point that only one route has been written all the way through (a particularly memorable one began "It's 9am and you wake up with a hard-on", and proceeded to be far, far more detailed and expansive than expected). This is perhaps the only one that has been completed and published to such a definitive degree, and as such can work as a present if you know someone who fills the criteria of: a) being familiar with the adventure gamebook concept, and b) is a fairly sick and twisted individual. Fortunately, I knew just the person. No, only joking, I think she enjoyed it.
Advantages: An amusing, accurate and fond parody of Choose Your Own Adventure books.
Disadvantages: Inconsistency between the two writers, and a little excessive.
Lemon Entry, My Dear Watson
Written on 19.02.07
****
I don’t know if anyone knows the rest of that joke. I have a feeling that perhaps no one does.
The crime-busting duo created by Sir Arthur Conan Doyle (though he wasn’t a sir in those days) set the template for every one thereafter, and ‘The Adventures of Sherlock Holmes’ is the original collection of the first twelve Holmes short stories published between 1891 and 1892.
Some of these adventures are among the most famous (‘The Blue Carbuncle,’ ‘The Speckled Band’) and the cases range from trivial to imperative; deadly to comfortable; legendary to pointless. As the stories are presented in their original order, as the fictional scribe Watson allegedly publishes them, the action shifts around as Doyle intended from the ultra-modern world of the early 1890s, in which Watson is married and successful, to his early days sharing Holmes’ bachelor pad… there’s nothing funny about it, they are professionals. As the stories were originally published in the Strand magazine in their complete form, minor attempts appear to have been made to give a more serialised feel to them in order to keep readers buying, such as Watson bringing up earlier cases in the narrative, down to simple games the reader can play such as spotting the number of instances Holmes triumphs with his hunting crop and Watson never uses his revolver. There’s really no need to read the book in the presented order, as the collected short stories make for excellent dip-reading, especially alongside the further collections issued over the years.
Lying somewhere between the height of the realist novel and literary Modernism, these stories catch the tail-end of Victorian fiction but utilise a noticeably modern approach. Rather than an all-seeing narrator, the events are relayed through Watson, the presumed ‘everyman’ who never fails to be baffled by Holmes’ deductions and methods, and encourages this wow-factor in readers. The cases are all fairly formulaic, which could become irritating if ploughing one’s way through the whole Holmes canon, but doesn’t fare too badly through these twelve tales. Stories usually begin with Holmes and Watson hanging out together in Holmes’ study and being visited by a client, who proceeds to describe the details of the case for roughly half the story. After he or she is bid farewell, the second half of the story sees the duo visiting the scene of the crime and working the whole thing out, usually (but not always) succeeding in catching the criminal red-handed, or red-headed. There’s arguably a certain level of comfort in formulaic structure, especially when dealing with a proto-superhero like Holmes in whom the reader can place their trust, but Doyle makes enough minor changes to this style throughout to keep things interesting. In ‘The Speckled Band,’ for example, the villain follows the client right into Holmes’ Baker Street residence, and the disappointing conclusion of ‘The Engineer’s Thumb’ doesn’t involve any action from Holmes or Watson whatsoever; the whole thing just sort of ends itself.
There’s no real sense of archaism in the narrative aside from the expected somewhat lofty style, although Watson is a posh doctor and these are intended to be his own words, and the frequent references to ‘modern’ (i.e. late nineteenth-century) technology and culture date it in a very satisfying way. The only real issues may come in the slightly xenophobic perspective that every country outside England is a source of corruption and danger, and readers may be shocked by Holmes’ recreational use of cocaine and opium, which Watson strongly disapproves of, and which are bad.
As a balanced collection of classic and rubbish Holmes stories, this is the perfect introduction to the detective and his methods, and has made me want to read something more substantial. The characters are excellently written, even if it’s difficult to imagine some of Holmes’ more dynamic actions from the description. I consider it fortunate that I’ve never watched a TV or film adaptation of Holmes so I could come to these stories with almost no preconceived notions of what the detective looked like, although to be honest the illustrations did try to force one on me. I ended up imagining him looking like Tom Baker’s Doctor Who without the scarf, and without the stereotypical hat (he wouldn’t wear that thing in the city, surely. He may be an eccentric junkie, but he’s not mad). His deductions of Watson’s bedroom layout based on his shaving, and the tunnelling activities of a dirty-kneed scoundrel are initially quite awe-inspiring, but that’s no doubt partly enhanced by Watson’s gaping astonishment in these instances.
The adventures collected here are: ‘A Scandal in Bohemia,’ ‘The Red-Headed League,’ ‘A Case of Identity,’ ‘The Boscombe Valley Mystery,’ ‘The Five Orange Pips,’ ‘The Man with the Twisted Lip,’ ‘The Adventure of the Blue Carbuncle,’ ‘The Adventure of the Speckled Band,’ ‘The Adventure of the Engineer's Thumb,’ ‘The Adventure of the Noble Bachelor,’ ‘The Adventure of the Beryl Coronet’ and ‘The Adventure of the Copper Beeches.’ Holmes travels to the countryside in two of them, allowing for the stereotypical scene of the detective bending over to examine bootprints, and explores the seedy East End elsewhere. There’s a festive Christmas adventure in ‘The Blue Carbuncle,’ while the detective faces his toughest adversary aside from Moriarty – a woman of all things – in the first story. Many of these are really great, and in general the quality seems to drop in the latter quarter of the book. ‘The Noble Bachelor’ is especially weak, and was even viewed as an embarrassment by Doyle, who was presumably rushed to meet that month’s deadline. Nevertheless, this is the perfect, correct and authentic way to read the Holmes stories, rather than in some out-of-context ‘greatest hits’ anthology.
Penguin Popular Classics sell this for £1.99, without the illustrations, which is a great cheap way to enjoy this book, and works out at less than 17p per story. In an age when genre fiction was beginning to emerge in a big way, this pioneering detective fiction is still highly entertaining over a century later. It’s still enjoyable to read about a detective and his sidekick disregarding the rules back when there weren’t that many rules, breaking and entering, whipping transgressors and hanging in opium dens in the name of confoundingly elaborate turn-of-the-century justice.
Advantages: Many of the classic cases in the original collection; pioneering detective fiction.
Disadvantages: Some weaker adventures; overly formulaic structures.
Written on 07.11.07
****
One of the more obscure entries in the canon of acclaimed Irish comic writer Garth Ennis (most famous for his epic ‘Preacher,’ currently being developed as a television series), ‘Adventures in the Rifle Brigade’ consists of two three-part stories released between 2000 and 2002, and collected together in paperback format in 2004. These brief escapades of a crack unit of British soldiers during pivotal moments of the Second World War play out along the lines of similar satires, from Michael Palin and Terry Jones’ ‘Ripping Yarns’ to the similar and presumably influential treatment of the previous war in ‘Blackadder Goes Forth,’ presenting the higher ranks of the British Army at its most absurdly jovial and patriotic, with first class degrees in rugby and buggery and an endlessly ridiculous vocabulary of upper-class nonsense at its disposal.
The Rifle Brigade comprises six memorable individuals, only two of which get to speak in any meaningful manner (if you can call it that). The rest mainly fill in as handy and highly efficient support each time conflict arises, from the awesome might of the gargantuan Yorkshireman Sergeant Crumb to the menacing pipe-playing of the mysterious, silent mascot figure known only as The Piper, whose squealing tunes cause anyone within earshot to dispatch themselves in the most immediately convenient manner possible before they bleed from every pore. Captain Hugo Darcy is the leader and by far the most entertaining character from the onset, simply for having such fantastic lines and an inspiring faith in his country and his team’s abilities that fortunately proves justified on numerous occasions. Second Lieutenant Cecil Milk (also known as Doubtful) has the most interesting psychology, dropping hints regarding his lack of interest in women and displaying an obvious fondness for his Captain that goes beyond loyalty or friendship: a running joke through both series sees Doubtful at the receiving end of some kind of tragedy and apparently slipping away to his death, each time asking for a final favour that his commander cannot possibly refuse, beginning with a simple kiss and progressing to increasingly extreme heights, though each time the Captain is saved from granting his boon once it becomes clear that Doubtful’s injuries aren’t nearly as severe as he apparently believed. There’s also a cockney and an American who do nothing of interest outside of repeating their catch-phrases (“yer aht of ordah” and “gawd dammit” respectively), while a number of notable enemies and allies are introduced as each story progresses.
It would be easy for a series like this to fall flat on its face or simply prove pointless and unoriginal when compared to the other, numerous parodies of stiff-upper-lippedness out there, but Ennis keeps the dialogue so refreshingly and hilariously stupid, it doesn’t even matter that the plots themselves lack any real interest. The first series introduces the Rifle Brigade flying into German-occupied Germany in June 1944, getting into some scrapes that they inevitably solve through firepower, and having to escape back to Blighty in time for D-Day. The second has a clearer objective of the search for Hitler’s missing ball (of course, the Albert Hall was the first place they checked), which will purportedly grant its finders limitless power to triumph over their enemies in a knowing parody of Indiana Jones, complete with Arabian setting. The plots feature a couple of twists and turns over their relatively short spans, but it’s the cheeky and often downright obscene dialogue that holds it all together – many of the minor characters’ joke names don’t even go to the effort of being double entendres, effectively making this a less intellectual publication than ‘Viz’ magazine, but I still couldn’t help myself from guffawing like a twelve-year-old each time the Captain reminisced about an old service chum, from Bell-End Brisco to Clitters.
There’s even something of a nod to the British sitcom and comedy film tradition, particularly the ‘Carry On’ series with the emphasis on the German interrogator’s hulking bosom and her father’s rather unfortunate fate under the heels of a stampeding elephant as he recreated with some foreign pornography in an outhouse, while the twisted, dark humour of an unrelated elephant (that just happens to be the Sultan’s irreplaceable pride and joy) mating with the Rifle Brigade’s getaway van and accidentally dying in the process, brings to mind similar uncomfortable pet-based tragedies in ‘The League of Gentlemen’ among other comedy series of the dark side. Despite making me laugh consistently, even the more feeble jokes having a certain charm about their poorness, I was worried that the format would become stale and repetitive after the first issue, but for the most part the material stays fresh; the only issue I didn’t really enjoy was the finale of the first series, which focuses almost exclusively on action as the Rifle Brigade attempt to escape back to England and is forced to contend with an attacking squad of Jerries, succeeding in dispatching them in fairly creative ways that nevertheless failed to tickle me as much as the simple delight of Captain Darcy using an outmoded turn of phrase. I can be quite ruthlessly critical most of the time on this site, but when it comes down to it, I am very easily pleased.
The art by Ennis’ familiar collaborator Carlos Ezquerra obviously adds a whole new level to the reading experience, realising the characters perfectly and helping to establish a firm voice for each of them in my head along with the dialogue, from the more obvious Yorkshire “ey-oop” regularly spewed forth from Sergeant Crumb to the typical nasal tone of the officer class, represented most strongly by the overdue appearance of Colonel Frigpipe in the second story, a distinctly Melchett-like character with a fondness for sherry and tendency to foul himself when over-excited. The more colourful and exotic characters introduced in the second series also break from the rather tired Nazi stereotypes of the first, featuring a self-serving yank and a Sultan whose invocations of Allah’s holiest of holes prove that Garth Ennis is creative as well as brave. This is the first of his work I’ve read, and while it works perfectly as a bit of frivolous, light-hearted relief between more sombre comic series with believable characters and realistically proportioned breasts, I’m eager to get embroiled into one of his more substantial works in the near future.
Advantages: Hilarious archaic dialogue from the defenders of Blighty.
Disadvantages: Humour won't be to everyone's taste, particularly those who are easily offended or too sensible.
Written on 12.06.04
***
The legacy of the First World War continues to inspire literature and the arts after eighty years, with its powerful messages of unnecessary slaughter, ineffective leaders and the relevance of women in society among other things. Sebastian Faulks’ interest in the conflict and its effects is clear from his bibliography and 1993’s ‘Birdsong’ has been awarded various accolades for its impact and relevance even to modern society, even coming in at lucky thirteenth place in the BBC’s Big Read, surely the most important literary prize as it’s on the telly.
Birdsong’s presentation of what is remembered infamously as a futile battle in the trenches of France is very compelling and his description of its effects upon the individual, while hardly original, makes for a very enjoyable read that is much more up to date than some similar titles.
PLOT
Stephen Wraysford fell in love in France in 1910 but was unable to pursue the relationship. When war breaks out and he is eventually sent to France, Stephen dwells increasingly on the woman he loves while learning to survive and lead soldiers in the appalling trench conditions.
In the seventies, Stephen’s granddaughter undertakes a task to discover what kind of man her grandfather was from his cryptic war memoirs, and how his experiences in and out of the trenches affected and changed him.
STYLE
There are two noticeable aspects of Faulks’ novel. First is the incredible and believable presentation of life on the front line, making effective use of graphic descriptions of violence and exploration of the main character’s feelings of isolation and despair. The other noticeable thing is the slightly disjointed, cross-generational style of the book: the novel begins in Amiens, 1910 and after this the story alternates between Stephen’s life during wartime and the actions of his granddaughter in the 1970s. While this does serve to better illustrate the detrimental effects of war and commemoration it does break up the narrative a little too much and ultimately makes the book less interesting in places. Personally I was reading almost exclusively for the war description and found the rest, while moving and well-written, largely unimpressive.
“Stephen saw his head open up bright red under the machine gun fire.”
Faulks shies away from nothing in Birdsong, presenting the war in a way that is easy to relate to but at the same time very shocking. Only a soldier, or a school pupil with a History CD-ROM of the Kennedy Zapruder film, will be able to fully envisage some of the events Faulks’ protagonist describes.
VERDICT
Birdsong is a good book, but I feel it is a little overrated. As a modern view on the First World War it will likely be the leading book of the genre for some time, however Erich Remarque’s ‘All Quiet on the Western Front’ published in 1929 has the benefit of real-life experiences behind its author; it is also widely regarded as a better book due to its focus specifically on what made the war so devastating. Remarque examined the personal tragedy of the war from his own experiences, although Birdsong’s dramatic romance angle sets it far apart from Remarque and the real-life memoirs of other officers and soldiers, including Robert Graves and Siegfried Sassoon.
The historical angle aside, the characters in Birdsong are all very well executed. Stephen’s feelings of desperation and isolation are painful but effective, while the attitudes and personalities of those around him can be judged very quickly. This makes it more readable than some ‘genuine’ war accounts that often describe people who the author did not fully know in private.
Birdsong is a much-loved book that appeals to a great many people, but I found it confusing to pin down in terms of a specific genre. Examining it as an aid to my study of First World War literature I was primarily interested in the ‘France, 1916’ chapters and didn’t find the rest of the book up to the same standard. I would recommend Faulks’ Birdsong as a modern view of the loyal sacrifices made for an ultimately dubious cause, however I would also say that there’s nothing inherently groundbreaking about this book. It is simply a more accessible and well-written addition to the chronicles of what Remarque called “a generation of men who, even though they may have escaped its shells, were destroyed by the war.”
Advantages: Realistic and very well-written, Detailed characters and event descriptions, True to the spirit of war literature
Disadvantages: Unclear focus and meandering plot makes it frustrating to read, Doesn't cover all the necessary issues, A little overlong in places
It was a Dark and Stormy Nightmare...
Written on 29.08.07
****
‘Preludes & Nocturnes’ is the name assigned to the first paperback graphic novel of DC Comics’ popular series ‘The Sandman,’ collecting together the first eight issues of the comic originally released between 1988 and 89. Written by Neil Gaiman at the height of the graphic novel format’s popularity and acceptance as a serious art form (Alan Moore’s ‘Watchmen’ had just won a Hugo Award), this series seemed aimed at an audience tired of predictable tales of patriotic caped crusaders, and far more interested in adult themes, seedy low-lifes and leather-clad anti-heroes, as well as the occasional glimpse of breasts.
The first double-length issue introduces the titular character and the proposed fantasy-horror style of the series, similar in purpose to a feature-length TV pilot. The series concerns the Endless, a group of (as their name implies) eternal god-like creatures who bear the responsibility of administrating the living world of humans and animals. A wealthy early-twentieth-century occultist hatches a plot to capture Death, but his spell goes awry and his cage instead serves as a prison to Dream (known by many names to different cultures and individuals, ‘Sandman’ among them). Refusing to communicate or acknowledge his presence, Dream is imprisoned long past his original captor’s lifetime into the late 1980s, when he finally seizes the opportunity to escape thanks to the sleeping guards, whose dreams he is able to inhabit and manipulate. Now free, the naked goth quickly magicks himself up a leather jacket (yes, I know), indulges in some brief exposition and “do-you-know-what-you’ve-done!” moralising with his elderly captor, and shoots off to repair the damage. Each of the Endless performs a vital task, and without the comfort of dreams, the twentieth century has seen an outbreak of hysteria and sleep disorders, demonstrated throughout the story with a diverse and tragic cast of characters. As Dream points out, it’s a good job they didn’t succeed in capturing his sibling Death.
This first tale is well executed, maintaining an air of mystery throughout, but perhaps revealing a little too much at the end in order to launch the series with no further delay. Dream himself plays a comparatively minor role until his inevitable escape, which presents a great opportunity to explore the individual occultists over an extended period of time, as well as the selected humans with sleep disorders whose lives are followed on the fringes in a manner very reminiscent of Alan Moore’s work. Sam Kieth’s artwork is very distinctive, but also quite unusual, and it took some time get used to. His penchant for unusual and exaggerated viewpoints is entirely suited to the more surreal, dreamy elements of the story, but tends to counteract the realism of the more mundane conversational scenes in a way that his successor Mike Dringenberg would remedy. As a self-consciously ‘adult’ comic, there is some gratuitous violence, Kieth getting a little excessive with the flying eyeballs in issue one, but nothing along the lines of sex or language designed simply for shock value as it would be in a lesser publication. Although ‘The Sandman’ isn’t up to the literary standards of ‘Watchmen,’ there are a few attempts at cleverness with the recurring sand imagery that are interesting and relevant rather than attempts to show off.
After this ‘pilot,’ the series begins in earnest, and starts to find its feet. The extended story that spans issues two to seven is a great overview of the Sandman concept, moving between bizarre dream realms and the afterlife, before coming back to downtown Earth again. The plot is based around a fairly straightforward quest, which sees Dream travelling to three distinct areas to recover rejuvenating artefacts that have been stolen from him, and involves what must be, for fans, extremely rewarding cameo appearances from other DC Comics characters that largely go over my head. Sam Kieth’s surreal art becomes a little distractingly excessive in the dream realm, the warped frames often making it difficult to follow the panels, but is thankfully toned down when the action becomes more terrestrial. Former inker Dringenberg takes over from issue six, maintaining the look of continuing characters to avoid making the shift too obvious, and his more traditional, ultra-realistic style is a lot easier to digest (if prone to repetition), even if I can’t help seeing his interpretation of Dream as Rob Newman in a Robert Smith wig. That said, Kieth does an excellent job rendering Gaiman’s Hell in issue four, taken straight from Dante, and clearly has a lot of fun in a double page spread depicting a phalanx of weird demons. As a complete and deliberate contrast, the final story in this collection is the entirely self-contained ‘The Sound of Her Wings,’ a low-key terrestrial affair that I quite enjoy as a thoughtful epilogue, which sees Dream slightly depressed after his ordeal, and hanging out with his older sister Death (also a goth, who would probably be attractive if she was real. But I don’t find pencilled comic characters attractive, obviously. And even if I did (which I don’t) they’re presumably based on real people in the first place, so it’s allowed, but I still don’t).
I won’t pretend to be an expert on graphic novels (or comics as they are more commonly known, by people who aren’t worried about being branded as childish), but I was so impressed reading Alan Moore’s works a couple of months ago that I was soon desperate to find something comparable, and starting from such a high point I was bound to be somewhat disappointed. Gaiman’s ‘The Sandman’ is quite a different beast, a long-running franchise of sorts that lacks the clear direction and concise depth of Moore’s filmic mini-series, but shares similarities of style and target audience. Dream and his Endless brethren (who I expect to show up one by one as the series progresses) are not traditional heroes, but their motives are honourable and just; as he muses in the final tale of this collection when witnessing his sister Death carrying out her task, people don’t appreciate the almost parental care they provide, and fail to love her for it. Of course, the urban gothic look is going to appeal to anyone who liked ‘The Crow,’ although for me it’s a little too fashion-conscious, and stretches credibility at times (for some reason I’m able to accept that Dream can travel through our subconscious on buses, and battle demons in a game of wits, but find it a bit strange that he would emerge from eighty years of imprisonment and immediately don biker gear).
There are some really interesting ideas in Gaiman’s series, making me eager to read more. I was impressed by the lack of exploitative gore and nudity that can sometimes come with an adult title like this, being less excessive than ‘V for Vendetta’ for example, and it’s clear that Gaiman (whose other work I have previously enjoyed) is capable of extending the interesting and imaginative universe that is somewhat skimmed over here, however borrowed and bastardised it may be. The self-proclaimed weirdness of some sections put me off the more eccentric characters a little, though the humour quotient usually balances out these parts nicely, such as the Cain and Abel shenanigans in issue two, but the series perhaps excels the most when dealing with the intimate or hidden lives of characters, whose inhibitions and thoughts Gaiman is given license to explore thanks to the Sandman concept. This is especially present in ’24 Hours,’ the sixth issue, when the crazed Doctor Destiny takes the occupants of a coffee shop hostage and slowly turns them into murderous savages over the course of a day. The dialogue is excellent, although once again the more elaborate proclamations of otherworldly characters can make them more difficult to relate to: this is why it’s so important that Dream is given the conscience that he is.
Gaiman’s inclusion of Gotham City, the Justice League of America and other existing alumni firmly integrates his series within the established DC ‘universe,’ which is something I found a little hard to accept at first, not being accustomed to these fan-pleasing crossover things. While the use of obscure villains and heroes carrying out humdrum tasks have been quite enjoyable so far, I’m not sure I could stomach a full cooperative effort between Dream and Batman, but my faith in the writer’s subversive nature makes me confident that ‘The Sandman’ would attempt nothing so mundane. This impressive collection closes definitively, but there are enough plot threads and unknowns hanging in the ether that it’s going to be interesting to see what happens next.
Advantages: Good introduction and interesting extended plot as the series learns where it wants to go.
Disadvantages: Art goes through some problems, and writing is a little too derivative of Alan Moore at the beginning.
There Is No Sanity Clause
Written on 05.09.07
*****
The second collection of Neil Gaiman’s ‘The Sandman,’ originally the first to be released, is once again dominated by a large and intricate plot spread over a number of issues, with a couple of issues taking time out to explore other areas. With the general introductions now out of the way, ‘The Doll’s House’ aims to expand the scope of Gaiman’s story, both for its own self-contained uses and for the future of the series, while also developing a slightly obsessive preoccupation with self-reference, tying up loose threads from earlier in the continuity and elsewhere in the extensive DC universe that readers likely were never aware were dangling in the first place, particularly evident in the writer’s grand effort to link together the various, vastly different DC publications that have borne the ‘Sandman’ title.
Gaiman’s clever but estranging method of linking his dark fantasy series with a short-lived children’s series from the 1970s is a commendable achievement, but is the prime example of a divide between writing ‘for the fans’ and for a wider audience, one that affects this book to a degree. If I had read this story when first released in pre-Wikipedia 1989 (actually I was only four years old, but I had some cool ‘Transformers’ comics so I probably would have liked it at least a bit) the references would have gone completely over my head, and although extensive DC literacy is not necessary for enjoying these comics, Gaiman’s borrowed characters are uncanny enough that it’s obvious something is going on, hence my need to research in the first place when it became clear something was awry. In the end, Gaiman adopts these characters and uses them to suit his own ends, and the results are rather interesting. And at least he’s got it out of his system now... right?
The self-consciously epic story is granted an entire issue’s worth of ‘Prelude,’ which takes the form of an oral narrative from a tribal culture and is the most interesting experiment in the series thus far. Gaiman’s fictional tribe is convincing enough, and the tale of an ancient glass kingdom and its lovelorn Queen believable as a folk myth, except that the inclusion of the series’ star Morpheus (or Kai’ckul as he is known to them) confirms its in-universe authenticity. It’s a nice idea that seemingly primitive tribal legends are actually closer to the truth, seemingly knowing all about Morpheus’ family of the Endless – ‘who are not gods, and will not die like gods’ – and even providing some new information to the reader, but primarily the prologue excels in exposing the Endless’ human failings. Morpheus is shown to be, at least in ancient times, an extremely proud and selfish figure, who pursues the Queen even after her prediction that their love would destroy her city proves true. He’s also really into deep love, the archetypal gothic figure, and the prologue serves to whet readers’ appetites to see how a more contemporary, post-incarceration Morpheus would deal with a similar situation.
Unusually, Morpheus is largely treated in an entirely reverse manner for the main ‘Doll’s House’ story, flying ethereal and omnipotent through his own realm of the Dreaming and cackling down to his foes, and elsewhere dealing coldly with administrative tasks, such as a thorough census and the emerging threat of a ‘vortex.’ The contrast is doubtless completely intentional, demonstrating the conflict between the hero’s necessarily detached professional side and the emotional side he’s learned from interacting with humanity through the millennia, and sampling its ‘The Cure’ albums. Morpheus’ dissatisfaction with his outcast status, presumably a small desire to be human, seems to be the sole reason for the radical detour that comes with issue thirteen, one that serves to distract completely from the developing plot of the surrounding issues, but one that I thoroughly enjoyed. This isolated tale returns to the past, but this time England of 1389, where Morpheus and his sister Death pass through a tavern and observe the patrons. Taking interest in a patron’s statement that death is an illusion that shall never happen to him, Morpheus asks the man to meet him at the same spot in one hundred years, a task he ultimately accomplishes without ageing a day. Their centennial meetings predictably last right up to the modern day of the story, and even more predictably feature several famous historical figures along the way such as Chaucer and Shakespeare, the moral being that humanity never changes. Offended by his companion’s suggestion that he only granted him immortality so he could have a friend, the twentieth-century-goth Morpheus finally comes to terms with this. It’s an enjoyable little story, even if it has absolutely no right to be considered ‘The Doll’s House part four.’
‘The Doll’s House’ itself is mostly centred around a new character, the young woman Rose Walker, who it turns out is the granddaughter of a character featured in the very first issue in a plot too absurdly complex to get into here. Rose finds a lead on her younger brother Jed, missing for seven years and evidently the star of the old ‘Sandman’ comics from the 70s that are very nicely pastiched in his dream sequences. Her search brings her into contact with some surreal human and non-human characters that you just know are going to crop up again, while Jed’s own plot eventually coincides with that of serial killer ‘The Corinthian,’ an eye-mouthed arcana with a taste for eyeballs which he eats with his eye-mouths. As well as tying together these erratic concurrent plot arcs, the extended fifth part of the story beats the first collection’s ’24 Hours’ in providing my favourite Sandman story yet, ‘The Collectors.’ Gaiman succeeds in making a convention of famous fetishist serial killers (meeting in a hotel under the humorous disguise of a ‘cereal’ convention) both terrifying and darkly hilarious, before the final issues struggle a little too hard to justify all the excess and weave even larger tapestries for the future. I enjoy the series most when its focus is more concise than in its more elaborate, multi-faceted moments that simply serve to make me end each serialised issue with a craving to read the next one out of something closer to irritation than enjoyment.
With a series like ‘The Sandman,’ it soon becomes obvious that very little exists in the comic panels out of sheer chance. If a stray comment implies that a passing background character is slightly unusual, they will inevitably show up at some point, probably clutching a bunch of similarly random story threads and offering them to the King of Dreams to tie together. Part one of ‘The Doll’s House,’ like ‘Preludes & Nocturnes’ before it, thankfully provides a ‘Mission: Impossible’ style introductory overview of Morpheus’ objectives, meaning that characters like Brute and Glob can be spotted by attentive readers when they appear, but the afore-mentioned interaction with other DC creations will probably start annoying me very soon, especially if it serves to make me feel dumb for not ‘getting’ the reference. Some self-contained plot points are often too oblique or passed over to seemingly bear any real significance, such as the opening and closing scenes with Morpheus’ androgynous, Bowie-like sibling Desire who he knows is hatching some sort of plot, and other mentions of the estranged Endless nuclear family whose names and predicaments readers are presumably expected to remember in anticipation of later appearances. I suppose this isn’t really asking too much of a reader, especially in a medium such as comics which would be released separately and allow readers the necessary time to re-read before each new issue, but collected together in a colourful paperback volume that it’s just too tempting to speed through, some of the smaller details tend to get lost on me. Fortunately I have these reviews to help refresh my memory.
Gaiman’s literary flair comes to the fore in the better issues collected here, adding some very nice touches that more poncy readers, such as myself, will enjoy. Some are merely nice touches, such as Shakespeare’s everyday speech being presented in perfect iambic pentameter (despite claims that he is a poor playwright, before some unseen meddling took place on the part of Morpheus) and the numerous puns of ‘The Collectors,’ where the apparently just-like-everyone-else serial killers unconsciously conduct casual gossip in terms of murder (‘the journey was a killer’/’wouldn’t be seen dead here’/’just to die for,’ etc.) It’s satisfying that Gaiman doesn’t talk down to readers, allowing the more attentive ones to enjoy the wordplay without drawing enough attention to it to alienate the casual superhero fan, but it does serve to make seemingly unconnected scenes relevant in a new context, particularly Gilbert’s foreshadowing of an attack by a man named Fun Land by telling Rose the original, unedited story of Red Riding Hood, something the wolf-shirted, wolf-hatted man unknowingly references in his own assault. Adding to the enjoyment of the text is an area of comics rarely singled out for special mention, the speech bubble lettering handled in each issue by Todd Klein. Primarily responsible for developing Morpheus’ own distinctive speech, written in white on a uniquely black speech bubble, Klein also takes some nice liberties with the speech of other non-humans to further express their general disposition or, in the case of Matthew the crow (looking to become my favourite recurring character of the series, if only for his name), the screeching sound of his voice.
The pencil art continues to be handled primarily by Mike Dringenberg, though he is sorely missed in issues twelve and thirteen when Chris Bachalo and Michael Zulli take his place, respectively. These newcomers’ styles lack the skilled realism of Dringenberg’s characters and backgrounds, and would be suited to a more ‘traditional’ comic publication than this, best expressed in Bachalo’s enthusiastic depictions of the muscular, costumed ‘false Sandman,’ which he seems far more at home drawing than the more fantastical dream imagery. Zulli’s take also lacks the realism that would have benefited the ‘Men of Good Fortune’ historical detour, and it doesn’t help that the faces of Morpheus and Death don’t even resemble their established features. Dringenberg’s return is greatly appreciated, his most memorable achievement here being the first-person perspective offered of the Corinthian, serving to associate the reader directly in his murders and eyeball crunching. It actually made me feel a little queasy, especially as the chosen sound effect was so perfectly articulated on the page that I had to do it justice by reading it aloud, only worsening the effect. As a slightly subversive comic, it also takes a few liberties at times to demonstrate its credentials, such as rotating the panels and text by ninety degrees for the dream sequence of issue ten.
‘The Doll’s House’ is a much stronger story than the earlier ‘Preludes & Nocturnes,’ but does tend to lose itself in its own lofty ideals. Once again, the ending is fairly disappointing and melodramatic, and it’s a little irritating seeing Morpheus continuously provide a good moral telling off to naughty arcana before punishing them, extending to a well-intentioned but predictable musing on the barbarism of the slave trade, when conversing with Hob Galding in the eighteenth century. He’s far more interesting when he’s emotionally unstable, like in the prologue, or confusingly creepy, such as his unexplained statement to Hippolyta that her unborn child will belong to him. Gaiman’s writing continues to be inspired by Alan Moore in places, particularly in its sardonic observation of the seventies costumed hero trend and the similarity of Hippolyta with Watchmen’s Laurie Juspeczyk, while the eerie doll’s house complete with miniature apparition Morpheus couldn’t help but remind me of ‘Beetlejuice.’ Still, his own style is clear enough, and despite some fundamental problems I have with it, I’m eager to see how the story develops... after another interesting set of detours provided by the unconnected tales of ‘Dream Country.’
Advantages: A complex, multi-faceted extended plot that demonstrates Neil Gaiman at his most creative.
Disadvantages: Overreaches on occasion, and takes some distracting time-out.
Written on 12.09.07
*****
In contrast to the first two collected volumes of Neil Gaiman’s ‘The Sandman,’ ‘Dream Country’ is comprised entirely of individual, one-off stories rather than an extended serial. This interval takes some time out from the developing plot of the series, heading back in time or focusing on the margins, above all being unexpectedly and creatively divergent.
This happened to be the first Sandman paperback I read a couple of months back, and although it’s more satisfying to read in the intended order, as a relief from the epic and complex ‘The Doll’s House’ plot that spanned the previous eight issues, Gaiman’s stand-alone tales can just as easily be enjoyed in isolation on their own merits, even by readers with no prior knowledge of the Sandman concept. The writer’s penchant for introspection is still present, leading to the involvement of characters from elsewhere in the DC canon, but such indulgence is surprisingly limited here, and far less irritating than in the previous volume. Uniquely for the series at this point, prominent characters are introduced for a singular and satisfying purpose rather than as a further piece of an ever-developing jigsaw puzzle, and praise was rightfully awarded to Gaiman for making such ambitious use of this temporary freedom from restrictive story arcs; the third story, ‘A Midsummer Night’s Dream,’ won the World Fantasy Award for short fiction in 1991, a first for a comic publication.
Although veteran Sandman readers will have already been exposed to the wilder ambitions of Neil Gaiman’s mind, there is little that could prepare them for the eccentricity of ‘Dream Country.’ Most noticeable is the lack of focus on the series’ protagonist Dream, who features prominently in only one of the four stories and is entirely absent from the fourth. Instead, each of these stories focuses on an individual plight or scenario linked in some manner to the mythology of the series, such as the realm of the Dreaming or, in the case of the final story, the long-awaited return of Dream’s sister Death. The lack of continuity between each story only adds to the enjoyment, as Gaiman seems to push himself to veer in ever more elaborate directions; thus, we move from a horror fantasy set in contemporary London, along the lines of the first issue of the series, to a prophetic and thoughtful tale (tail?) all about cats. The third is the popular jovial Shakespeare story, the second appearance of the playwright in this series, while the last returns to the present-day for a bleak tour behind-the-scenes of a deformed ex-superhero. Each story is strong and enjoyable in its own right, and for vastly different reasons.
The first story, ‘Calliope,’ provides service to fans of the series’ gothic horror origins that were largely abandoned as the fantasy plot took over, and has the same combination of believable everyday life and uncanny mythical elements that makes the series so successful. The central character is struggling writer Ric Madoc, an irritable and desperate English author who makes a deal with a dying old writer that sees him acquire a captive muse, one of the nine mythical creatures used by the Ancient Greek poets for inspiration, and another legend that the Sandman universe verifies as genuine. The series’ dark, adult nature leads it to reveal the method of this divine inspiration, as Madoc rapes Calliope, reluctantly at first, before beginning to enjoy their ‘two and a half minutes of squelching noises’ as his second novel is rattled off in the space of a few short weeks. This comic’s plot is dastardly and sinister, but also really funny as the series always manages at its best, and the rise and fall of Ric Madoc forms one of my favourite issues of the series so far. Dream appears in a significant role towards the end, and although his administering of justice is entertaining, replacing the customary primary school moralising with a vengeful and creative punishment, his presence and relevance is more concerned with setting up what can only be future developments in the series, notably the revelation that he and Calliope once had a son. The focus on a struggling writer allows Gaiman to vent his own frustrations and experiences in the profession, which keeps this feeling authentic (including frequent use of the clichéd question: ‘where do you writers get your kerrrazy ideas from?’ which is, of course, answered), and as usual there are enough subtle references and curious contradictions in the speech and art to keep the story in the reader’s mind after they’ve moved on. (Just how did Erasmus Fry poison himself when he had hoarded so many charms of poison immunity?)
‘A Dream of a Thousand Cats’ is instantly memorable for its strange slant on the notion of the Dreaming, revealing conclusively that animal species have their own place in the sleeping realm and are similarly catered for by Dream, who here appears in a more relevant cat form. The horror elements are replaced with a compelling and emotive oral narrative, as a wise cat addresses a gathered feline throng in an overgrown graveyard, telling them of its sleeping encounter with the King of Dreams and the apparent revelation that humans were once subservient to the dominant cat race. This cat’s noble lot is to travel the world and spread his tale, in the hope that one night, one thousand cats will dream of the way things used to be, and make it happen. The power of dreams is all but confirmed by Dream, and will doubtless play a large role in the rest of the series, and its modest introduction in a story focused on cats is inspired.
‘A Midsummer Night’s Dream,’ like Blackadder, grants credit for additional material to William Shakespeare, whose early play forms the basis for this amusing historical performance. The premise is that Dream, whose deal with Shakespeare follows on from a brief scene in issue thirteen, has commissioned this play and a unique outdoors performance on ancient land for the pleasure of an audience from the faerie realm. Shakespeare’s tale of ‘boggarts and trolls and nixies’ is a dramatisation of events that genuinely transpired, with some necessary artistic indulgence, when Auberon and Titania ruled the land. The assorted creatures watch with amusement and occasionally offence as their own stories are enacted before them, as Dream contemplates his experiences with waking humanity, and the value of entertaining fantasy over dry facts.
The final story, ‘Facade,’ is the weakest of the four, but its sombre nature is a nice contrast to the general merriment of the previous offering. Featuring deformed newcomer Rainie, evidently an existing DC heroine previously known as ‘Element Girl’ due to the credit given to creators Bob Haney and Ramona Fradon, this is another Alan Moore-inspired look at the human cost to the superhero lifestyle, particularly in the hero’s redundant autumn years. Rainie lives alone in a flat that she keeps dark, her exuberant multi-coloured body giving way to deformity in her facial features, requiring her to wear artificial silicate masks on the rare occasions she ventures outside. It’s touching and convincingly depressing, especially as she reveals how her near-invincibility renders suicide an impossibility, and the verification of another strand of mythology, namely the Egyptian Gods, links nicely to the return of Death, who is herself identified by the Egyptian ankh worn around her neck. Nevertheless, the dry terrestrial plot makes this a less riveting and memorable tale, perhaps one for the DC fans more than the casual reader, and is similarly down-to-earth as Death’s first appearance in ‘The Sound of Her Wings,’ the realism aided by the excellent art of Colleen Doran.
Sandman’s high quality art continues to provide a talking point, as the complete absence in these issues of previous regular Mike Dringenberg enhances the individual flair of each story. Both ‘Calliope’ and ‘A Dream of a Thousand Cats’ are pencilled by Kelley Jones, whose grasp of dramatic realism equals that of Dringenberg, and makes very interesting use of shadows to define characters’ facial features in the gloomy first story. Jones’ cats in the second story look excellent, realistic and in the case of the kitten, extremely cute (if you’re into that sort of thing), even if their range of expressions is necessary limited. The overgrown churchyard of the cat’s speech is an excellently realised setting, complete with symbolic angel statue acting as a podium, and whatever the future of the series’ art may be beyond this point, Jones’ return would be very welcome.
Charles Vess handles the Shakespeare story and rises to the commendable task of rendering late-sixteenth century men and boys along with their faerie audience, but the most striking feature of the art in these latter issues is the vivid colouring by Steve Oliff, replacing veteran Robbie Busch whose customarily understated work proves particularly disappointing in ‘Calliope,’ which is otherwise saved by the prevalence of shadows and highlights that almost make it black-and-white. Oliff’s colour jobs are the complete opposite, bright and multi-coloured and clearly rendered with the aid of a computer, revealed in the enthusiastic over-use of gradient effects. It’s quite a shock after the previous style, but works particularly well in this elaborate tale, although Busch would perhaps have been preferable in better capturing the despair of ‘Facade.’ Doran’s pencils on this issue hark back to the series’ original artist Sam Kieth, adding another impressive contributor to the franchise.
I enjoyed this collection equally on my first reading as a Sandman virgin, and more recently after two books’ worth of deflowering. ‘Calliope’ is my personal favourite for its macabre sense of humour and reminder of the series’ initial roots in English gothic eccentricity, although ‘A Dream of a Thousand Cats’ receives near equal billing for its sheer individuality. The Shakespeare story is a nice idea, but not being too familiar with Shakespeare (having avoided studying him at length in University after a bad experience with Renaissance drama the previous year), I feel that some of Gaiman’s clever references and tricks pass over my head, and if there’s any foreshadowing of future events it passed me by completely. Like the earlier historical story ‘Men of Good Fortune,’ these glimpses into points earlier in Dream’s existence continue to build up an interesting character profile, particularly when paired with the present-day character’s changed attitudes in tales such as ‘Calliope,’ reminding readers that seventy years of solitary imprisonment with his own thoughts have left their mark. And of course, it’s been revealed that Dream has/had a son, something that is clearly going to enter the main plot sooner or later.
The focus on his sister Death in ‘Facade’ also lays to rest some questions about her own functions and abilities, particularly the statement that she exists in multiple places across the entire universe at once in order to carry out her task efficiently. It unfortunately destroys my previous belief that if one were to see two teenage goths hanging around near a cathedral or museum steps, it’s just some of her helpers. Any readers feeling cheated by the deviation from the present-day happenings of Dream and his Endless brethren are really missing the point of this collection, which comes along at just the right time in the Sandman timeline, and will likely be followed by a similar collection of assorted oddities in the future – in case it’s not apparent, I’m enjoying working my way through this series book by book for the first time, and pretending it’s the early nineties, so I don’t know what’s in store. It makes a change from pretending it’s 1982 like I usually do.
Perhaps to compensate for the thinner volume (four issues as opposed to the customary eight, one of which is usually extended to double length), ‘Dream Country’ features Neil Gaiman’s annotated script for ‘Calliope,’ which will be of interest to all readers as a glimpse behind-the-scenes of comic production, and furthers the comparison to filmmaking. As well as allowing subtle glimpses into Gaiman’s own take on the series, it also offers some nice points of criticism, such as a complaint that Kelley Jones’ memorable full page introductory pencilling of Calliope looked too emaciated and dishevelled, something that was able to be remedied slightly by regular inker Malcolm Jones III. Also included are reproductions of the original comic covers by the excellent Dave McKean, as in all of these paperbacks, and although a slightly reduced RRP of £9.99 in comparison to the usual £12.99 doesn’t really make up for the drastically shorter volume (inversely high in quality though it is), Amazon.co.uk currently offers it for a more fair near-half-price tag of £5.99 as opposed to £9.09 for the others.
These stories stand strong on their own, and are thus more enticing to read again than some of the more exhausting epics of the other books. Quality over quantity is the key, but it would have been nice to have both. I want the moon on a stick.
Advantages: Individual stories that can be enjoyed in isolation, and aren't spoiled by trying to be too clever.
Disadvantages: Half the size of the previous publications, but this is reflected in the price.
Written on 19.09.07
***
After the stand-alone tales of the third Sandman collection, Neil Gaiman is back to writing a large scale story spread across a number of issues that seeks to address some long pressing questions as well as introduce a host of new characters, realms and possible directions for the series hereafter. ‘Season of Mists’ is the most singularly focused effort in the series yet, taking the customary time-out for a single issue in the middle but otherwise retaining an almost exclusive focus on the series’ protagonist the King of Dreams, rather than, as the series had done previously, pursue an assortment of seemingly unrelated plot threads tied up neatly by the conclusion. In this sense, and especially after reading the individual short stories that made up the previous ‘Dream Country,’ ‘Season of Mists’ felt to me much like “the Sandman movie,” a self-conscious expansion of a popular series striving to give something back to long-time fans as well as seek a new audience, but I can’t say it was too successful either way.
There are several reasons why this was my least favourite Sandman story so far, though collected together in this manner, some of the problems are less pressing that if viewed in its original format, as a monthly release from DC comics. From the prologue to the epilogue, both of which could be more rightfully considered the first and final parts due to their direct participation in the story, rather than the somewhat bizarre and sidetracked introduction to earlier tales, the events of this story move at a disappointingly slow pace, and it’s surprising that Gaiman takes eight issues to tell a story that could be summarised in a couple of paragraphs. Of course, there’s a reason people read books rather than simply browsing Wikipedia, and as usual Gaiman fills each issue with vital character development, interesting takes on mythology, humour, horror and excellent dialogue. As a graphical publication, it’s also a pleasure to see the writer’s extravagant ideas for the more twisted realms and figures interpreted by the usual revolving door of artists, some of whom are naturally more suitable than others. With a strong focus on Dream that has been deliberately lacking in the preceding issues, ‘Season of Mists’ is an important part of the Sandman mythology that would be suited to newcomers, especially as characters frequently indulge in the explanation of previous events that they already know, but it unfortunately spends too much of its time expanding and explaining the series’ unique universe, setting events in motion for future serials at a cost to the enjoyment of this one.
The prologue to ‘Season of Mists’ (unlike the other stories which carry individual episode titles, this is tellingly divided into simple parts) is one of its better and most memorable sections for finally bringing together and detailing all of Dream’s brethren, the Endless... with the exception of the mysterious ‘prodigal’ brother whose existence is still used to taunt readers. This issue takes place in the highly metaphorical domain of Destiny, the first of a great many realms to be introduced over the course of this collection, as the hooded figure is told that it’s time for a family meeting. The gathering of Dream, the female Death, the androgynous Desire, the putrid Despair (all of whom have been seen before, to varying degrees), the confused Delirium and Destiny himself, humorously proceeds much like any forced gathering of estranged family, though here the differences are emphasised by each individual’s anthropomorphic nature. From here, the story soon begins in earnest as Dream is convinced by his trusted sister Death that he should never have condemned his former lover to hell for rejecting him, and despite being a whopping ten thousand years too late, the reformed King of Dreams elects to visit Lucifer in his domain, in spite of the danger that represents. Bizarrely, Lucifer seems only too happy to welcome his former enemy to a suspiciously empty underworld, and after explaining to a confounded Dream that he is sick of the responsibility, he dupes him into taking the Key to Hell, a much valued possession that the leading deities from a number of mythologies would do much to acquire.
By returning to some of the seeds planted in earlier Sandman stories, particularly the domain of Hell and Dream’s former lover Nada, Gaimain takes the opportunity to elucidate on the Sandman universe in an unprecedented manner. Previous stories have confirmed the existence of ancient mythologies one-by-one, but the gathering at Dream’s castle aims to check them all off definitively. Most prominent are the Viking gods of Asgard led by Odin, whose background is introduced (and patronisingly over-explained) in issue twenty-four, while representatives of Faerie and Ancient Egyptian mythology make a not-very-long-awaited return after the previous paperback. Confusing but entertaining manifestations of Delirium’s opposing realms Order and Chaos also feature to a small degree, as does the Shinto sea god in a role seemingly designed only to show off Gaiman’s multicultural knowledge. Fortunately, Allah and Muhammad are nowhere in sight and thus are not presented in any sort of subjective or potentially offensive light; Neil Gaiman may be a show-off, but he’s not stupid. This overcrowded cast, along with regular characters from both Hell and the Dreaming, serves to slow things down immensely, and amusing though the banquet scene may be – seeing a ludicrously muscular Thor get drunk and letch over a cat-headed woman before falling into his own sick keeps the humour quotient suitably high – the glacial progression of the plot in the last half of the story particularly must have provided a great source of annoyance to fans who had to wait a month to discover the next part of this tedious diplomatic tale.
Even in terms of characterisation, something this story seems intent to develop meaningfully through an increased focus on Dream, there seemed a certain lack of realism after the earlier issues, though this was perhaps due to the scarcity of truly human character featured this time around; fallen angels and godlike beings obviously behave a little differently to you and I. Lucifer is quite enjoyable, though his maniacal screaming and evil demeanour seem to disappear completely between issues, and although I couldn’t help but love Destiny for his Reaper-like appearance, the new introductions to the Endless family disappoint in comparison to the established pairing of Dream and Death, and the devious Desire. Strangest of all are the humans exiled from Hell, who describe their decades, centuries or millennia of constant torment in fairly emotionless terms and have no trouble readjusting to human concerns immediately. With a writer as skilled as Gaiman, I’m tempted to think that such decisions were deliberate, but it would have been more impressive to see some truly tortured souls who resembled very little of the person they once were. My final problem is one that’s admittedly blown unreasonably out of proportion, but I wasn’t amused by Lucifer’s mundane office, complete with potted plant and early 90s PC, as this silly joke detracts from the otherwise fantastic architecture and appearance of his domain.
Now I’ve got those issues off my chest, I can applaud the better aspects of this new direction for The Sandman. For starters, nearly all ties seem to have been severed from the external DC comics universe that featured so heavily in previous stories, which is perhaps some of the reason that Gaiman goes to so many lengths to expand his own mythology (there are a couple of instances, one of which I think involves the 1930s Sandman character, but they are minor). Not being DC-literate, many of the previous links and cameos of ‘Preludes & Nocturnes’ and ‘The Doll’s House’ passed me by completely, also managing to leave a lingering nagging feeling that I was missing out on something as they did so, so I’m happy that these crossovers have been toned down – of course, when the action switches once again to Earth, Dream may start hanging around with Batman and Swamp Thing, I couldn’t say. It’s also nice to see some coherence between the Endless’ formal attire, which has been in something of an unexplained flux previously but now makes some sort of sense, and however minimal the participation of the Delirium character, she’s intrigued me enough that I look forward to future appearances in a larger role, particularly as her fall from grace as previous persona Delight has been left unexplained. As a heavy metal fan I was obviously quite pleased at the introduction of the Viking gods, and the trio of Odin, Loki and Thor was entertaining enough that a return is probably on the cards at some point, though I’m more ambivalent about future appearances of Lucifer and the angels.
This story is so singular and concentrated that it’s difficult to incorporate the oddball twenty-fifth issue into its discussion, only linked as it is through the notion that the dead from Hell have been returned to life by Lucifer’s departure. This self-contained story features a brief appearance from Death, but is otherwise concerned solely with a small-scale horror focused on two children – a lonely schoolboy and a dead schoolboy – who decide not to become slaves to the fates and to the hellish school. As a fan of the last collection of individual tales, and of the series’ origins in horror, it’s no surprise that this was my favourite of the eight issues (perhaps alongside the prologue). The narrative plays out perfectly, and some of the ideas therein are really quite ghastly, enhanced by Matt Wagner’s memorable depictions of Charles Rowland sitting amongst a class of dead faces. The prevalence of dark humour is greater than it has been for a while, and the archaic public school scenario reminded me strongly of Terry Jones and Michael Palin’s ‘Ripping Yarns,’ with dashes of ‘The Wall,’ but that’s probably because my education was in a 1990s comprehensive and I can’t relate to this as anything other than fictional. In any case, it’s a valuable story that breaks up the slow main plot at the right moment, and helps keep the series’ human interest alive, even if the humans featured are mostly insane or undead. I like Charles Rowland; this is quite a sad and uplifting story at the same time.
While Wagner’s art suits this stand-alone issue, his slightly cartoonish slant not proving a problem in the isolated context, it continues to be a little distracting when different parts of the main story are pencilled by different artists, especially as the series’ best and, I assumed, primary artist Mike Dringenberg is increasingly absent from the mix. Dringenberg here pencils the introductory tale: a wise move, as his previous depictions of the Endless provided a definitive version for other artists to use, and here he gets to introduce the remaining stragglers. He is also, oddly, offered the rather slow and dull epilogue tale, which primarily acts to demonstrate his superior skill at both realism and creativity and thereby detract from the other artists. That’s not to say that the story’s primary penciller Kelley Jones doesn’t impress, as the revisitation of Hell and the introduction of Asgard and the other realms are all vivid and exciting, it’s just that the story demands an essential replicating of concepts introduced by former artists such as Dringenberg and his predecessor Sam Kieth. That said, Jones is just as capable of rendering twisted demons as those forebears, most memorably a huge figure with mouths for nipples skewering a tortured soul with a fork, and a gruesomely funny image of two demons French kissing, one of whom only has a half a face, allowing for a full view of their tongues inside her skeletal mouth. Nice! Jones’ hellish scenery looks excellent also, reminding me of Wayne Barlowe’s ‘Inferno’ and H. R. Giger in its organic-looking architecture, and as usual the cover art by Dave McKean and experimental lettering from Todd Klein keep the series looking unique and distinctive amongst the competition. I only hope the series can calm down and return to more low-key terrestrial affairs now that Neil Gaiman’s universe has been firmly set in place.
Advantages: Explores the full extent of the Sandman universe, introducing some memorable new characters.
Disadvantages: Tediously slow moving story lacks the excitement of previous tales.
Bimbos of the Night
Written on 26.09.07
*****
After the slow and arduous multi-dimensional grandeur of ‘Season of Mists,’ DC’s adult comic series The Sandman returns to Earth once again, and successfully rekindles its former glory. The problems I had with the preceding story were partly down to my personal tastes regarding the series, now approaching its half-way point, but even leaving aside the shift in focus from the complex fantasy realms of the Dreaming, the afterlife and far too many other domains to list back to more localised terrestrial concerns (at least for the most part), it’s clear that writer Neil Gaiman has got back in touch with his juju after what was a most trying eight-issue task of exposition.
It wasn’t all a waste of time though; having now firmly outlined far more than readers could ever need to know about the series’ complicated, multi-faceted universe and politics, Gaiman and his artists are now free to explore it at their leisure. ‘A Game of You’ addresses all the problems I had with its predecessor, returning focus once again to a human protagonist, one that readers will soon realise they have met before, and featuring a predominantly human cast who stand out for their bold lifestyle choices, mostly in conflict with social norms, rather than a more generalised strangeness that doesn’t really go anywhere. The comparison is illustrated perfectly by the use of a New York apartment block populated by a small recurring cast of characters, as this links back directly to the Floridian guest house of weirdoes in the second Sandman collection ‘The Doll’s House.’
The parallel is clearly intentional, referenced by Barbie herself who was resident at both, and the reader can draw their own conclusion as to Gaiman’s shift of focus. Where Florida offered a plastic Hollywood couple, creepy spider-infatuated lesbians and a plot of land masquerading as a portly gentleman (weird huh?), New York’s clientele consists of a pre-operative transsexual, a shy art history student and some non-creepy lesbians whose relationship is treated with greater care and attention than the previous women couples that Gaiman seems so fond of including in his stories. Alright, so there’s a possessed guy who has birds living inside his ribcage on the top floor, and there’s more to the art student than is at first apparent, but the main cast represents the strongest human presence in the series yet, encouraging Gaiman to partake in some serious social commentary that abandons the series’ usual thinly-veiled metaphors in favour of outright statements on identity and acceptance.
The concerns of the Endless are pushed to the margins in this story, which is primarily split between events in contemporary New York and Barbie’s quest inside her catatonic dream of ‘The Land,’ a lush fantasy world she had visited as an escape since childhood until the events of ‘The Doll’s House’ stole her ability to dream. Although I had a suspicious feeling at the time that all of the seemingly trivial distractions of that earlier story would come back to haunt readers later in the series, I was pleasantly surprised (and a little amused) at the return of Martin Tenbones and his other cuddly animal chums. No longer having to borrow from the extensive DC canon constructed by other writers, Gaiman’s own universe is now so vast and densely populated that he can’t help himself from running every single idea into the ground, and the strength of each Sandman collection is decided by how interesting or tedious this process becomes. Fortunately, the return of The Land is very nicely done, illustrating some of The Sandman’s larger themes of lost innocence and the nature of dreams. While the later issues of the collection may become too fantasy-based for regular readers, this is balanced out more than adequately by the disturbing events unfolding at the same time in the New York apartment, raising the stakes for intelligently twisted gruesomeness and gripping disaster in this series. The whole thing is a bit of a side-step, particularly for something as significant as a six-part story, but I think this audacity contributes to it being my favourite Sandman collection so far, as does the great cast of characters.
Although the series’ primary characters the Endless are largely absent from this story, Dream appearing only in the last couple of issues and his sister Death having a brief walk-on cameo, ‘A Game of You’ excels at sticking to the series’ established themes, more so in some areas than has been seen before. While Barbie’s fantasy Land is denied the childish innocence it once possessed, full of dangers that present themselves in the deaths of her animal friends, the saga of The Land is evidently based in part on existing fantasy templates; the arduous journey across snowy mountains is reminiscent of ‘The Lord of the Rings,’ while the eventual actions of Dream are much like those of Aslan the Lion in C. S. Lewis’ creation and apocalypse segments of his ‘Chronicles of Narnia.’ Readers who feel insulted by such barefaced fantasy are given the comfort of some postmodern exposition when Barbie finally meets up with her nemesis the Cuckoo, but really the significance of the Land only dominates a couple of the later issues of this extended story, which has far more to offer than silver streams and a foul-mouthed rat.
As mentioned earlier, the horror quotient is high in this story, towing an impressive line between excessive gore and intelligent plot device, causing me to admire Gaiman’s writing even more than I did already. Aside from the most obvious instance with the ill-fated George, the series includes some rarely seen nightmare sequences at just the right time to be of principle effectiveness, once the reader has been introduced to the characters enough for their wellbeing to matter to them. Hazel and Foxglove’s nightmares are tied perfectly to their real-life human concerns: most disturbing is the naive Hazel’s dream of finding her aborted child’s body, mutilated by the surgery as Gaiman attempts to trump even ‘Eraserhead’ as a successful advertisement for birth control, but her partner has a telling vision also, one which draws a long-running background plot to a close and finally connects together Gaiman’s convoluted circuit of lesbianism. Wanda meanwhile is confronted with the operation she has long been terrified of undergoing, one of many challenges to her sense of identity present in both the mortal and more spiritual realms.
Basing the bulk of this story on humans as opposed to the archaic mythical deities of the last volume once again allows Gaiman’s excellent grasp of dialogue to come to the fore, and this is mainly carried out through Wanda, presented as the everyman voice of reason who freaks out and vomits when the supernatural happenings get on top of her, and doesn’t understand how the others can take to it so easily. It’s obvious that Wanda (born as Alvin) is being presented as the most likeable and human figure of the story, despite the prominence of the more detached Barbie, and Gaiman is keen to exploit this normalcy in order to illustrate his progressive social points. Not only are Wanda’s sexuality and lifestyle in conflict with the wishes of her conservative parents, but a conversation with the world beyond would seem to make it quite tragically clear that identity is forced on individuals by birth rather than choice, a matter of “chromosomes as much as anything.” It’s intriguing to see Gaiman take such a vicious stab at the higher powers of his universe, evidently not as enlightened as they may appear, and it makes the end of Wanda’s story very satisfying in a soppy, guilty-pleasure sort of way, while the mini soap opera of Hazel and Foxglove’s relationship troubles will doubtless appeal to some readers in a similar way.
The ending itself once again lets the story down a little, this time veering more towards the realm of an epic motion picture finale than the usual contemplative retrospective on what has transpired, but it’s nice that the branching plot threads were restricted to the later developments so as not to distract from the progress of the primary storyline. I was pleased to see the human consequences of extra-dimensional activities receiving the due attention this time around, now that the reader is located in the middle of it all (especially after the confusing lack of attention given to the resurrection of countless billions of dead bodies that must have occurred during ‘Season of Mists,’ yet doesn’t get a mention here), but the apocalyptic weather does add to the slightly cheesy, Hollywood feel of the conclusion, which also relies on ambitious cross-cuts and the cliché of a cackling arch villain. This is the only real issue I have however, and it’s a problem that crops up in most of the long Sandman stories when forced to deliver on the promises of the build-up, and the unique setting and cast of this tale keep it distinctive in the Sandman chronology. It was appropriate to take a break from Dream and the other Endless after the attention they received recently, though there’s still a nice scene part way through in which Dream demonstrates his personal growth, indicating that one day he might not be so socially inept after all.
This is a comic book – did I forget to mention that? Once again the art is up to the usual excellent standard, with newcomer Shawn McManus drawing the bulk of the story and doing an impressive job that stands alongside the very best of the series. McManus’ style is realistic without hammering home too many details, and he is similarly skilled at rendering emotive and convincing faces and the varied backgrounds demanded by the storyline. Bryan Talbot assists on the penultimate issue, which leads to me to guess (perhaps completely wrongly) that he took care of the great-looking weather effects, and the third part was drawn entirely by guest Colleen Doran. Doran’s slightly more abstract and messy style is something of a distracting deviation in an otherwise tightly focused work (the first long Sandman story not to be interrupted by a random plot taking place elsewhere), but Doran’s distinctive style keeps her on rotation as an enjoyable Sandman guest artist – so notable in fact, that the character of Thessaly here was apparently based on her, something that I assume to be a compliment. Daniel Vozzo continues the colouring duties he’s held for some time, a simple block colouring style that isn’t particularly distinctive but at least doesn’t leap off the page with inappropriate luminescence as some previous artists’ work tended to.
There are no muscle-bound superheroes or exaggerated demons here, which should make it easily approachable for readers who are interested in the world of adult comics, but afraid of the embarrassment that interest could bring. Even with jolly animals and talking severed faces, for The Sandman this is practically tame. The all-female leading cast should also help overcome the preconception that comics are purely for males, particularly as the individuals concerned don’t simply get their breasts out or lezz up. Hardly at all.
Advantages: Neil Gaiman's epic horror-fantasy returns to Earth and tackles some serious social issues.
Disadvantages: Long-time readers may find the shift of focus disappointing.
Written on 03.10.2007
***
'Fables and Reflections' is an appropriate title to govern this second anthology of stand-alone stories released in DC's series The Sandman, collecting all of Neil Gaiman's canonical Sandman comic releases from 1991 to '93 that didn't fall into the larger story arcs that dominate the majority of these paperbacks. Breaking with the tradition of the earlier independent tales collection 'Dream Country,' this anthology is divided into three uneven sections, some categorised under further collective titles to demonstrate their participation in a smaller story cycle, and others standing very conspicuously alone, arranged alongside the rest of the collection for matters of convenience and completion. This was the first Sandman paperback to break with the series' chronological publication order, collecting as it does the three issues released between the 'Season of Mists' and 'A Game of You' serials, a further three between 'A Game of You' and 'Brief Lives,' and a final instalment from even later, while also incorporating the story from 1991's so-called 'Sandman Special #1' and a very brief tale from a promotional magazine designed to promote comic book series on DC's Vertigo imprint, including The Sandman.
Despite this erratic, unfortunate and confusing mixture of sources, there is no significant break to the series' continuity by publishing or reading this collection in the prescribed order, or indeed at any point in the series, as all of these stories (with the notable exception of the Orpheus special) are specifically designed to exist on the margins of the Sandman's larger, continuous plot. The four stories collected under the banner 'Distant Mirrors' (hence Reflections) achieve this by being set at various points throughout history as the series has done several times before, focusing on new characters but always featuring familiar faces in the form of the Endless or other beings from the realm of the Dreaming, most commonly Dream himself, who is known by many different names and appears in varying guises depending on the observer’s own historical period and cultural beliefs. The issues labelled 'Convergence' take a slightly looser and more chaotic approach, concerning narratives and stories (Fables) or more specifically the blurring between truth and reality, one of the series' prominent themes expressed through the exploration of dreams.
While these nine core tales form the bulk of this large volume, the two one-off stories provide something of a distracting but welcome break, and are shoved at the end where they will do the least damage. Each comic is reproduced in its original publication order with the exception of 'Ramadan,' the highly deviant fourth chapter of 'Distant Mirrors' which, due to its unusual nature, extra length and odd demands, was not completed in time to be published in the intended order, and was shelved for a significantly later date, eventually winding up as issue fifty rather than thirty-two. It makes complete sense to place it fourth in this collection as originally intended, but of course, the more hardcore fans intent on reliving the original publishing experience (but without having to wait the annoying month in-between comics, unless they're really dedicated and strange) are free to stop reading this paperback half-way through, work their way through the next one, write a review of that one, and then return to this. Not that I did that though. Well, maybe a bit.
So, what are the stories in this pick-n-mix assortment about, and more importantly, are they any good? You've probably already noticed the three stars signalling a pretty average product, and this is unfortunately true for around half of these stories (only in my opinion, obviously), while the highs and lows elsewhere serve to balance each other out. This was disappointing in light of the great success of writer Neil Gaiman's previous stand-alone episodes (including 'The Sound of Her Wings,' 'Men of Good Fortune' and the public school interlude in Season of Mists), which were concisely brilliant and often a great source of relief from the long and heavy-going story arcs surrounding them. The stories here are very aware of their forced deviation from the normal order, and for some of them, this strangeness is their downfall. Others are simply quite boring. I don't want to dismiss this tome too easily however, as there are several excellent tales to be found between its multi-coloured pages, and especially as it presents excellent value for money compared to the standard Sandman paperback. In particular, 'Dream Country' contained only four stories of twenty-five pages each, with some special features tagged on to bulk it out ever so slightly, while 'Fables and Reflections' contains six issues of normal length, one of extended length, the huge sixty-page special and the little bonus preview comic.
Broadly speaking, as I will have to with a collection this diverse to avoid a five thousand word review, I found the earlier 'Distant Mirrors' stories more entertaining than their counterparts in 'Convergence,' but both areas have their highs and lows. Gaiman impresses with his historical and multi-cultural knowledge in 'Distant Mirrors,' which charts defining events in the all-too-brief lives of great empires in consecutive months of different years (corresponding to the July, August, September and intended October of the original publication), from violent revolutionary France to mighty Rome and majestic Baghdad, even dropping in on the first and only Emperor of the United States of America. 'August' and 'Ramadan' concern an emperor and a king at the height of their powers, whose concern for the future of their respective empires leads to an encounter with the King of Dreams. 'Thermidor' (July in the short-lived revolutionary calendar) involves itself more directly with the unfolding mystery of the Sandman series, as Lady Johanna Constantine is employed by Dream to rescue the severed head of his son Orpheus, a symbol of the ancient superstitions and magics that the reasoned revolutionaries were intent on wiping out, even to the extent of renaming their calendar to erase the names of pagan gods.
'Three Septembers and a January' is the most charming of the lot, another informal gathering of the Endless brethren as Dream accepts a challenge from his sister Despair in inspiring a depressed, near-suicidal businessman named Joshua A. Norton into becoming something greater. Based almost entirely on the true story of Emperor Norton I, with a little creative license permitted for magical elements, this is the perfect companion to Augustus' message (in 'August') that people need the symbol of an emperor, and a nice mid-nineteenth century conclusion to the entire arc. Gaiman's own stance on the matter is a little unclear, though he demonstrates an obvious contempt for the revisionist atrocities of the French revolutionaries in 'Thermidor,' and like all stories in the expanded Sandman universe, the humans are treated as individuals with mortal abilities and failings, though 'August' does descend far too deeply into trivial and obvious banter for my tastes, however superb Gaiman's grasp of dialogue. However strong these first three issues are, it's 'Ramadan' that stands out as the most distinctive and creative, presented in the style of an Arabian Nights tale told partially in comic form, but mostly in a form of illustrated prose, a combined effort between Gaiman and this issue's artist P. Craig Russell. Although this detachment comes at a cost to its resonance and humanity, it's an enjoyable experiment that, however long delayed, provides a suitable celebration for the fiftieth issue.
The three stories of 'Convergence' rely on narratives from new or marginal characters, and it's in this collection-within-the-collection that the presence of Dream and the Endless is the least pronounced, instead being taken by supporting characters from the Dreaming in expanded roles. 'The Hunt' is a fairly inevitable werewolf tale, though told quite skilfully and subtly from the perspective of an old man in the present day to his irritable, postmodern teenager granddaughter who would rather be watching MTV. Continuing Gaiman's touring of the regions, there are many similarities with Russian folk tales, including an appearance of Baba Yaga, but on the whole this seemed to last far too long, for very little reward. Even less riveting is its successor 'Soft Places,' featuring historic traveller Marco Polo and his chronicler Rustichello, who become caught in a titular 'soft place' where perception, reality and time are unstable, usually manifesting themselves on the Earth as the vast deserts of shifting sand. While the ideas are quite interesting, there does seem to be a little too much technobabble and exposition in this story that keeps it from going anywhere, while the focal character Fiddler's Green, last seen prominently in 'The Doll's House,' lacks the presence and interest required of a protagonist in the same way Lucien disappointed in the previous issue; sometimes relegating background characters to larger roles isn't entirely successful, as would be demonstrated further by the numerous Sandman spin-offs penned by less capable writers.
Fortunately, the final story in this selection raises the standard, the multi-voiced 'Parliament of Rooks.' The sleeping spirit of Daniel, a baby who appeared earlier in the series but whose importance has not yet come into play, wanders independently into the Dreaming, East of Eden. The raven Matthew and gargoyle Gregory take him with them to Cain and Abel's house, where all characters, as well as Eve who had previously been seen only briefly, decide to tell the baby little-known, secret or exaggerated stories to entertain him until his return to the waking world. The interaction of this ensemble is excellent, from Matthew’s pop-culture criticism of Cain's Vincent Price-like voice and confusion over how these apparently true Creation stories "tie into cavemen and dinosaurs and all that sh**?" On a more basic comedic level, it's nice to see the characters having a domestic natter and drinking tea, even the hulking Gregory who holds his tiny cup with care, and the overall relaxed tone and message of this issue succeed in communicating Gaiman's message where their predecessors failed.
Gaiman never shies away from contradiction or questionings of his multi-faceted universe, at times seeming to strive for an all-encompassing mosaic of cultural and historical textualities, and Matthew's questioning, along with the granddaughter's criticism of apparent post-modernity and sexism in the earlier story, develop into a nice argument about the nature of storytelling. Young Daniel's presence encourages the timid Abel to tell his story of the first murder in a weakened and sanitised, child-friendly form, complete with accompanying cartoon illustrations of the brothers being watched by the 'Lil' Endless,' again addressing Gaiman's criticism of revisionist history as has been seen several times in the series thus far. Cain believes that mysteries are exciting and should never be explained, which is proven at the end when Abel reveals the puzzle to the riddle of the parliament of rooks. It is at first plausible, and then immediately disappointing for no longer being a mystery, proving the point perfectly.
The issues tagged onto the end of this collection are both fairly enjoyable, but do disrupt the flow slightly. The Sandman Special, entitled 'The Song of Orpheus,' is the (apparently) long-awaited story of Dream and Calliope's son, based on the Ancient Greek myth of the character. Gaiman's adaptation is quite enjoyable as usual, but does little truly exciting or novel with the established premise, and the gratuitous flaunting of all seven Endless at Orpheus' wedding ceremony smacks of a disappointing publicity stunt, one step away from an action figure advertisement. The Vertigo preview comic is nothing substantial, a genuineattempt at publicity this time but carried out more tastefully, touching very lightly on the general Sandman premise, at least as it was at the beginning and in brief synopses, through the perspective of a random English playwright character. It's only seven pages long, but I enjoyed it.
A chaotic collection of Sandman stories wouldn't be complete without an equally diverse creative team, and this book predictably features the most diverse list of artists yet, the only pencil artist to be credited on more than one story being the reliable Bryan Talbot. Reliable is the main word that comes to mind as his renderings are nothing truly sensational or creative, both in the dialogue-heavy 'August' that requires a great degree of repetition in its limited scope, and in the longer Orpheus special where characters and vast backdrops are drawn with immense detail, but lack any real defining character. The three artists of 'Convergence' are similarly rather uninspired, though they are given more to work with and effectively realise some quite diverse characters, but it's Stan Woch and Shawn McManus (illustrating issues 29 and 31) who appealed to me the most, with odd angles and a nice deviation between gritty realism and the more surreal excesses of the dream realm. I'm fully prepared to admit that this might be due in some small part to their presence earlier on in the book, before the constant shifting of location, characters and artist started to take its toll on my perspective.
The Vertigo preview is illustrated excellently, as would be expected for a promotional tool such as this, but again it's 'Ramadan' that stands out the most, simply for being the most unusual. The drawing veers on simplistic and cartoonish, characters often having simple dots for eyes if they are out of close-up, and the lack of significant background detail contributes to the fairy tale feel of this piece. The colours from guest Digital Chameleon are suitably garish and opaque, relying on excessive gradient colouring whenever the opportunity presents itself, while the preview's pleasant limited palette of reds and browns provided by Sherilyn van Valkenburgh works very nicely. The rest are coloured by series regular Daniel Vozzo, who always does the job adequately but, like the inkers, doesn't really have as many opportunities to stand out - and often only does this through glaring mistakes that only long-time readers will spot - while Todd Klein goes above and beyond as usual in his deceptively simple task of providing all the lettering. As well as the stylised speech of characters such as the Endless, most notable in Dream's trademark black speech bubble with white text, Klein provides some convincing and almost illegible eighteenth-century handwriting for Constantine's diary entries in 'Thermidor,' and handles the extensive prose paragraphs of 'Ramadan' in what must have been a very time-consuming stylised, mock-Arabic font. Though neither he, Gaiman, nor Dream would have any wish to mock anything Arabic, and are very careful to avoid doing so (you'd never see Allah and Muhammad being mocked for debauchery in this series, unlike the safely expired Viking gods).
'Fables and Reflections' is a deliberately non-essential Sandman volume, but at the same time that makes it a necessity for serious collectors, providing extra depth and explanations about the universe and concepts unique to the series while also foreshadowing or teasing about things to come. Some of the stories are disappointing compared to the usual standard, while few are truly exceptional, but all the same it would provide an easily accessible starting point for newcomers who, for the most part, wouldn't be confronted with complex and highly developed character relationships, though much of it would likely go over their heads or perhaps seem even duller than it already is, outside of context. The horror angle continues to be missed, replaced largely with a concentration on fairy stories and present only in a couple of effectively gruesome and horrific scenes from 'Thermidor' and the anticipated ending of 'Song of Orpheus,' a sixty page countdown to an inevitable beheading that actually manages to surprise in its viciousness even when readers knew more or less what was coming. Regular readers are baited along with hints about Dream's current lover, one of many events clearly happening beyond the panels of these more specific tales. What was the final fate of Orpheus? Who is this mysterious, bearded, seventh figure of the Endless, who can shoot fire from his fingertips? Who are the Kindly Ones? How does baby Daniel have access to the heart of the Dreaming, and what does this spell for his future? And what on Earth or elsewhere is the significance of the wolfman's treasured "small bone carved into the shape of a small bone - but a different small bone?" I can't begin to make sense of it, but it made me laugh.
Advantages: Some stories quite good.
Disadvantages: Some stories quite not good.
Endless Road Trip
Written on 10.10.07
***
After experimenting with some shorter story cycles to varying degrees of success, Neil Gaiman once again plunges Sandman readers into an extended story, this time spanning a whopping nine issues. Despite my notion that Gaiman had left the stretched plotting of his earlier 'Season of Mists' era behind him, 'Brief Lives' instead acts as a rough sequel to some of its events, and puts any and all remaining questions about the Endless to a conclusive rest, with the sole exception of the rather glaring omission: 'what exactly are they, then?' There was some valid criticism that my last Sandman review dumped readers in at the deep end without much explanation of what the series was about, so thankfully the plot of this book allows for a greater overview.
Introduced gradually over the course of the comic series, which had by now been in print for three mostly enjoyable years, the seven Endless are not gods, that much is made clear, but are rather seemingly immortal and powerful beings whose function is to oversee seven vital aspects of the universe. The titular Sandman is Dream, though he is rarely referred to as the Sandman, and is known by a multitude of names by different cultures, as are his brethren. His older sister Death was next to be introduced, and the eldest brother Destiny is the most mysterious and intriguing of all, and thus my favourite (because it's a comic, and however well crafted and suited to adult readers it may be, it's still the sort of thing that encourages readers to pick a bestest). These two older siblings only feature briefly, as this is primarily a story focusing on Dream and his youngest sister Delirium, in her first major role that certainly makes a lasting impression, whatever the reader's feelings about the unique character. The quest that drives their story is the search for their long-lost and oft-mentioned brother, whose name I'm not going to reveal but you can guess that it starts with a 'D.' Conspiratorial non-identical twins Desire and Despair also play a significant part towards the beginning and the end, and the reader is treated to the sight of five of the Endless' individual and highly metaphorical realms over the course of the tale, some of which had not been seen before.
Like 'Season of Mists,' the last story to focus on the dysfunctional Endless family, this is essentially a single story spread over numerous issues, though there a number of minor sub-plots introduced to help break it up that are nevertheless ultimately tied to the main plot. Gaiman returns to a simple numbering of parts to hammer home the 'graphic novel' idea, and as with the last multi-part story 'A Game of You,' there are no issues dedicated to events happening elsewhere; if the story isn't to the reader's liking, which is entirely possible given its significant departure from the series' established style, they're unfortunately stuck with it for nine months of comic deadlines. All of the Sandman stories are necessarily quite different from each other of course, otherwise the series would just end up repeating itself, but this desire to explore new ground unfortunately takes the series further and further away from its roots as a sort of gothic horror with fantastical overtones. Here, epic mysticism gives way to mundane family drama, while the increase in forced comedy (some very funny, but some actually quite poor, in a first for the series) reminds me of the fourth Star Trek film, when daft humour was used as a tool to re-popularise the franchise. The sequence where Delirium drives a car wildly along a freeway and Matthew squawks at her to slow down or she'll get them all killed could easily be substituted for any recycled 'aliens arrive on Earth and don't properly understand our customs, leading to hilarious consequences' Hollywood plot, and didn't serve to endear this story to me.
After a fairly interesting introduction in which the reader really gets to experience the unstable and addled mind of Delirium, the main plot of the search is stretched out for far too long, and will likely leave many readers disinterested as it approaches its inevitable conclusion. As with 'A Game of You,' the heavy focus on contemporary Earth allows for the exploration of some down-to-earth individuals from alternative walks of life, including the series' first genuine goth (who Delirium amusingly mistakes for her sister Death) and a very bland couple of issues focusing on the lives, dreams and values of some topless dancers ("I'm not in the sex industry, I'm in showbiz," "their gaze makes me feel beautiful," blah blah blah). Oddly and very annoyingly, some of the more interesting characters, particularly a druid-type fellow who turns into a bear and bites off his shadow to escape detection, are introduced only for their stories to go nowhere whatsoever, ruining its effectiveness as a suspenseful murder mystery that it tries to be to some extent. As Dream and Delirium chase down their prodigal brother through the only leads they have, those sources are conveniently bumped off one by one just before they can obtain their answers. Fittingly to the Sandman tradition of weak endings, the ultimate explanation is disappointing, particularly in comparison to the red herrings that were thrown at readers to keep them guessing and that would have been far more enjoyable, while also being easier to understand. Nevertheless, there are a couple of interesting plots around the fringes of the main search that keep this readable, particularly concerning Dream's son Orpheus and a new working class view on life in the realm of the Dreaming from one of its workmen, Mervyn Pumpkinhead, who instantly became another favourite of mine.
There's a large but understated focus on Dream's character development in this story, which is interesting and a long time coming, even if it only really comes into play outside of the main plot. Mervyn's deconstruction of his Lord's brooding over the end of a relationship is one of many nicely introspective touches introduced by Gaiman in this story, particularly the pumpkin man's observation that Dream is creating the very downpour that he's standing in, and by consequence making everyone else in the realm suffer for his own melodramatic angst. Dream has always been quite a solemn and moody goth, prone to irrational actions as readers have seen in the past, and it's satisfying to see this finally being addressed to him directly, and by more than a few individuals in a short space of time, perhaps even allowing it to sink in for a change. His overbearing relationship with Delirium is interesting and cute, standing in nice contrast to his camaraderie with Death and antagonism towards Desire and their missing brother, and most of all this story is memorable and significant for Delirium's performance. Her confused, childish demeanour can be irritating at times, but I also feel a little sad for her, and she can make me smile, and Todd Klein's highly distinctive, twisted and multi-coloured take on the appearance of her dialogue is easily the most elaborate thing that's ever been done with speech bubbles in such frequency.
For the first time in the Sandman series, the artists remain consistent throughout, with none of the usual swapping and guest penciller credits interrupting the flow, though looking at the consequences this deals to the quality of the art across this expansive storyline, it becomes clear why the revolving door system was a useful tool. Jill Thompson's drawing style is good, as would be expected for such a high-profile series, but I find it lacks the distinctiveness of some of her illustrious predecessors, particularly those that had handled the majority of a long storyline in the past. Thompson has a flair for backgrounds, which certainly helps with the extensive travelling in this story, and some of her viewpoints and perspectives, particularly in the opening issue, are really nice and cinematic. Unfortunately, her characters lack the realism the series is respected for, veering more towards a simplified cartoon style than anything else, but the most disappointing feature comes when Thompson quite clearly becomes bored, and rushes through repetitive panels so that entire pages become quite a mess (this is particularly evident in the banquet at Dream’s palace, and dialogue-heavy scenes in general). Daniel Vozzo's colours are consistently acceptable, even if they only really stand out in the more elaborate scenes that resemble oil paintings, and for the first time in the series I found it quite puzzling on several occasions to follow the correct order of the speech bubbles, though I'm not sure whether the blame for this lies with the bored Thompson or an error on Klein's part in trying to stick them all onto the panel without obstructing her drawing. It's still far from being amateur, and there are a number of scenes that are really incredible, but these little errors and momentary lapses do stand out in an otherwise skilled publication.
Neil Gaiman deals with some significant and philosophical themes in 'Brief Lives,' but its unnecessary length, littered with pointless distractions, unfortunately makes it the least impressive Sandman volume so far. I can only hope that this is a brief slump that will vanish as the series heads to its conclusion, but considering the recent directions of the series I doubt this will happen. There are a few genuinely insightful and fascinating moments, particularly towards the end, but for the most part this is a bit of a silly adventure, full of what seem to be distracting plot holes and inconsistencies, and tows the line between revealing more interesting facts about the Endless, and robbing them of their intriguing mystery altogether. Gaiman's dialogue is faultless as always, realistic between humans and enjoyably otherworldly between deities, and there were some enjoyable links to the writer's other works that I'm familiar with, particularly in the importance and exchange of personal debt that reminded me of 'Neverwhere,' an enjoyable TV series he produced with Lenny Henry for the BBC in the late nineties, and later adapted into a novel. Unlike previous volumes, most of the new characters introduced here fail to make much of an impression and I couldn't really care less whether they show up again, with the exception of the dog Barnabas and of course the long-overlooked Mervyn Pumpkinhead.
These nine issues are collected in the trade paperback bearing the overall title of the story, which reproduces the art as well as the excellent covers by Dave McKean. Omitted are the letters pages and advertisements that originally featured in the comics, which serves to make them more readable, but also sadly gone is the promised feature advertised on one cover as 'Special insert: Death talks about AIDS and safer sex,' which would have been quite interesting.
Advantages: Draws old plot threads to a close, greater focus on the other Endless.
Disadvantages: Tedious length, pointless distractions, irritating inconsistencies and some bad jokes.
Written on 17.10.07
****
After the long and plot-heavy ‘Brief Lives,’ the Sandman series retreats once again to the recesses of Neil Gaiman’s universe, as a group of travellers stranded by a freak storm share ripping yarns in a cosy inn on the edge of realities. The comic book series’ final foray into stand-alone short stories before readers are hurled headlong into its dramatic conclusion with the final publications, ‘Worlds’ End’ (notice the plural) centres on the concerns and exploits of a disparate cast of characters from various realities and time periods, all of which are either brand new, or marginal in the series’ grander scheme of things.
Despite the vast differences in style and subject matter across these individual tales, the collection is far from random, building upon the ideas in the earlier ‘Fables and Reflections’ that saw stories grouped together through a rough common theme. Here, the connections and sequence are kept firmly in check through the presence of an all-encompassing narrative frame, the story of hapless software designers Brant and Charlene, who stumble across the Worlds’ End inn after an accident caused by a freak snowstorm (in the middle of June) and are forced to wait it out. This continuous narrative takes a back-seat to the stories being told in the first five issues before being dramatically concluded in the finale, in a process that reminded me of anthology horror films such as ‘Dr. Terror’s House of Horror’ and the hilarious ‘The Uncanny,’ only handled more skilfully. Even despite the tenuous framework that essentially allowed Gaiman to fit a handful of random stories into The Sandman, or perhaps because of it, this collection holds together much better than the scattered ‘Fables and Reflections,’ and the comparatively short, self-contained storylines avoid the tedium that made its predecessor ‘Brief Lives’ so disappointing in the end. It’s certainly my favourite Sandman paperback for some time.
Furthering the split of each issue between (mostly) brief introductory and concluding sections set in the pub and the dominant character’s tale, the artwork for each of the six issues is divided between separate groups of pencil and ink artists to better distinguish each respective piece. Almost all of the ‘primary’ plot is pencilled by Bryan Talbot and inked by Mark Buckingham, and as well as providing a much-appreciated consistency across the book, the lighter workload of several pages a month as opposed to the full twenty-five means that readers (or more accurately, observers) are treated to an unprecedented amount of excellent detail, from the wood grain of the surroundings to the nice background details and odd characters whose presence adds several minutes to the reading (observing) experience. The use of different artists is a common trait of the Sandman series, particularly in the short stories, and their nature as oral narratives rather than direct observations grants each artist a greater degree of freedom that they evidently relish, many pencil artists stretching to provide all the defining inks also, allowing for the pleasant experience of viewing something of a pet project (though all are coloured quite conservatively by regular Daniel Vozzo). The respective style that each artist aims for is often tied quite cleverly to the nature of the story, from Alec Stevens’ surreal, angular dream world of the first story to John Watkiss’ more traditional heroic fantasy art in Cluracan’s story of fairy politics. Perhaps the only slightly disappointing element is Todd Klein’s lettering, simply for remaining at a consistently high standard but without indulging in his usual creative excess... and for making about one spelling mistake per issue.
The primary, overarching plot once again uses the naive human perspective to introduce an outlandish concept successfully to the readers, and to its credit this larger story doesn’t attempt to properly explain things until the final issue, by which time readers have been comforted by enough cosy fireside tales that revelations can come nice and slow. Readers are primarily led along by Bryan, being privy to his thoughts and feelings in the extended sections and accompanying him as he catches some sleep and spends a penny in the gents, while Charlene is left to reach decisions on her own. The first issue mainly serves to introduce the situation and guide the characters to their destination in order for the stories to begin, but the final comic is devoted entirely to the circumstances leading to their departure, Bryan being as astounded as the readers as the creepy, all-star funeral procession passes by and only too clearly signals a major event afoot in the next paperback. Charlene, meanwhile, gets a very nice outburst scene in which she derides all of the tales we’ve all sat through as worthless, unrealistic and overly masculine clichés, declaring that ‘the world isn’t like that’ and proceeding to deconstruct phantom phallic symbolism in a well-meaning mockery of postmodern feminist criticism. Both characters succeed in providing a larger meaning to this collection through their actions, dialogue and feelings in this final chapter, making the whole experience enjoyable and satisfying, and even worth sitting through the couple of deathly boring issues in-between.
To briefly overview each of the yarns, all of which feature some further aspect of storytelling within them, ‘A Tale of Two Cities’ is a brief, surreal and nightmarish encounter between a dumfounded human and ‘the dreams of a city’ that raises some very interesting questions, while the appropriately-drab titled ‘Cluracan’s Tale’ spends twenty-odd pages telling a rather dull and unnecessarily complex tale of fantasy politics through the voice of a particularly irritating and loathsome character. ‘Hob’s Leviathan’ is a rip-roaring high seas adventure grounded in a realism that works excellently against the more subtle fantastical elements and sees the return of Dream’s immortal friend Hob Gadling from way back in the series, and ‘The Golden Boy’ delves into the obscure recesses of the DC Comics universe to expand on the tale of Prez: First Teen President in a story set in an alternate 1970s United States. The penultimate ‘Cerements’ is a well-crafted but ultimately quite dismal affair concerning a Necropolis populated entirely by skilled morticians and their apprentices, which throws in some references to the Endless to foreshadow their appearance in the present-day finale ‘Worlds’ End,’ where the reality storm is over and speculation by readers is only just beginning (though it’s pretty obvious who’s in that coffin).
It’s arguable that these stories are a clear demonstration that Neil Gaiman is running out of ideas, diversifying so extensively from the series’ usual style and admitting the touring of clichéd genres even through his own character’s dialogue, perhaps due to a sense of guilt. The entire Sandman universe has always been based on the reinterpretation of existing stories, whether classical, mythological or restricted to the more local world of comics, and Gaiman once again shows his flair for adapting a previously stale tale. The resurrection and subsequent killing-off of Prez was a strange move that harks back to his ret-cons of earlier ‘Sandman’ superheroes in the earlier issues, and while I was quite disappointed to learn of the source for Prez and the creepy Boss Smiley being outside of Gaiman’s own imagination, his biblical take on their conflict makes for one of the stand-out issues of this collection. The (literal) fairy story likely fails because it doesn’t try anything new (Cluracan himself calls it ‘a bald and insipid narrative’), and although ‘Cerements’ is packed with quite fascinating and intelligently morbid concepts, it noticeably lacks an actual entertaining plot, justifying its narrator’s anxiety that he has nothing to talk about. Perhaps the finest demonstration of Gaiman’s ability comes with the evolution of ‘Hob’s Leviathan’ from what must have started simply as a weak pun title (based on Thomas Hobbes’ seminal seventeenth-century publication ‘Leviathan,’ but of course we all knew that) and ending up as one of the better parts, as these historical Sandman stories tend to be.
Despite a couple of very weak links, this collection surpasses the previous few publications in all areas but price, retailing at the same price for a six issue volume as for paperbacks containing up to twice that amount, though fortunately the wide printing of Sandman keepts it readily available and subject to discounts, and Amazon.co.uk are currently selling these collections for a reasonable £7.97 as opposed to the RRP of about £12.99. ‘Worlds’ End’ is admittedly unoriginal in places, and may sadly be at its best when following the style of Alan Moore in stories like ‘The Golden Child’ (which even sneaks in a visual reference to ‘Watchmen’), but its departure from the rather trying saga of the Endless allows for a greater degree of creativity and unusual character focus, ‘A Tale of Two Cities’ standing out in particular for its distinctive illustrated prose style rather than the usual comic layout. The conclusion is a little forced, but tied in very nicely to that very same ‘larger scheme of things’ that the stories sought to avoid, and perhaps the greatest achievement of this collection is the excellent atmosphere it creates. Whether venturing to the glory of the waves or the creepy tombs of Litharge, it’s always comforting to return to the friendly haven of the Worlds’ End, a free house with no ties to any of those domineering realities.
Advantages: A well-conceived break from the Endless plot, with a great team of artists.
Disadvantages: Uneven and uninspired in places.
Written on 24.10.07
***
As its opening and closing pages self-consciously testify with the metaphor of old ladies literally spinning a yarn, the final epic story in Neil Gaiman’s Sandman saga is concerned with tying up or rather severing loose threads, some of which have been dangling for over sixty preceding issues. The whole thing is drenched with an impenetrable desire to satisfy old-timers rather than casual readers, and by talking to the fans almost exclusively, this book adopts the reluctant title of Sandman Paperback Least Recommended For Newcomers.
On the positive side, ‘The Kindly Ones’ is a more interesting and entertaining story than some of the series’ more recent predecessors such as ‘Brief Lives’ and the short stories of books six and eight, and feels much like a melding of those more recent, fantasy-oriented tales and the original darker tone the comic started out with, aided through an enormous amount of back-referencing to all the significant plots and characters since the series began. And with its excessive length of thirteen issues, this mammoth story eventually starts referring nostalgically back to itself.
There have been five long Sandman stories prior to this, ranging from six to ten parts in length, and a number of short, hit-and-miss one-shots in-between, but primarily this is a direct continuation of ‘The Doll’s House’ and ‘Season of Mists,’ with a smattering of characters, locations and plot points from the rest. This being Gaiman, there’s also his customary integration of classical mythology and bland attempts to tackle contemporary issues such as AIDS and dementia. The ban on using the F-word also appears to have been lifted for reasons of realism, but he thankfully doesn’t go overboard. The main problem with this story comes in its length, which was foreseeable after the similarly overlong ‘Brief Lives,’ as there’s no denying that this lasts for far too long. There is a consistent plot, unlike the meandering serials of some other franchises that end up completely unrecognisable by Part XIV (I always think of an animated Spiderman story I earnestly watched unfold over an entire summer when I was about ten, which seemed to go through about five entirely different plots), but in the end there’s little to justify this excess. There’s no real ‘time-out’ issue as was the case in the first few books, though the focus does shift from mad mother Lyta Hall to ageless globetrotter Rose Walker rather uncomfortably about half-way through, while the far more interesting events transpiring in the otherworldly realm of The Dreaming will really test readers’ patience.
The most basic plot of ‘The Kindly Ones,’ to leave out non-essential cameos from Lucifer, Hob Gadling and those increasingly boring Faery folk among others, concerns the disappearance of toddler Daniel Hall while his mother Lyta took a rare trip out of the flat. The babysitter, Rose Walker, inexplicably fell asleep during the abduction, and an investigation by a pair of dodgy-looking detectives eventually brings up a photograph of a child’s burnt corpse, apparently verified as Daniel’s, that sends Lyta over the edge into a fantasy world. But being in the universe of The Sandman, this fantasy world is just as legitimate as Lyta’s previous domain, and she soon finds herself conscripted by the Kindly Ones to deliver justice to Dream, ruler of the Dreaming, for spilling family blood the previous year. But Lyta prefers to think of it as revenge, as she is convinced it was Dream who murdered her son.
A number of characters are satisfyingly fleshed out here, and while it’s nice to catch up with Rose, Lyta and other mortals a couple of years down the line of their ordinary lives, it’s also refreshing to see Dream’s brethren the Endless confined to the background after being run into the ground with some previous stories, though new favourite Delirium still steals a little too much of the limelight for no apparent reason other than Todd Klein enjoys scrawling her digressive, brightly-coloured dialogue. Dream himself has a prominent presence here that increases towards the end as the Kindly Ones start to wreak havoc in his realm, and while the end of the story isn’t wholly predictable, his scenes do seem at times like a tedious countdown to an inevitable conclusion that has already been teased in the previous book. To Gaiman’s credit, Dream remains completely true to character throughout, essentially failing to cope well with pressure and allowing his arrogance and selfishness to impede his decisions, and it’s quite telling how stubbornly static he remains even as Rose is shown to have evolved out of her earlier, angsty phase documented by her diaries that she now dismisses as childish. As with ‘The Doll’s House’ and ‘A Game of You,’ the story is significantly female-dominated, from the recurring theme of the three Furies to the focal characters and other important figures, but this represents another slight drawback of the book in that Gaiman’s leading ladies, as becomes evident after reading nine books of The Sandman, are all pretty much exactly the same. It’s only really Lyta’s descent into madness that helps differentiate between the two once Rose is introduced as replacement.
The blending of fantasy and reality has always been one of my favourite aspects of Gaiman’s style, both in earlier Sandman and other works such as ‘Neverwhere,’ and Lyta’s delirious strolls around dirty L.A. streets extrapolated in her mind as a twisted fantasy realm make for one of the highlights of the story, aided by some nice artistic touches from Marc Hempel. Unfortunately, I found the rest of his art fairly unsatisfying; an angular, abstract and ultimately ‘Cartoon Network’ style of drawing that clashes with the realist style of the series’ more fondly remember pencillers, so his dominance of eleven of the thirteen issues detracted from my enjoyment significantly, rendering the Sandman world less tangible and attractive than it has been previously, and proving the deciding factor in my previously ambivalent star rating for this book (with someone like Mike Dringenberg or Kelley Jones it would have just scraped four). There are some nice Easter Eggs hidden in the art to look out for, particularly in the repeated motif of strings/cords/wires/cables in the first picture of each issue, and dominance of threes (and multiples of three) which extends to the layout of the comic panels, but this was presumably more to do with the author so I’m still allowed to slag Hempel off. By contrast, cover artist extraordinaire Dave McKean produces the most stunning cover art in the comic’s history, all of which are reproduced in this book as well as his paperback ‘Dustcovers: The Collected Sandman Covers’ if you’re a die-hard fan of his style.
Other Easter Eggs and references abound in this story outside of the significance of threes, which lends it well to re-reading several years down the line once the reader feels prepared to brave this overlong journey once more. The whole structure is styled on a Greek tragedy, helpfully including many of its mythological elements also, and there’s a great deal more symbolism to look out for than has been the case for some time, as if Gaiman wanted his epic to go out on a high note. References to literature and authors both real and fictitious abound, and this is balanced out with an overflow of pop culture name-dropping. As unappealing as this blending of high and low art may be to more academic individuals, it’s always formed a large part of the series, and the whole idea of critiquing something like a comic book seriously is nicely parodied with Rose’s extensive search for the maiden-mother-crone archetype in sitcoms such as ‘The Golden Girls’ and ‘Roseanne.’ Lucifer’s corruption through terrestrial expressions (“been there, done that, wore the T-shirt, ate the burger, bought the original cast album, choreographed the legions of the damned and orchestrated the screaming”) also makes for a nice scene between himself and the Angel Remiel, though ultimately their contributions to this story afford little more than insubstantial and inconclusive side-tracking. There’s a lot about this story that made me think, “yeah, what was all that about?” a few days later.
This brings up another odd aspect of this seemingly definitive story, which strives to tie up all of the previous issues together into one neat package ready for syndication, as many plot threads are left completely unresolved while others are left more deliberately vague for the reader to figure out themselves. The raven Matthew provides relief on this point, to some extent, as he continues to play the role of down-to-earth human everyman (despite being a talking raven reincarnated from a cockney) whose brief tenure in the Dreaming leaves him as perplexed as the reader on most issues. His questioning of Dream’s ceaseless devotion to “the rules” and tradition exposes the flimsiness of some of the larger plot developments, but this knowing internal commentary can’t excuse the writing of all its faults. Although Matthew’s unlikely pairing with the re-created Corinthian makes for a very enjoyable double-act in the later parts, the whole issue of why the latter character, last seen as an eye-chomping serial killer, was resurrected at all, and the repeated notion that every being that dwells in the Dreaming is itself only a dream and able to be re-birthed quite easily, takes away much of the empathy as key figures are massacred towards the end. The Sandman ran out of steam and novelty a long time before this collection, and although it manages to recapture some of its original energy it’s still not as satisfying as it could or should be here.
‘The Kindly Ones’ is available at the same price as the other, thinner books which is good news for quantity-over-quality fans, though these people wouldn’t tend to buy graphic novels at any rate. Anyone who hasn’t read all sixty-six previous issues and assorted specials should steer clear of this one unless they want to feel really left out, as even some enjoyable double-acts and some charmingly racist old dearies can’t keep this from being a predominantly alienating affair, though one that I found quite a compelling ride. There’s a ‘previously on...’ style section half-way through to fill in those who joined this particular story half-way through, but that’s not much use for those starting from scratch; I just feel sorry for those who bought each issue on its original monthly release and had to wait over a year for this mostly unspectacular and badly illustrated saga to play out. Still, it’s better than ‘Brief Lives.’
Advantages: Neil Gaiman hurls readers headlong into a conclusive epic.
Disadvantages: If you haven't been keeping up, you won't understand. Even if you have, you'll probably be confused.
Waking Dream
Written on 30.10.07
***
It's practically unheard of for a popular, long-running comic series on a major label to be permitted to end when its original creators decide to call it a day, so it's with only a few extraneous issues that Neil Gaiman's saga of The Sandman came to a satisfactory close eight years after its first issue hit the shelves. This final paperback collects the three issues comprising 'The Wake' epilogue and three supplementary, independent stories tying up some of the more obscure loose ends before the series is finally put to rest... you know, aside from the other couple of Sandman books Gaiman has written since, and the numerous spin-off comics continuing the stories of the characters in varying degrees of readability.
The previous book 'The Kindly Ones' was a long and winding road to the Sandman's inevitable death, and 'The Wake' deals with its consequences while also providing a sentimental farewell for the comic series itself. Fortunately, this amounts to more than just a bittersweet parade of favourite characters saying their goodbyes (though it is partly that), with Gaiman and returning artist Michael Zulli working to create something original and distinctive to act as a parting gift for long-time fans. With only three twenty-five-page parts to concentrate on, this story is far more focused and tightly structured than some of its rambling precursors, and visually stands out for its tall, minimal panels and very attractive, painterly style achieved by forsaking the bold inks typically applied to comics, and present in every previous issue. Zulli's art is pretty incredible and vastly different to anything the series has attempted before on such a large scale, working perfectly for the sombre, mournful atmosphere of the first and third issues and surprisingly fitting equally to the merriment of the second. Long-time colour artist Daniel Vozzo also treats each panel with delicate, realistic paints in stark contrast to the often garish work he has previously churned out, making the whole thing seem more like an illustrated book than what would typically be expected of a comic as The Sandman continues to stretch the format in new and intriguing ways.
So it looks fantastic, but can a story about the funeral of a fairly irritating goth with supreme albeit confusing powers really maintain interest for three consecutive issues? Particularly when he has already been reincarnated in a way as the 'new' Dream? As I noted earlier, the Wake is equally about the end of the Sandman series itself, and the background of Dream's wake and subsequent funeral acts as essentially that; a convenient backdrop against which characters can be brought back and explored in various emotional states, and Gaiman can finally try to tackle some of the larger questions of the series concerning the extent of Dream's powers, leading to an influx of, apparently, every living, sleeping being from Earth and elsewhere being gathered for an unforgettable night that they will nevertheless fail to recall in the morning. The plot running concurrently to this gathering is the quieter domestic story of the new Dream's introduction, particularly in the exploration of his significant differences from his predecessor, which provides a nice final and significant role for Matthew, the raven familiar who has trouble accepting his master's death and who still acts as the questioning voice of reason on behalf of more confused readers. There are some quite touching scenes as Dream re-builds some of the Dreaming's deceased, though some such as Gilbert would prefer to stay dead, bringing to mind the old Biblical argument about Lazarus who would surely have to go through the agony of croaking again a few years later.
It's not all neat and pleasant however, as the story suffers from a few predictable problems associated with the funeral theme. Some goodbyes are overlong and overly sentimental, particularly those of Dream's notable lovers who spend two pages each explaining their feelings in far more detail than is strictly necessary, and somewhat gratuitous cameos from Wesley Dodds and Mad Hettie from way back at the beginning, whose presence here feels like Gaiman apologising for letting them slip through all the subsequent plots as the series plodded on. Other faces crop up for brief moments that will mean nothing at all to newcomers, but on the plus side there's an unexpected brief and brilliant cameo from Batman. Most annoying of all is the continuation of plot strands left over from 'The Kindly Ones' such as that of Rose's pregnancy and Cluracan's nemesis, which only feel like they're encroaching unfairly on this story, and as the whole thing draws to a close the dialogue does tend to become a bit too fluffy. This is no major cause for concern though, as the ethereal psychedelic scene of Dream's Viking-style funeral (extended from the original comic) can simply be enjoyed for the fine art it offers, ignoring the one or two captions of twee.
'The Wake' manages, perhaps against expectation, to be a fitting and satisfying finale for the Sandman series which is a wholly commendable feat, but unfortunately, unwisely and confusingly, the story doesn't end here. For reasons known only to Neil Gaiman (and perhaps an insistent publisher who demanded he churn out a little more before he was allowed to walk away, which is probably sadly accurate), the series continues for three comparatively unremarkable issues that end up saying pretty much nothing at all. 'Sunday Mourning' catches up unnecessarily with the immortal Hob Gadling as he accompanies his latest lover to a Renaissance fair and spends his time complaining about its historical inaccuracy that only he would know about. 'Exiles' is another attempt to mimic the folk tales and artistic style of another culture as has been done several times earlier in the series, and this tale of a travelling old man and his cat is the least riveting of the lot, even harking back specifically to an earlier story 'Soft Places' that has the distinction of being the Sandman issue I probably loathed the most. Finally, and most disappointingly of all due to its placing at the end and its companionship with a much earlier classic, 'The Tempest' returns to William Shakespeare living his twilight years in Stratford and writing his second and final play for the Dream King who inspired his creative ability. It's a longer issue at nearly forty pages, but even the return of Charles Vess who illustrated the award-winning 'A Midsummer Night's Dream' can't afford this dull and bland story the same credit as its predecessor.
The deteriorating quality of the Sandman series in general didn't allow me to raise my expectations too high for this final outing, and as such I was both pleasantly surprised and extremely disappointed in equal measure; this can be credited respectively to the first and second halves of the book. While 'The Wake' is very good, and just about the perfect epilogue, Neil Gaiman flogs the dead Dream Lord for a few more mediocre offerings and then it all just sort of ends. 'The Tempest' does attempt to make some relevant points on the nature of creativity, writing and the power of imagination, but applies them unremarkably to the series as a whole, and the return to the past feels more like a chance for a final farewell with the original Dream, who had become progressively more tedious to the point that the hints of his impending demise back in 'Worlds' End' made me excited and eager to see it unfold - a mistake, as I was again disappointed. There's no doubting that The Sandman began strongly, found its feet early and dazzled comic readers for a good few years before sliding down an increasingly tiresome slope in its final years, but to its credit 'The Wake' doesn't attempt to recapture that original spark (as 'The Kindly Ones' tried and failed), but offers a brand new and successful style in its place. Gaiman was right to call it quits before he lost the plot completely, and before the series was taken over by inferior imitators, but I still can't help feeling let down by the way 'The Wake' ended up turning out.
There have been subsequent Sandman publications outside of its original seventy-five issue monthly comic, and numerous spin-offs that are most likely continuing today, but for now I'm happy to let Neil Gaiman's intriguing, endless universe rest for a while. I would recommend earlier instalments of the series wholeheartedly to comic, fantasy or science fiction fans who tend to be turned away by the concept of comics, and each paperback collection manages to be vastly different to the rest. The Sandman concept was well conceived and despite the set-backs the series has suffered, I'm sure there's still a lot more to explore of the Dreaming and its new ruler. But for now, it's time to wake (oh, the title's a pun as well. I get it now).
Advantages: First half is a surprisingly good ending, achieving the impossible task of satisfying the fans.
Disadvantages: Second half of unrelated stories is a disappointing waste of time.
Written on 23.12.07
****
Neil Gaiman's Sandman series for DC Comics was one of the most celebrated and acclaimed during its seventy-five issue run from 1989 to 1996, and its enduring popularity with both comic aficionados and the sort of people who would otherwise frown upon the comics medium could easily have seen the series continue ad nauseam to this day, as the popularity of its various licensed spin-offs demonstrates. Thankfully, Gaiman placed his artistic principles above a steady income, and was evidently successful in persuading his employers to set him free as soon as his series had reached its natural end point. Well, perhaps a year or so thereafter. In any case, the prolific writer's other projects and film royalties ensure that he remains sufficiently loaded to spend in whichever manner a slightly eccentric fantasy writer chooses, and he is at liberty to choose when to don an old hat.
Published exclusively as a graphic novel in 2003, rather than the usual limited series of comics later collected into a paperback, 'Endless Nights' is technically Gaiman's second Sandman project since the conclusion of the series; the first was the radical departure 'The Dream Hunters,' an illustrated novel in the Oriental folk tale tradition that bears no direct relation to the series outside of a few tangential, obscure parallels. Disregarding the various Sandman spin-offs written by different authors, most notably 'The Dreaming,' is easily accomplished, making this attractive collection of seven stories the first direct continuation of Gaiman's story by his own hand in seven years, and a reasonably successful one at that.
In the tradition of earlier short story cycles within the Sandman series itself (as collected in the paperbacks 'Dream Country,' 'Fables & Reflections' and 'Worlds' End'), there is no necessary link between these incredibly diverse tales, each of which focuses specifically (and in most cases, very abstractly) on one of the seven Endless: the seven personifications/incarnations/something-or-other of Death, Desire, Dream, Despair, Delirium, Destruction and Destiny. The Endless are not gods, the likes of which are far more commonplace in Gaiman's metafictional universe, as gods will expire or retire when they cease to be worshipped by living beings. The Endless will exist for as long as there is life to cater for in each of their respective realms as the caretakers of the cosmos... or something like that. Look, I'm really trying here.
This book faces the natural obstacle of a fan base that was promised and sold a conclusive ending many years previously, and considering the tedious and lengthy plots of the later Sandman issues it's understandable that some will be unwilling to go for a lap of honour, but Gaiman has really done himself a favour by so clearly demonstrating the boundless universe of his creation across seventy-five issues. Coupled with the Endless' timeless nature, this really means that anything goes in these new stories, unrestrained by any bonds to time, space or characters outside of the seven at its foundation. This results, as may have been expected, in a couple of stories being set explicitly after the events of the series, a couple being set in the distant past, and others free of any direct relation, and although this leads to a slightly disappointing lack of continuity across the whole thing, it works far better than a direct mini-series continuation would have, especially as the more dynamic plots here seem to indicate that Gaiman has really run out of ideas as far as continuing the series in a linear fashion.
As a loving return to the classic style, Gaiman naturally hired talented artists to work on each of his separate stories, and free from the rushed deadlines and stylistic restrictions of a monthly comic, the art really gets a chance to stand out and satisfy the author's increasingly expansive horizons. P. Craig Russell is the only Sandman veteran of the bunch, having provided all the art for the oddball fiftieth issue story 'Ramadan,' and along with Preacher's Glenn Fabry, produces the most recognisably "comic book art" of the volume, opting for its customary bold outlines and prominent, natural colours, as opposed to the more extravagant excesses elsewhere. Under direction of Gaiman's script, Russell creates a very effective parallel between the drab "real world" and colourful fantasy realm of the opening story 'Death and Venice' that highlights its main theme of that divide, and this is the first of several stories to employ an effective mystery angle that resolves the confusing events by the end and lends it well to re-reading in the future.
I was particularly pleased that this opening piece offers equal entertainment to Sandman veterans as well as newcomers who may only have approached the book out of curiosity due to its status as a New York Times bestseller (a comic? I ask you, how ridiculously illiterate! I'll stick to Dan Brown, thank you very much). It reveals everything that the reader needs to know to enjoy this independent tale, and it has one of the best opening scenes ever as a wealthy king indulges in his ideal death of being crushed by an elephant while being brought to orgasm by a pair of young virgins. "If I were a rich man," etc. I'm a lot less fond of the second story, 'What I've Tasted of Desire,' which is lavishly illustrated in a romantic fantasy style by Milo Manara, but falls into the author's 'Stardust'-like fairy tale style that I've never really enjoyed. It's a female-centric dark romance set sometime in the age of tribes, rape and pillage, and though it struggles to communicate the meaning of Desire, this has been done more successfully and in a more satisfyingly Sandman style in the series' past.
The Sandman/Dream King's own story is the major selling point for fans as it takes place in the incredibly distant past, before our own solar system supported any life, and when the Endless' family tensions were only just beginning. Painted in a fittingly dreamy style by Miguelanxo Prado with soft outlines enhancing the ethereal atmosphere, the story is another romance of a sort, as the tale of Dream's first of many ill-fated relationships with a mortal being, but it carries off such an intriguing sense of antiquity and mysticism that it's easily the highlight of the collection for me. Further mysteries of the universe are revealed and added to the bursting Sandman mythology in a manner true to the early series, and despite the Onanistic excitement the author is clearly experiencing in finally unveiling some long-hinted-at secrets and characters, he remains sober enough to allow the universe to retain some sense of mystery.
After this point, the collection takes some liberties and goes all arty on us, which makes for some interesting chapters that wouldn't have worked as well (or even been permitted) in a monthly series, but that are great as a deviation. Despair has always been one of the most psychologically interesting of the Endless, and rather than offer up another story about a depressed human turning his life around, Gaiman and cover artist Dave McKean conceived the idea of 'Fifteen Portraits of Despair,' presenting a sequence of single or double-page spreads detailing the sorry situations of selected individuals, as well as more abstract takes on the idea of Despair herself. It's primarily a vehicle for Barron Stoney's abstract art, which bears similarities to McKean's and makes me a little sad that the cover artist didn't handle this himself.
Delirium's tale is similarly artistic, Bill Sienkiewicz really capturing the idea of the character in her most disoriented state yet through a clashing mixture of soft watercolours and stark angles and of course the ever-present fish and butterflies of Delirium's realm, but aside from Gaiman's thoughtful 'portraits' of characters' individual delusions, ranging from upsetting to amusing, the linear plot that arises turns out to be very disappointing and basic. This is the first story to show some of the consequences of the original Sandman climax, with the new incarnation of Dream making a bit of a gratuitously pointless cameo appearance, and is sure to be the most alienating to new readers with its frequent references to characters and events that even the long-time reader may have trouble recalling.
Destruction's tale 'On the Peninsula,' like the opening story, is a comparatively straightforward one with some interesting science fiction themes that doesn't try to be too clever, and the book is rounded off with a worthless wander around Destiny's garden once again that essentially repeats the points we've been told about the enigmatic oldest sibling of the Endless in all of his appearances ever, that abruptly finishes up without bothering to provide an actual story. Gaiman singles out artist Frank Quitely for particular praise here in this mini illustrated tale of very few words, but it really is a very disappointing conclusion and a wasted opportunity to explore a very significant theme (or at least, one of seven).
'Endless Nights' is a nice enough appendix to the Sandman franchise that is content to be just that, without tying up any real loose ends from its predecessor or trying to inaugurate a new era. In this manner, it's about as enjoyable as the Sandman series' later short story cycles (paperback collections six and eight) and succeeds in recapturing that same atmosphere, but as a conclusive or definitive statement on the seven Endless it falls short of the mark. With the exception of 'Fifteen Portraits of Despair,' which is commendably painful to read, none of these tales succeed in summing up Death, Desire, Dream, Delirium, Destruction or Destiny in any meaningful way, or at least pale in comparison to earlier, more successful attempts towards the beginning of the Sandman series when these ideas were fresh and exciting. Gaiman even tries to really, really nail down precisely, definitively the exact nature of the Endless in 'The Heart of a Star,' but it still doesn't make a whole lot of sense no matter how it's worded. That isn't inherently a problem of course, as the mystery is what makes some of these stories so appealing, but it's clear that the idea of writing seven stories based on these seven characters was more of a helpful foundation than a true design plan.
The art is excellent without exception, which is more than can be said for the script, but a few years away and a new audience of sorts leads to some departures from the regular series, most notably in the sex and breast count which is significantly increased even when not entirely necessary, to prove to prospective buyers just how non-childish this really is. Gaiman also gets to write a particularly long and nostalgic introduction and thank you section that's about as insightful as is required, and Dave McKean provides the linking artwork between chapters based on his cover design. While this isn't the essential and mind-blowing Sandman continuation some fans will have been hoping for, it could have been a lot worse: they could have made a film.
Theophile Gautier, The Jinx
Fantasy in a Frock Coat
Written on 03.11.07
****
A rather obscure early horror novel from the French romantic period, Theophile Gautier’s ‘The Jinx’ has been resurrected as part of Hesperus Press’ 100-page series, an endeavour aimed at promoting lost, forgotten, unknown or otherwise ignored ‘classics’ of international literature through new translations and nicely coloured covers. This short novel has always been one of Gautier’s lesser known works, compared to his (slightly) more famous ballets and poetry, but unlike the majority of Hesperus’ obscure classics (surely a contradiction in terms?), it’s actually a really good read and surprisingly modern in its approach and outlook.
Still, the novel remains firmly rooted in its time, and the nineteenth-century literary tradition specifically, by focusing on a small cast of obscenely wealthy characters, whose privileged lives involve little more than travelling, lounging around in holiday mansions for the majority of the year, and seeking each others’ hands in marriage. The story follows the life of Paul d’Aspremont on a visit to Naples, accepting the invitation of his beloved Alicia Ward, an English girl in her late teens who lives with her devoted uncle. Paul’s love is much requited, to the extent that the intruding affections of a local Count with the hots for Alicia don’t appear to pose any kind of threat, until he unveils the apparent and shocking evidence that Paul has the signs of a “jettatore,” bringing the curse of the evil eye on those closest to him. Although Paul is a rational and enlightened nineteenth-century guy who considers himself above such primitive superstitions, it becomes increasingly difficult for him to ignore the evidence, and although his beloved Alicia will never concede that her rapidly deteriorating health is due to his presence, even demanding that he fix his gaze on her to prove his love, Paul begins to contemplate their options.
I never studied the Romantics in any detail, certainly not the French ones, but I gained enough awareness of the period to recognise some of its most significant themes being touched on by Gautier. The characters’ devotion to scientific rationality (albeit, filtered through firm Christian belief) is placed in direct opposition to this superstitious idea from a bygone age – allegedly still practiced by many savage cultures, if we’re to believe the author’s slightly dodgy world view – and the resulting conflict of truth is handled in a very satisfying and yet still slightly cryptic way; even by the end of the novel, there’s no tangible ‘proof’ that the curse existed, only a long line of unfortunate incidents from Paul’s life that are either down to coincidence... or something more sinister.
This interesting analysis would certainly be the novel’s most famous aspect if it had achieved any degree of fame whatsoever (alas, not so much as a bullet point on Gautier’s Wikipedia page, and the first link to be found on Google is for this very review), and its outmoded emphasis on a specifically Protestant form of rationality dates it in an even more interesting way than the author perhaps intended, allowing his characters’ intelligent discussion over the wisdom of the Ancient Greeks, in spite of their primitive beliefs, to develop a new layer of sediment over time (I’m not meaning to offend any Christians or anything. Well, not much). ‘The Jinx’ is surprisingly ahead of its time in some other areas too, notably including Alicia’s enlightening deconstruction of her own disturbing dream imagery, and while it’s something of a stretch to class it as horror (though Edinburgh Central Library doesn’t think so, happily slapping a skull sticker onto its thin spine), the final chapter is quite ghastly and disconcerting.
Despite the term ‘novelist’ coming several steps down on Gautier’s CV, this book proves that he has a talent for extended writing beyond mere pretty description (which overflows in remarkable painterly detail each time a new character or setting is introduced), and some of the more self-consciously literary scenes (i.e. those drenched in natural and emotional symbolism) even seem quite modern, particularly in Paul’s vivid imaginings of the final day of Pompeii as he wanders the city’s ruins before his duel with the Count. At the same time, the novel’s age and agenda all impede its effect slightly, with several dozen too many allusions and references to works of mythology, art and literature used to clarify the author’s points to his contemporary French audience in varying degrees of pointlessness – I ask you, is it really necessary to dredge up an account of Ulysses’ son Telemachus being thrown into the sea by Minerva in the shape of the wise Mentor in Fénelon’s ‘Télémaque’ just because an insignificant background character has fallen out of a boat?
Of course, another significant barrier to this novel’s reception by an English audience is the fact that the whole thing has been translated from the original French, though the process has clearly been a thorough and careful one by Andrew Brown, Gautier fan and expert (someone has to be, I suppose). Brown provides a lengthy, insightful and incredibly dull introduction applying Gautier’s use of ‘the gaze’ to more recent literary studies of the phenomena, following a more generalised and enjoyable foreword by Gilbert Adair. Being someone who enjoys flouting his self-proclaimed abstinence from mainstream culture and opinion, I can relate to Brown’s obvious enthusiasm for the subject matter – even if it is ever so slightly misguided as the strongest enthusiasms tend to be. Brown’s devotion to conveying the author’s words exactly as intended mean that this is a slightly trying read, with some word choices and multi-comma’d sentences being even longer and more convoluted than mine in this review, if you can conceive of such a thing.
Nevertheless, the reader becomes accustomed to this rather quickly, taking it in their stride as the eccentricity of an old book processed through a modern-day translation, but there were still many instances when I felt Brown was pushing the authenticity a little too far, rather than simply editing things together in a slightly tidier way (an example that particularly struck me from one of the first pages describes “that long line of hills which, from Posillipo to Vesuvius, delineates the marvellous gulf at the head of which Naples reposes like a sea nymph drying herself on the shore after her swim, was starting to show more clearly its violet undulations, and stood out more firmly from the dazzling blue of the sky; already a few white spots, piercing the dark landscape of the fields, betrayed the presence of villas scattered through the countryside.” See what I mean?)
These niggles aside, Gautier’s novel would still provide a satisfying and fairly brief read for anyone partial to nineteenth-century fiction, especially that which features dark or mystical overtones. While I thoroughly enjoyed the author’s detailed word-portraits of each character and setting as a nice deviation from the rushed brevity of modern literature, some people will likely find it tedious and perhaps even indicative that he never should have given up his profession as a painter in the first place (a meeting with Victor Hugo was the source of that decision). Additionally, being well over a hundred years old and from a slightly different culture, there are more than a few unintentionally comical moments in which the author voices his opinions on English and Italian customs and habits for the benefit of his French readers, most being well-intended but others of which are downright cheeky.
Despite the plot’s central female acting as the typical young, beautiful virgin at the centre of a male triangle of ownership and conflict, Alicia comes off rather well, presented as incredibly intelligent and thoughtful despite a tragic devotion to her love, a blight that similarly afflicts her male suitors. And it’s comforting to know that there have always been girls out there who are attracted to men for largely based on their “eccentricity.”
Advantages: An intriguing, long-forgotten tragedy of superstitions in an age of reason.
Disadvantages: Plot is straightforward and predictable for the most part, and descriptions a little indulgent.
H. R. Giger, H. R. Giger Arh+
Budget Biomechanics
Written on 01.09.04
****
The influential Swiss artist H.R. Giger may never escape the Alien albatross hanging from his neck, but even he is able to admit that it was his revolutionary designs for Ridley Scott’s 1979 film that made him something of a household name. Many people who previously had no interest in art suddenly became fascinated by the organic and mysterious surrealism of Giger’s achievements and publications: Taschen’s ‘ARh+’ is an authorised celebration and exploration of Giger’s designs in all forms, interspersed with memories of the artist’s childhood, growth and inspirations.
THE ART
The main selling point of this book is the artwork throughout, all of Giger’s famous pieces and a number of less recognised works of art from his Necronomicon and other works. It’s interesting to see his techniques evolve and improve, from etchings and three-dimensional designs to the sexual imagery that dominates the book. Phallic and vaginal shapes in the most bizarre locations, and in varying degrees of conspicuousness, are combined with scenes of happiness, agony and suffering as well as mechanical imagery. Fans of Giger’s Alien designs will be glad to see this dark biomechanical style extending into much of his best work, although some attempts at diversity work remarkably well.
This book also includes a number of styles from Giger’s early career with which he did not continue: the politically-minded cartoons he produced for a Swiss magazine over atomic danger and some of his models for less timeless films and movies that never made it (the proposed original version of ‘Dune’ for example). Anyone whose experience of Giger is limited would do best to check out his work before purchasing a book like this, as some of these images are not for the faint-hearted. Then again, neither was Alien.
THE BOOK
This product has been designed specifically for those interested in Giger’s influences and a selection of his works, for the casual fan on a budget. The only complaint I have is that it is all quite obviously translated from the original German, making for some strange grammatical choices on occasion, but once Giger’s childhood memories have been read once, it’s primarily the pictures that will get this pulled from the shelf. Some of the passages are very interesting reading though, and all are kept relevant to the pieces of artwork being featured.
Notes on the title, origin, materials and date of each picture are given, either alongside or overleaf if the painting fills a side, which is very helpful to those Giger fans whose desktop background is in need of a change. There are also some helpful index and chronology sections at the end of the book, focussing on Giger’s other achievements.
I DON’T KNOW MUCH ABOUT ART, BUT I KNOW WHAT I LIKE
It’s true, I know very little about art. I call Giger ‘surrealist’ because his work is unusual, clearly my interpretation of what surrealism entails, and more so because I think I heard him described that way once. But I still enjoy his paintings and designs, and these have led me to several other artists such as Beksinski who I predictably enjoy far more than more accessible artists whose books aren’t out-of-print. Art, music, television… I’m sure I have some kind of obscurity-obsessive complex. Good, I can pretend it makes me more artificially interesting.
VERDICT
This obviously isn’t a collection of all of Giger’s work, but an excellent overview of his changing styles. From his wallpaper-on-acid landscapes to terrifyingly vast structures, this is the perfect introduction to Giger with perfect A4 reproductions of his most fascinating paintings and some nice touches that you won’t get in the Necronomicon. A cheap investment that’s flexible in every sense of the word, this was a worthwhile investment of £4.97 worth of Amazon vouchers.
Hardcore Giger or art fans might wish to avoid this book in favour of the artist’s own legacies however. In the same way that a dedicated fan of pornography would wish to invest in videos or adult channels rather than watch documentaries of sex shops on Channel Five, those with a taste for Giger’s stranger eroticism will be more satisfied by one of his big hardbacks.
Advantages: Cheap Giger thrills, Lesser known early work and later classics, Full colour reproductions
Disadvantages: Only a brief overview, Dodgy translation at times, Not to everyone's taste
Written on 23.11.03
*****
"Are You Dave Gorman?" will already be a familiar tale to those who saw "The Dave Gorman Collection" or indeed the stand up comedian's live show. Not widely appealing, but a real treat for fans of alternative statistical-docu-comedy shows in general, such as the Dave Gorman Collection and... Dave Gorman's other shows. This novel, co-written by both the concerned parties, flatmates Dave Gorman and Danny Wallace, still manages to be very interesting and entertaining even if you've seen the series several times already.
"Are You Dave Gorman?" is the hilariously true story of a drunken bet that becomes an obsessive quest across the world. On Danny's birthday, he bets Dave that there aren't "loads" of Dave Gormans in the world, and the next morning they are on a train to Scotland to meet their first DG- a very necessary and much-used shortening of the famous name. While shuffling cards on the train back to London, Danny bets Dave that he can't find 54 Dave Gormans, that's one for every card in the pack including the jokers, little knowing what effect this will have on the next six months of his life.
The fact that this is a completely true story of obsession is what makes it so compelling, as well as the humorous way it is written. Dave and Danny take turns in narrating the adventure, using a bold typeface for the extravangant Dave and a more plain and straightforward font for the often curmudgeonly, tokenly-sensible Danny. This mixed narrative makes it all very funny, as although their views are slightly exaggerated (I hope), they manage to keep the balance of "we're doing something great" and "what the hell are we doing?" perfectly. There is never any feeling of bias either when you read, as both characters- I hesitate to use that word- talk about the effects on their own lives so much that you can relate to them completely. Um, except Dave a bit.
The duo end up travelling around Britain thanks to tip-offs, a complete collection of local phone book 'G' pages and guesswork before venturing to France and romantic Venice. The effects on Dave's bank account are described in depth, especially when Dave admits that it's alright becuase he was using his credit card all the time "and you don't really have to pay anything if you do that, do you?" The serious toll on Danny's relationship with his girlfriend Hanne is also explored as she cannot understand the "guy thing" of having to go through with a bet. These are the reasons that the book is more enjoyable than the TV show, which was more concerned with images and statistics. The book is much more about people: 57 of them to be exact, and it is certainly not a cheap cash-in of the TV series as this is hardly mentioned at all.
Although classed as a Travel book, something which amuses me no end, this is very much for the comedy fan. There are no cheap gags, but there are plenty of plot twists, especially due to Dave's policy that any news of a Dave Gorman must be followed upon... even if it's in America or Israel. The intervention of the press in Norway and some of Danny's deceitful actions towards the end keep it interesting. Which is surprising really as it's just about going to meet pretty ordinary people and taking a photo of them and a beaming Dave! Oh, the version of the book which I have also includes some photos in the middle including every DG snapshot- in case you needed proof- and some shots of the guys in different parts of the world and in various stages of drunkenness.
If anything, this book serves as an inspiration and a warning. It's made me aware of how expensive an obsession can be, but also how much meaning can be given to someone's life for a while if there is an achievable goal to be sought. Once it is all over, Dave and Danny both desire some point to their lives following the "pointless" quest! It allowed them to meet a great many new friends, none of whom they would have met if not for their link with Dave Gorman: yes, his name.
If you think you may enjoy this, you probably will, and vice-versa if you think it sounds boring. I enjoyed reading every page however, and found myself among very good company.
21st Century Dice Man
Written on 05.06.04
****
Define:GOOGLEWHACK [Not bad Google skills for 2004]
Assuming Dave Gorman's tale of obsession, adventure and camaraderie is unfamiliar with you the reader, a clear understanding of the book's title is vital. I shall take it as read that the term 'Adventure' is understood, and the opening words 'Dave Gorman's' clearly references the author and focus of the book, using the possessive apostrophe for its true function for once, so the only obstacle would appear to be 'Googlewhack.'
Googlewhack is not listed in a dictionary, and is certainly not recognised by Microsoft Word's tedious spell-checker. The website www.googlewhack.com can explain it much clearer than I, although essentially it is a reference to the popular and excellent search engine Google. If a Google user types in a pair of words and they only return a single, legitimate result - according to the Googlewhacking rules - then that website is a 'googlewhack.'
But how could a trivial method of making the office hours pass slightly more enjoyably possibly form the basis for a best-selling book and an internationally acclaimed stand up show? A very good question.
BACKGROUND: FAILING TO LEARN THE LESSON
Dave Gorman became something of a household name with his alternative, stat-reality-lecture-comedy show in 2001 in which he invited viewers to follow his meticulously detailed pursuit of fifty-four people who shared his name. Admittedly he was only a household name to those who appreciated his quirky, obsessive style and who spent their late Sunday nights watching BBC 2, but it introduced me to the hilarious and strangely regular man that is Dave Gorman.
Following his obsessive quest to meet his namesakes, something that his flatmate Danny Wallace inspired in the form of a drunken bet, Dave's life returned to something approaching normal. He and Danny went their separate ways and Dave's TV show increased his existing fame on the stand-up circuit. (N.B.: The adventures of Dave and Danny on their quest for Dave Gormans can be found in the book 'Are You Dave Gorman?' in much more detail than is strictly necessary).
Following the success of his first TV series, Dave was soon back on screens with 'Dave Gorman's Important Astrology Experiment,' in which he based his actions over a number of weeks solely on advice given in his astrology readings, incredibly literally, to see whether it would genuinely improve his lifestyle in comparison to the laid-back family life lived by his twin brother over the weeks. This series was produced especially for television, and would not realistically translate into a novel or stage show format.
On New Year's Eve 2002, Dave Gorman allowed himself to accept a bet (under the influence of alcohol once again) that he could not meet ten owners of Googlewhacking websites in a row, having been introduced to the concept when an e-mail informed Dave that his own site, www.davegorman.com, was a Googlewhack. The book opens with Dave groggily waking in Heathrow Airport, finding a plane ticket to Washington D.C. in his pocket.
STYLE
This book is essentially a comedic account of genuine events, earning a 'Travel' classification for its detailed descriptions of the comedian's global exploits - apart from a missing section on his visit to China, which Dave was not permitted to write about, instead including a frustratingly interesting picture of himself being licked by a Chinese man in the central photos section. I'm sure almost every reader would be able to relate to Dave?s fallible nature and obsessive pursuit of quests in a very irresponsible manner, although hopefully very few would be inspired to attempt their own 'adventures.'
This book, even more so than its predecessor, has the ability to reaffirm the reader's view of humanity in general, as there are examples of kindness, care and enjoyment all based on Dave's rather foolhardy and pointless quest. Occasionally laugh-out-loud humour, but told from a very dedicated and likeable perspective. Dave expresses at a number of points his intention to have written a proper novel, a project for which he was given funds and ultimately disregarded once his Googlewhacking got into full swing, and at many points his attempts at a more profound writing style are very obvious. Don't let this put you off though, as he still writes in a fun style and uses the occasional swear word.
Dave Gorman's travels take him all over America to meet a man with a gun and some happily married couples in Seattle and to a Mini car convention in Wales, even granting a life-long desire to travel to Holland and meet a pair of lesbians, who enjoy writing raunchy fan fiction of TV shows.
VERDICT: BATTLE OF THE FOOLISH DRUNKEN BETS
Having read the previous book I eagerly awaited my signed copy from W.H. Smith mail order, and thoroughly enjoyed the read, although in some ways it did disappoint me a little. For a start, it is very similar to 'Are You Dave Gorman?', only less enjoyable for a number of reasons. The earlier examples of such books as Tony Hawks' 'Round Ireland with a Fridge' also makes this less than original.
One of my favourite aspects of 'AYDG?' was the dual narrative it employed, contrasting the exaggerated perspectives of the sensible and realistic Danny with the eccentric and laid-back Dave, and the loss of this device makes this a little less appealing. The complex nature of the mission, based on a series of flow diagrams and the complicated rules of Googlewhacking, also mean it is less easy to understand than the idea of meeting 54 people who share your name.
This is still a very fun read, and I'm sure that the more mature writing style and the less exaggerated, non-character based narrative makes it more genuine and easy to relate to. The inclusion of photographs in both of these books is a bonus, and they do compliment each other in forming an intrusive psychological profile of the rather strange Dave Gorman.
Robert Graves in general
The Duty to Run Mad
Written on 26.05.04
****
Often considered among the finest of the trench poets in the First World War, Robert von Ranke Graves, unlike some of his equally famous contemporaries and close friends such as Wilfred Owen, survived his ordeals in the conflict and lived a long and prolific life as a prominent writer.
Publishing some 120 books in his career, Graves is most commonly associated with his anti-war poetry and his later novel 'I, Claudius,' the historically fictional account of the life of Emperor Claudius in Ancient Rome. My personal experience of Robert Graves extends only to his war poetry and memoirs: the three anthologies written during his time in the trenches, and the more reflective poetry published during his traumatic experiences afterwards. [Not 'in general' then.]
LIFE AND EXPERIENCES
Robert Graves was born in 1895 and attended Oxford University, jovially joining his classmates in signing up to the war in that fateful summer of 1914. Few soldiers, young or experienced, had any idea of the horrific nature of the war, which duly lasted for a far greater length of time than the six months advertised by the Government's friendly but forceful recruitment propaganda.
Graves fought as an Officer, a prestige he did not have to earn due to his high birth, and his family were informed of his apparent death in the Battle of the Somme, 1916. Graves returned to England with permanently damaged lungs and was unable to rejoin the war effort, despite his attempts. He continued to write his poetry, condemning the violent nature of war and the pompous, distanced nature of the Generals and leaders, an aspect of the war that was very serious but which has been brilliantly mocked by artists in the theatrical production 'Oh What a Lovely War' and, to an even greater extent, the BBC's 'Blackadder Goes Forth.'
Medical advances in the field of trauma and shock were still relatively in their infancy during the war, something that is shown in Pat Barker's modern 'Regeneration' trilogy of novels, and it was some time before Graves was diagnosed as having been affected by his traumatic experiences. He was able to continue with his life at home and abroad, becoming an increasingly well-respected writer throughout his life, described by W.H. Auden as England's "greatest living poet." He died in 1985.
THE CONSEQUENCES OF WAR
Robert Graves had an interest in poetry from an early age, and he found it a great aid in coping with his feelings and desires during the darkest times. Having experienced the effects of war firsthand, Graves' poetry was expectedly negative in its views, and its anti-conflict messages and views of the enemy forces as human beings conflicted with the propaganda of the time. The poem 'A Dead Boche' describes Graves' discovery of a decomposing German soldier in necessarily gory detail, and begins his poem with the claim:
"Today I found in Mametz Wood
A certain cure for lust of blood."
With the end of the war in sight in 1918, Graves reflected back on the conflict and its heavy toll with 'Solomon's Seal,' describing the returning soldiers as "won back" by their partners and friends "against furious tides of error And bitter ironies of the self-damned."
Graves knew that he would never fully recover from his war trauma, but was able to look back with a fairly objective mind with his 1938 poem 'Recalling War.' "[War] now assumes the nature-look of time," he observes, and proceeds to put forward his views on the sacrifice of innocent youth, one of the most dominant themes of First World War literature, disturbingly describing the inexperienced soldiers as children playing with "toy-like" machine guns.
The poem ends with the somewhat pessimistic statement, "When learnedly the future we devote To yet more boastful visions of despair." This could be seen as a generalisation of his views of the Government, although Graves may well have forseen the Second World War, which began the following year and led to his voluntary emigration from Europe.
GOODBYE TO ALL THAT
In 1929 Graves, like many other ex-soldiers, published his war experiences in the form of an autobiography. Over the decades, many literary critics and historians have continued to agree that 'Goodbye to All That' is one of the more reliable, honest and insightful accounts of a poet's life, published for specific reasons but not hindered by its political and social messages.
Incorporating letters written by Graves on the Front, army orders, poems by himself and others and the occasional rambling, 'Goodbye to All That' has a very disjointed style that never leaves the reader at ease; whether this was a deliberate attempt by Graves to mimic his own disordered and scattered mind at the time is not completely clear, although he was still suffering from post-traumatic stress at the time the book was written, and had not lost his contempt for all the war had stood for.
Graves notes that the war claimed the lives of "at least one in three of my generation at school." A revised edition of the autobiography was requested and completed in 1957, and readers have noted a number of differences in content, suggesting Graves' own opinion of his mental state at the time of writing.
One of the most famous war novels is Erich Maria Remarque's 'All Quiet on the Western Front,' the novelisation of a German soldier's trench diaries, and this also presents a reliable and often chillingly similar account of fighting and the effects of returning home on leave. There were many memoirs published shortly after the war that have been deemed unreliable and overtly politically motivated, and although the somewhat biased view of the war as horrific can be seen as the popular and modern view, the sterling honesty in Remarque and Graves' books is difficult to dismiss.
Robert Graves' trench poetry will continue to be among the most definitive sentiments against conflict between nations and humans, and although he was not ultimately killed during his service, something which often makes the poetry of Wilfred Owen more poignant, Graves had valid and necessary arguments to put forward over the way in which the war was conducted, including its after-effects on those who survived what the widowed authoress Vera Brittain dubbed "the lost generation."
Richard Herring, Talking Cock
Written on 30.05.04 [And humiliatingly preserved in the "press" archive of Richard's website ever since]
*****
DISCLAIMER
As this book is entirely based on stories about, uses of and views on the spam javelin, I am aware that in many instances in this review I will have to use discreet language; this is made more simple, and hopefully more enjoyable, by the extensive amount of euphemisms Richard provides within his text, including the bald-headed mouse, Jack the Dripper and the Russell the fur-faced chicken. As Dooyoo were quick to honour my product suggestion of this title I will endeavour to provide a review that is light on obscenity, but considering the subject matter (that's penises) I can't make any stiff promises.
THE AUTHOR
Your first impression of a man in his late thirties who writes a show and book about old Spurt Reynolds may be unfavourable, but Richard Herring is a perfectly normal and very funny man whose in-depth research stemmed from an interest in men's feelings about themselves and their place in society in relation to their penises, rather than an interest in looking at loads of willies. (According to the author, many of the disturbing images he subjected himself to will probably scar him for life).
Richard Herring has performed at the Edinburgh Fringe as comedian and playwright for over fifteen years, and his show 'Talking Cock' was performed in a number of venues, and translated into a number of foreign languages, between 2002 and 2004. In the 90s, Richard was best known for his television work as half of the Lee and Herring double act, in which he played the part of Herring, in the shows 'Fist of Fun' and 'This Morning with Richard, Not Judy,' and he was also the primary writer of the sitcom 'Time Gentlemen Please' starring Al Murray.
Talking Cock has been his most successful Edinburgh show, following his earlier instalments such as 2001's 'Christ on a Bike' and 1994's 'Richard Herring is Fat,' and its conversion to book format is his first printed work, something he is unsure whether his parents will be proud of. The comedian/playwright/writer is currently in the process of completing twelve impossible tasks for his new show at Edinburgh in the summer, 'The Twelve Tasks of Hercules Terrace.' He has already run the Marathon and is over halfway through his fifty dates in fifty nights, but his intrusive and very funny daily journal goes into much more detail than I could, over at www.richardherring.com.
A VAGINA MONOLOGUE WITH BALLS
'Talking Cock' is a large format paperback and is the kind of book that it is easy to get the wrong impression of. It's not, as I'm sure many casual browsers in W.H. Smith have mistaken it for, a collection of 'hilarious' knob gags or a load of pictures of naked men, it's much more than that. Although it is that a little bit.
The genesis of the idea, described in the introduction, came when the author was preparing for his performances of 'Christ on a Bike' in 2001, and heard the huge response to the popular anti-masculine show (I hesitate to describe it as 'feminist' although it was really), 'The Vagina Monologues.' One of his female friends told him he should do something similar about the limbless Chihuahua, and once Richard began to think about this, his new show idea was in progress. He felt there was a genuine need to discover, and inform others about, how men genuinely felt about themselves and their manhoods:
"Despite men's constant prick-shtick, we actually say very, very little. And of that very, very little, only a minute proportion of our comments are in any way serious. Can you imagine a man discussing the subject seriously?
'Fellas, can we all just stop singing rugby songs for a moment. I want to talk to you about my ongoing struggle with erectile dysfunction.'
It would make him a laughing stock. Moreover, it would make him a laughing stock, who obviously had a tiny cock."
It's easy to understand the author's motivations in performing and later writing about the issues he chooses to, and the end result is informative, witty, reassuring, disturbing, silly, painful and heartwarming. Although on more than several occasions, Richard Herring has to reiterate that he is not obsessed with cocks.
LAYOUT & STYLE
The 300-page book is divided into twelve sections, all covering different aspects of the sergeant with one blue stripe who loves to stand to attention. All of these are very interesting and written in a very enjoyable way, even the more sombre topics being handled in a positive way. A large part of the Talking Cock stage show was based on results from a questionnaire set up on the show's website, exploring every angle of the dangle that the author considered important to build up a profile. Although the show has been put to rest now, the questionnaire is still open for any interested men and women at www.talkingcock.co.uk.
The results of specific questions provide a foundation for a lot of the chapters, and also lead to a number of side sections littered throughout the book, providing humorous or interesting information that may not have been suited to inclusion in a chapter. This extends to Cock Facts and the occasional Cock Stat at the top or bottom of pages, making for an informal read and a pleasant, temporary diversion.
As mentioned earlier, the humour aspect is fairly continuous throughout the book, but it doesn't make light of the subject matter. The fact that some chapters focus on debatable and sometimes depressing topics such as failure to perform and involuntary circumcision means that people will likely enjoy some chapters more than others - in fact, fans of 'travel humour' authors such as Tony Hawks and Dave Gorman will likely find Richard's detailed tale of his visit to the Iceland Phallological Museum in chapter 8 of particular interest - but it's a great read and a humorous roller coaster ride (probably penis-shaped) from start to finish.
OVERVIEW
The afore-mentioned twelve chapters cover all aspects of the penis story that Richard Herring considers important: [Y... you're not actually going to...]
1. Never Mind the Bol***s: Here's the Sex Pistol! [We now have CHAPTER SUMMARIES, ladies and gentlemen]
This introductory view of the organ in its literal sense (and shape), featuring a definitive update of that insensitive and unimaginative cross section diagram everyone had to learn in school, featuring new names that describe it much more memorably. Results of the website questionnaire also provide some merriment in terms of unusually shaped penises, and Richard draws particular attention to the response that best describes his feelings towards the sex pistol: "I've never seen a usual penis."
2. The History of Mr. Jolly
A historical look at the way different cultures and religions have regarded the penis, saluting the hedonistic and liberal Iron Age Britons for depicting the Cerne Abbas Giant (which you may know as the 'Rude Man' carved into the Dorset hillside, the cover star of this book), and paying special tribute to the Sumerian God Enki who, after spreading his own seed on the ground to create life, proclaimed "let now my penis be praised." A more critical opinion is given to Middle-Age Christianity and its often absurd laws regarding the use of man's manhood, providing a wide sheath of information on the subject.
3. From Tiny Acorns
A very light-hearted chapter concerning men's childhoods, and how this can affect their impressions of what is considered 'right.' Stories of people hiding lego bricks inside their anatomy and parading round in the flesh are given alongside teenage experiences and the author's own (albeit exaggerated) childhoos memories of bathing with his father and being impressed by a noticeable size difference between his member and what appeared to be 'a Cock Ness Monster.'
4. The First Cut is the Deepest
Beginning with a statistic that roughly one in five men (700 million worldwide) undergo a circumcision procedure at some point in their lives, this chapter examines peoples' personal experiences as told in the questionnaire to judge whether such operations are necessary. The general conclusions are that there certainly are advantages and problems on both sides of the toss, and this is handled in a very sensitive and fulfilling manner.
5. Shaking Hands with the Unemployed
In case that euphemism left you wondering, this chapter focuses on what is often called Onanism, or alternatively shaking hands with the Governor of Love. Statistics and some very funny stories are provided, as well as information on how such practices have been viewed over the years by different cultures; there is even an interesting note on the reason Cornflakes were apparently designed to taste so bland when originally introduced, the author suggesting a new advertising slogan of "Kellogg's Corn Flakes. The one thing guaranteed to get you down in the morning." A very enjoyable and harmless practice. I mean chapter.
6. Men Will F*** Mud
One of the killer sections, this has some excellent personal tales from men who have gone to great lengths to get their end away, leaving any female readers who are cautious about their appearance that there is no need to worry; just ask the jelly toilet roll bloke. (Obviously all questionnaire results are anonymous). There are also some statistics on rather unsavoury practices that, try as I might, I could not even mention in this review; you'll have to check them out for yourselves.
7. The Naughty Nazi Salute
Erectile dysfunction, and its opposite, have long been a source of amusement and criticism, despite the fact that such problems are deeply personal and potentially upsetting. As well as judging the equipment and products available to treat such conditions, this chapter also points out that sensitivity and care must always be shown. Very touching.
8. Let Now the Penis Be Praised
Richard takes the readers aside here to discuss his own problems with spending a year researching penises; that would freak anyone out. He needed to find a kindred spirit, and after deciding that Cynthia Plaster-Caster, the woman famous for making plaster casts of rock band members' members, was too motivated by sexual goals (how disappointing), he found himself visiting the Icelandic Phallological Museum to see the largest collection of animal penises in the world, owned and maintained by a man who must at least be a little obsessed with cocks. An infamous womaniser has already donated his penis following his death, so visit at your peril. I'm not going.
9. Prick My Prick: Does it Not Bleed?
"Those of a nervous disposition may like to skip this chapter. Seriously, I mean it." So begins the most psychologically painful chapter, discussing the fragility of the penis and many popular ways for it to be damaged. Special note is given to the famous case of John Wayne Bobbitt (you know, the quite nasty man who some say deserved to have his penis cut off by his wife and thrown from a moving vehicle), as well as the results of the question posed as to whether men would rather lose their eyes or their legs, or their genitals.
10. I Don't Use it as a Rule...
Yes, this is the inevitable chapter and quite a substantial one, concerning that age-old question of whether size is important. Plenty of statistics and personal stories could put even the least secure man at ease, and the ultimate moral is that it's the man attached to it that's the most important - size is certainly no guarantee.
11. Brains in Their Y-Fronts?
This chapter tackles the long-held view by some people that men only think with their John Thomas (or whatever pet name they like to use), and points out that in many cases it is true. Even the author himself admits to situations in which his primal desire to spread his seed as far as possible has overwritten his better judgement, but it also shows that many men can be considerate and caring. Right on, brother.
12. Filling the Unforgiving Minute
A concluding chapter that provides some answers for the questions "how do you feel to be a man?" and "what do you think a man is?" The inclusion of the author's own dream involving penis enlargement is also a very nice addition, as it proves that no matter how satisfied or well-read a man is on statistics and averages, he will always want to be more.
VERDICT
It may be blindingly obvious that I worship at the Church of Richard Herring and have done since his television days, but this is a genuinely enjoyable book that acts as a great gift for any man or woman with a sense of humour, who don't mind reading about willies. There are mixed reviews on sites such as Amazon as to the need for such a book, but most are overwhelmingly positive; after all, most people need to be reassured every once in a while, and combining it with a comedy book makes it a great read that can be easily dipped in and out of at leisure. In any case, I hope this review has provided a clear impression of whether you would really like or loathe this publication.
It would be impossible to hate such an everyman as Richard Herring, even if his tales of desperation and worry during his research for the book do provide you with some inevitable laughs at his expense, but this book takes a completely open perspective on every subject it covers, involving the voices of men and women of varying sexual preferences and races. The warning label on the front stating "Warning: may include knob gags" is a little deceptive, as this is much more than the trashy cash-in it could have been. Funny, interesting and honest, this should surely be taught in schools as opposed to the impersonal perspective given by chapter seven of the science textbook. You know, the chapter it always falls open at.
This book makes men feel proud about their appendage, and while it is obviously geared more towards male readers it never seeks to exclude women in the way 'The Vagina Monologues' ridiculed men. At the end, the author attempts to persuade every male reader to say "I love my cock!", and for their female or male sexual partners to proclaim this when next they encounter it in all its morning glory.
And when I bought it in W.H. Smith, the nice young lady at the till took some time examining the cover and blurb before saying, "interesting book." This one turns heads. [Don't worry, he'll get a girlfriend before the year is out. Somehow.]
Sex and the Nightmare State
Written on 07.04.04
****
The term 'Dystopia' has evolved as a synonym for anti-Utopia; a Utopia referring to a theoretical "perfect society" often portrayed in the science fiction genre. The novels Brave New World, (Aldous Huxley) We (Yevgeny Zamyatin) and Nineteen Eighty-Four (George Orwell) pioneered this sub-genre of a futuristic society that appears Utopian in principle but in which a totalitarian government controls the population, whose freedom and thoughts are inhibited. A Dystopia novel explores the author's nightmare vision of a possible future, in the event of aspects of contemporary society becoming dominant and powerful. The authors' fears and political views can be recognised throughout their novels and related to the author's time and country of origin.
The oppressive and futuristic society of George Orwell's Nineteen Eighty-Four is widely known, with the book becoming one of the most recognised novels of the twentieth century, however Aldous Huxley dealt with similar notions of human oppression, albeit from a different angle, in his 1931 novel Brave New World. This review is admittedly much more an exploration of the issues and devices used to further the plot of Huxley's novel and as such it would serve to spoil the ending for those who are planning to read it. I chose to study this novel, in conjunction with the other two previously noted, for my English Literature comparison of texts, as the idea of a nightmare future has always appealed to me as a form of fiction, however I will certainly rate the book according to its merits also.
A FORDIAN SOCIETY [Oh good, we've reached the point where I break up my reviews into tedious sections. Only a year or two of this to get through]
The society of Brave New World is set in London in the year AF 632, approximately seven hundred years into the future. The World State is a united society that is run by ten World Controllers, while the embryos of the entire population are grown in test tubes in government hatcheries; these predestined embryos are engineered into social classes, ranging from Alpha to Epsilon, and are assigned a lifestyle before they are even born. The community praise 'Ford,' the American businessman famous for the creation of production lines and automobile manufacture which led to the efficient society of the World State, and a clear play on words of 'Lord.' This use of irony shows Huxley's contempt for industrialisation, and his notion of a man believing he is superior to God to the extent that a culture is based around his respect and worship illustrates Huxley's personal disdain for Henry Ford and his ideals.
Children and infants are subjected to conditioning from the repetition of slogans while they sleep and electric shock warnings when expressing an interest in forbidden activities. This ensures that the population have been brought up believing that their lives are perfect, and that they live according to the government's rules. Family, love and imagination have been replaced by efficiency and constant, empty happiness. "Community, Identity, Stability" is the motto of the State, as it has created a world where "everyone belongs to everyone else," ensuring the maximum possible happiness and sexual freedom, while the repeated slogan "everybody's happy now" ensures that the entire population believes this.
The population's entertainment is encouraged through consumer sports such as Obstacle Golf, they are conditioned to love making purchases and to replace broken objects and torn clothing: "ending is better than mending." Their base instincts are also managed by tactile motion pictures known as 'feelies' which always feature a simple plot and a large amount of sexual activity; sexual promiscuity with a number of different partners is also encouraged even from a very young age, long-term relationships being frowned upon due to the danger of family ideas developing. The existence of the drug soma also ensures the happiness of the population as it can provide an escape to a fantasy world for a set amount of time with no health risks; the Director of Hatcheries and Conditioning describes it as "all the advantages of Christianity and alcohol; none of their defects." Soma allows an escape at times when emotions may begin to surface, or when the user is alone and prone to contemplation.
The ultimate goal of the governing body is the creation and maintenance of stability. While Orwell's novel could be seen as a comparison to totalitarian Russia and Nazi Germany leading to forced slavery for a society, Huxley is much more concerned with a society attempting to achieve efficiency at all costs, and the dangers of genetic experimentation to achieve those ends. In his introduction, Huxley explains, "The theme of Brave New World is not the advancement of science as such; it is the advancement of science as it affects human individuals."
While the society created in Brave New World is content to live out the shallow consumer lifestyle created by the government, free of the oppression found in Nineteen Eighty-Four, it is no less a nightmarish vision of the future. Occurring at a later date than Orwell's novel, it depicts a time when the threat of opposition has been all but eliminated by absolute control over the genetics and thought processes of everyone, to the extent that such 'thoughtcrime' as existed in Orwell's novel will never be available to their minds. The government of Brave New World use sex to their advantage in keeping the population in a constant state of happiness in pursuit of hedonism, even encouraging 'erotic play' in children, although conditioning has ensured that love and attachment are no longer associated with the physical act.
ONE-DIMENSIONAL CARICATURES
The protagonist of the novel is John 'the Savage,' a man born outside the Dystopia to residents of the World State; the Director of Hatcheries and Conditioning did not attempt to rescue his then-partner Linda when they were separated in the wilderness. Brought up in a religious society and exposed to such works as Shakespeare, John is appalled by what he sees in London. He feels love for Lenina but is disgusted by her desire to "have" him in emotionless sex, and when crowds of intrigued children are brought in to view his mother's corpse to expose them to death, he loses his patience and attempts to start a revolution. The population are not swayed by this, and see it as another interesting event, eventually tracking John down and forcing him to partake in an orgy. The following day, unable to cope with 'paradise' and his conflicting feelings for Lenina, he hangs himself; Huxley potently illustrates the hopelessness of life in the Brave New World.
The other major character is Bernard Marx, a product of the conditioned society who was subject to a rare human error while being created, leading to his stature and appearance deviating from the norm. As such, he begins to question the lifestyle that he sees around him, confiding in his like-minded friend Helmholtz Watson. Bernard is an Alpha, the most privileged and intelligent social class, and his decision to expose Lenina to the alternate lifestyle experienced by residents of the Reservation is intended to show her that their own lifestyle should be subject to change. However, Bernard's sudden rise to fame and adoration upon returning from the Savage Reservati on with John leads him to forget his original intentions and enjoy the opportunity to have any woman he desires. He is caught off guard when John starts to rebel and eventually exiled to work in Iceland for his part in the disturbance.
Although a less prominent female character, Lenina Crowne is the perfect example of the World State's conditioning. She is an Alpha and adores sexual promiscuity, consumer sports and the feelies, but she is also prone to error and cannot cope with what she sees at the Savage Reservation. Lenina's conditioned child-like mind and manners do not allow her to gain any deeper perceptions of life from her experience, and by the end of the novel she has not shown any progression. Lenina's function seems primarily to demonstrate the extent of the society's control through her inability to advance.
The other characters in Brave New World are not explored with any depth as Huxley writes from a distanced viewpoint. Although John's progression and discovery are detailed, most of the conditioned members of the World State are portrayed as one-dimensional caricatures, reflecting their uncomplicated lives and lack of imaginative thought. Every character is either overtly against, or in favour of, the ideals of the World State. Brave New World takes an objective and distanced view of the events, using scientific terms to explain concepts.
A common theme of Dystopian literature is present in Huxley?s novel. The only threats existing threats towards the 'perfect' society is the protagonist characters attempting to gain their own freedom and salvation for their people, and this is dealt with by the leaders in a way that eliminates the 'X factor' without creating a martyr for their cause.
STYLE
I would recommend Brave New World to anyone who enjoys reading science fiction classics as it is often underrated. It is certainly very dark and overlong in places, but has surprisingly aged very little: the use of personal helicopters, the lack of computers and the overlooking of nuclear power are the only things that date this book, but the themes are still and disturbing today. Since Huxley wrote this novel, the world has been through another World War and the threat of Cold War for decades, although thankfully there do not yet seem to be any serious repercussions of Ford's production methods, apart from a low quality of life for many in poor countries. The book is also very manageable at around 200 pages, and is one that picks up towards the end.
Brave New World is written as a political satire and a view of the future, presented as a distanced account of events. Beginning with a lengthy introduction by one of the characters to the godless, "perfect" society, the main characters and plot are only introduced in the third chapter and are essentially used as Huxley's example of life in his futuristic world.
Advantages: Original and detailed look at a possible future, Has hardly dated, especially in terms of its themes
Disadvantages: Character development is omitted deliberately, which may make this less enjoyable and interesting, Drags on in places
Eric Idle, The Road to Mars
White Face / Red Nose
Written on 27.10.07
***
Eric Idle's 1999 sci-fi comedy novel is an odd assortment of psychoanalysis, cyberpunk spy thriller, social satire and clinical essay on the nature of comedy, in which the respected Python gets some things off his chest and postulates the end of the road for his profession: what if a computer could tell a joke as well as a human?
In truth, there's a little too much going on in 'The Road to Mars' in terms of its shifting style and focus, the most interesting aspect being the background plot of the service android Carlton's determined attempts to understand the profession of his owners, a comedy double-act touring the run-down establishments of the outer solar system in the twenty-fourth century. Carlton secretly observes Alex and Lewis (also known as Muscroft & Ashby) as they behave in a generally childish manner both on- and off-stage, and Idle builds a very interesting, if a little clinical analysis over the course of the novel, as Carlton comes ever closer to understanding the shocking truth that comedy is the fundamental force of the universe, though never quite grasping irony.
Carlton's "research" primarily focuses, quite conveniently, on comics of the late twentieth century, which allows Idle to pay respect and criticism to his peers as well as slag himself off specifically by analysing an obscure television programme named 'Monty Python's Flying Circus,' which, as Carlton observes, the studio audience seems to enjoy for reasons he is unable to grasp: surely it's just silly walks, daft cartoons and men in drag? Many of Idle's (or rather, Carlton's) findings are fairly obvious and well-known, such as the age-old dichotomy between the straight man and funny man, here categorised as White Face and Red Nose archetypes, but his extensive findings on apparently universal psychological truths that comedians felt abandoned as children and now seek attention through their profession are really quite interesting, and of course Idle isn't above viciously criticising himself as a historical figure.
The novel is narrated by a twenty-fifth century human researcher Bill Reynolds, who presents the majority in a detached, omniscient style before chipping in with intrusive but entertaining chapters detailing his own marital troubles and his descent down the slippery slope of greed and the desire for fame, despite having vehemently criticised this in the opening section. Nevertheless, this does add a jarring layer on top of an otherwise fairly straightforward and linear story, and it's difficult to reconcile Reynolds' character with the narrator of the larger pieces who seems to know a little too much about the historical specifics, particularly as many characters are completely isolated for substantial chunks.
It really felt like Idle had come up with this funny idea of a robot trying to get its head around humour as a way to explore his own theories of comedy, and planned out a satisfying arc of increasing delirium for the paranoid android, but didn't know quite how to turn it into a novel. Thus, the more 'primary' plot evolves from the very nice, low-key and slightly depressing travels of Alex and Lewis' show to a fairly unsatisfying action thriller with huge explosions, catastrophes, bad physics and recycled sci-fi ideas presented as novel. I was enjoying the book greatly as a simple account of a double-act's life on the road and was disappointed when the character essentially became pointless background participants to a larger plot that didn't really hold my interest or have anything to do with the earlier chapters, and trying to ignore the car chases and uncomfortable sex scenes, the only theme I really enjoyed as it plodded towards a predictable conclusion were those featuring the ridiculously showbiz Brenda Woolley, an untouchable cultural icon who the mindless masses seem to love simply because it's expected, not really realising how terrible she is until it's too late. Sort of like 'Noel's House Party.'
As a Monty Python fan I obviously have some respect for Eric Idle, though I think it's fair to say that out of that group, despite his determination, pretty much everything he has done since then has been pretty awful (though I've never seen 'The Rutles' so I can't comment on that, but I'm talking about those films he makes based on nothing more than a title or one-line synopsis). 'The Road to Mars' has some nice ideas but is really spoiled by its attempts to become a Hollywood motion picture rather than a more domestic and truthful exploration of the life of a comedian, pointlessly shifted a few centuries into the future - I would have enjoyed this far more. The author clearly knows what he's talking about as he dissects comedy beyond breaking point, so it would have been much nicer to have the realism of plot and character, rather than these two protagonists who end up doing very little in the latter two-thirds of the novel, and whose dialogue is always a little too over-the-top to be believable and human. Even Carlton, for all his cute perseverance, never really escapes comparison to Marvin from Douglas Adams' 'Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy,' with some dialogue taken straight from Star Trek's Data. His intentional resemblance to David Bowie adds some quirkiness that unfortunately doesn't extend to the rest of the plot, and as science fiction aimed at several clashing genres, it falls rather flat.
Those interested in getting Eric Idle's breakdown of comedy in far more detail than is strictly necessary would enjoy much of this book, but if you're reading for that purpose, as I suppose I was, the bulk of plot distractions will simply seem like filler. Carlton's analyses are really quite brilliant and entertaining, going way too far on occasion as he attempts to find a linguistic reason for comedy's metaphors of death (dying on stage, knocking 'em dead, etc.) but other times coming up with some truly insightful findings. It's pretty clear that Idle intended this to be the main focus of the work but wasn't able to stretch it out to 300 pages without adding all this adventure and terrorism stuff, but on the whole it's not a bad read. Just don't expect to be laughing by the end.
Advantages: Some revealing, insightful and downright absurd reflections of comedy from a real veteran.
Disadvantages: The main plot seems like filler, and the characters disappointingly lack realism.
Curmudgeon
Written on 25.11.03
*
I am not a great fan of poetry, and even less a fan of depressing, unfunny and tedious commentaries on British life in the 20th century. It's not surprising that I didn't enjoy reading one of Larkin's most famous anthologies, "the Whitsun Weddings."
The only reason I became exposed to this poet and this collection was through my A-level English Literature, and along with my Louis XIV topic in History it was one of the rare occasions when I've felt pushed to succeed at an examination simply so I can forget all about it for alway. However, Larkin certainly appeals to some people, my English teacher at least, and he certainly has a grasp of the poetic device and of the worse aspects of life. On reading this, one may wonder whether the term 'curmudgeon' was invented with this man in mind; it is a very fun word though.
This collection, which is all I have read or will hopefully read, deals with a number of issues, although the main theme is of love and relationships. on examining it in detail, I discovered that that poems "Love Songs in Age," examining how the youthful hopes and promises of true love were false; the eponymous "Whitsun Weddings," a lengthy criticism of the institution of marriage; "Talking in Bed," noting the boredom of a long-married couple; "Afternoons," the young housewife's unhappiness, and "an Arundel Tomb," examining the effect or existence of eternal love after death. This final poem is the only time Larkin distances himself from his curmudgeonly thoughts, and seems to reflect on his last sense of hope and faith. Perhaps the lifelong headache he seemed to suffer from temporarily vanished, or the youths next door started playing some loud volume music that he liked for a change; this change of tone is unclear, but welcome at the end.
A feature of Larkin's poetry is that he rarely uses devices such as similes and metaphors, although the rare occasions that he does use them remain the most memorable. "Toads Revisited" is a continuation of Larkin's famous "Toads" poem, which criticised the strain of work, and comes to the conclusion that if all your friends are dead and you've got nothing to do, work's not that bad. Another of his more standable poems, "Ambulances," deals with death to the extent that he seems to have a problem with the conformity of it all. Is he having a go at the Grim Reaper this time? This is not a poet I would recommend if you wanted to keep your day cheerful. My personal view, although I'm sure that's been quite dominant throughout, is that Larkin's work is very overrated: I'm not an expert on poetry, although I'm sure the next four years of studying English will lead me to a few more, but there must be poets more worthwhile to study. Larkin isn't even a good example of the techniques used in poetry, and his work is all very similar in style.
Background research on Larkin indicated that he had never married, although he did have a history of a few women. He was also very devoted to his job, and despised things like pollution and falseness in people. Thus it's clear that his stance in these poems is not too far from his stance in real life, it's a little unimaginitive. Much like the book's cover. My German teacher claims to have shared a short ride in a lift with Larkin, before he died of course, and his brief exposure lead him to an unsurprising conclusion:
Miserable git.
Stewart Lee, The Perfect Fool
The Hopi Boy and the Sun
Written on 09.09.04
*****
Stewart Lee’s first novel is complex, entertaining, believable and absurd, following several groups of misfits from very different situations as they search for meaning in their lives, aged members of a sixties acid rock band and the Holy Grail. Ever wondered what would happen when a couple of unsuccessful losers from South London, a former rock legend, a suspected murderess, a Native American Hopi clown and an insane ex-astronaut meet in the arid Arizona plains? You have to read quite far into the book for that bit.
WHAT IS STEWART LEE?
“There is an intellect behind his comedy that only intimidates other comedians, never the audience. He is thoughtful, patient and never goes for easy gags or safe material. He is the cleverest, funniest, most cliché free comedian on the circuit. But he likes jazz” – Ricky Gervais on Stewart Lee
Stewart Lee is humorous and wise, and forms the highest peak of the trinity that is ‘who I will clearly end up being,’ ‘who I would like to be, if I try a bit harder’ and ‘who I could never be.’ He achieved miniscule fame for a limited time as part of the Lee and Herring comedy duo (in which he was Lee opposite Richard Herring’s Herring) responsible for the TV series ‘Fist of Fun’ and ‘This Morning With Richard Not Judy’ and, despite a fifteen year successful career as the self-styled fifth best British stand-up comedian, has earned fame most recently as the director and co-writer of the successful theatrical production ‘Jerry Springer the Opera.’
Lee’s comedy routines often involve drawn-out jokes with punchlines that are brilliant in their predictability, and despite references to wee, poo and farting, which he noted in his most recent Edinburgh run as the funniest thing in the world, his Oxford education and obvious interest in accumulating knowledge always shine through.
It was therefore inevitable that Stewart Lee, who has after all long desired the moon on a stick, would attempt to become a successful author in addition to everything else. Defining success in terms of quality and originality, rather than laying the emphasis on disappointing sales figures, the Perfect Fool is a critically acclaimed and highly enjoyable first novel from the man who accused me of being Norwegian due to my death metal shirts. A second novel is currently in some kind of progress.
STORY
Sid has long regretted his ‘ironic’ decision to join a Dire Straits cover band, along with his friend Danny. Craving a deeper meaning to his existence than reaching their own elastic limit watching illegal bestiality videos and enjoying a sexual relationship with an increasingly dissatisfied girlfriend, Sid decides to track down his acid rock idol Luther Peyote, who reportedly lives in Arizona. Danny, in a Tolkien-style gesture of friendship and reluctance, agrees to accompany him. Meanwhile, the elderly hostel inmate A.R.Y. Lewis doesn’t seem to remember anything about his life, but is somehow convinced that he was an integral part of a shady NASA conspiracy to abandon the Holy Grail in outer space.
Across the ocean, Tracy hastily evacuates her Motel room, leaving yet another male corpse behind her. A sentimental quest to retrieve Catholic comic books published in the seventies proves increasingly difficult now that the police are on her trail; but they have no concept of just how serious her true crime has been…
STYLE
The Perfect Fool is a very funny book, but it isn’t enough to class it as a comedy novel. When SFX magazine reviewed his book, the author seemed delighted that the science fiction elements had finally been recognised. At the risk of sounding offensive, the subject matter of London blokes with an interest in drink, drugs and porn is similar to the books of fellow comedian David Baddiel, but the similarity ends once the more surreal and entertaining elements are introduced. (The first edition publication features Baddiel’s quote “I wish I’d written this book” on the cover. This is beyond that bearded writer).
The book’s events are narrated in the present rather than the past tense, an unusual and interesting decision that nevertheless took me some time to get used to, while the plot twists and revelations are all executed perfectly. The dialogue is believable and easy to relate to, and there are very clear insights into the author’s own world views in the narrative: references to Americans having absolutely no grasp of Irish politics or the geography of the planet Earth (“if you can’t find somewhere on a map, don’t send it free weapons”) will be familiar to fans of Stewart’s stand-up, as will his borderline obsessive love of obscure music that forms the basis of much of this book. Even a couple of Lee and Herring-era riffs permeate the story on occasion, adding further enjoyment when “do you remember the seventies?” and “skellingtons” crop up in dialogue.
The research that has been undertaken with regard to the history of space travel, the legends of the Holy Grail and the ancient culture of the Hop Indians – even to the inclusion of Hopi mythology in-between chapters – add an educational slant to the reading experience that would only be viewed as smug and pretentious by jealous stand-up rivals whose forays into authoring have proved less rewarding.
VERDICT
The Perfect Fool is an excellent and fairly unique book that shows no sign of being second rate or inexperienced. Funny, moving, inspiring and sickening, this is one of the most pleasurable reading experiences I have ever had, and it’s a shame that most casual readers will never have the opportunity to discover this excellent story, unless they are still obsessively devoted to both members of a dissolved nineties comedy duo. The Edinburgh Fringe festival and his dallying with opera production now behind him (for the most part), Stewart Lee will undoubtedly complete his second novel – described thus far only as “the same weird, incomprehensible sh** as the first one” – sometime in the next couple of years.
Advantages: Funny and compelling, Meticulously researched, Great cast of characters
Disadvantages: Not to everyone's taste, Mythology inclusions may put off casual readers, Overlooked
Not a Tame Lion
Written on 29.07.05
****
With a heavy presence in the public consciousness and a new film on the way, C. S. Lewis’ Chronicles of Narnia are proving as timeless as the Christian stories the author wished to elaborate on. There was an animated film, the BBC made four adaptations in the late eighties and it’s even referenced in ‘The Young Ones.’ Enjoyable for adults as well as children, and occasionally for the exact same reasons, these seven books continue to be re-released as each new generation discovers the land of Narnia.
THE CHRONICLES
The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe
Lewis’ first book about Narnia, which he never really intended to expand into a series, but which many are glad he did. The most well-known and widely-adapted of the books it tells the story of four children who enter the magical land of Narnia through their uncle’s wardrobe. There they encounter a frozen forest, the work of an evil witch who entices one of the children to betray his family and prevent the prophecy that will restore the land.
Written in 1950 for an audience of wealthy English Christians, The Lion is an exciting, fantastical and at times violent story that doesn’t talk down to children (as Lewis himself notes in the introduction, there is an age at which adults are allowed to enjoy children’s stories again) but does, at times, feel like it isn’t really going anywhere.
Prince Caspian
Sub-titled ‘The Return to Narnia,’ this is in many ways a simple sequel that sees Narnia a thousand years down the line, secularised and ruled by a dictator. Prince Caspian, real heir to the throne and friend to the old world of Narnia, summons the four children from England through magic, leading to a story that is more violent and cold-hearted than its predecessor, but at times equally captivating.
The Voyage of the Dawn Treader
Edmund and Lucy, the two youngest children to have visitied Narnia, are drawn into a painting of a Narnian sailing vessel along with their bratty cousin Eustance Scrubb. Eustance learns to lighten up along the way, part of which involves being changed into a dragon, while the teenage King Caspian and his crew set sail to the World’s End to find seven lords.
My favourite of the Narnia books when I was a child, it is more a tale of discovery and adventure than battle and honour.
The Silver Chair
Eustance returns to Narnia along with his friend Jill, escaping from bullies at their school and summoned by Aslan with a task. The elderly Caspian’s son has been taken over by a green witch, and the children, along with their Marsh-Wiggle friend Puddleglum, must brave a land of giants and underground caverns to return the Prince before his father’s death.
The Horse and His Boy
The first of the Narnia books not to feature children from England, it is set in the time of ‘Peter the High King’ from the first book and was referred to in The Silver Chair. A tale of returning to the homeland and escaping a dictatorship isn’t too interesting at this point in the Chronicles, but for those hungry for more Narnia this is a nice and fairly enjoyable chronicle.
The Magician’s Nephew
Decades before George Lucas decided it would be neat to show how the events of ‘Star Wars’ came to be, Lewis delves into the history of Narnia. The difference between ‘The Phantom Menace’ and The Magician’s Nephew is that this is a highly entertaining and well thought-out book that ranks among my favourites in the series. (I wonder when those disappointing Star Wars prequels will finally seep out of the public consciousness…)
The Last Battle
We are now presented with the ultimate conclusion: the end of Narnia and the beginning of the next world for its inhabitants. The most vicious and potentially disturbing book of the entire series, it wasn’t received well by some but won the Carnegie prize in 1976. Very much an ending to the series it became a little notorious for its presentation of women and black people, but in truth it’s an enjoyable romp.
A DULL NOTE ON READING SEQUENCE
An endless debate attempts to decide the order in which to read the Chronicles of Narnia, one that would have been settled with Lewis’ own preference of chronological order if not for the fact that this order is a lot less enjoyable. For anyone planning on reading these books either by themselves or to children, I would recommend reading them in the order they were published (the order given above), but some prefer the sort-of chronology that runs:
1. The Magician’s Nephew (1955)
2. The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe (1950)
3. The Horse and His Boy (1954)
4. Price Caspian (1951)
5. The Voyage of the Dawn Treader (1952)
6. The Silver Chair (1953)
7. The Last Battle (1956)
BORN AGAIN
The other endless debate concerns whether Lewis, who converted to Christianity as an adult and wrote extensively on the teachings of the Bible, truly intended these seven books to act as allegories for Biblical events, but despite the author’s own admission that there was no overall plan – as apparently exists in something like J. K. Rowling’s Harry Potter series – most of the books contain recognisable similarities. The same way that Aesop used animals to illustrate morals he believed in, so Lewis uncompromisingly shows his readers the difference between good and evil, the fickle nature of humans and the love and protection that exists for everyone who believes.
In my opinion, the parallels with the Bible are too strong to be ignored: The Magician’s Nephew sees the creation and the entry of evil into the world due to man’s (Diggory’s uncle) search for knowledge, and to top it all there’s even a tree of forbidden fruit. The Last Battle is the other heavily Biblical tale, this time presenting the end of the world and other features of Revelations such as the coming of the antichrist.
Lewis himself has said that Aslan is not Jesus; Jesus was the son of God who took on human form, while Aslan is the son of God in another reality, in the form of a lion. The murder and resurrection of Aslan in the first book continues in Price Caspian, when only the innocent and faithful Lucy can see the lion, and the allegory is pretty much concluded with the presentation of Aslan as a lamb at the climax of Dawn Treader. From then on, he is seen mostly in his own country among the dead, where everything is wonderful and where people are happy forever. ‘The term is over, the holidays have begun.’
Although Prince Caspian seems partly based on Shakespeare’s Hamlet, while Dawn Treader is based on the pagan Ancient Greek tales of adventure, so it can’t all be taken as gospel.
WHICH TO BUY?
There have been many published editions of the Chronicles, but it really doesn’t make much difference which you buy; whichever is easiest on your wallet or looks the best on your shelf. Second-hand bookshops are reliable for these books if you’re looking for a cheap option, although Amazon.co.uk stock several different editions, including ‘adult’ versions: don’t be concerned about this strange new trend, it simply involves the book possessing a different, less interesting cover for adults who are both young and embarrassed at heart.
There have on occasion been boxed sets of all seven books and large volumes containing all seven books in one, but whatever you choose, make sure they include the excellent illustrations by Pauline Baynes.
The BBC released excellent dramatisations of all seven books a few years ago, updating the rather crude and dull audio recordings from the seventies. These are well worth investing in for a different take on the Narnia stories, while the BBC’s low budget but brilliantly memorable adaptations of the first four books are available on collector’s edition DVD.
Advantages: Seven classic children's books, widely available and still enjoyable today
Disadvantages: Anglo-Christian outlook may not be to everyone's taste
The Light at the End of the World
Written on 08.08.06
*****
The third book to take place in C. S. Lewis' mythical realm of Narnia takes readers on a highly enjoyable fantastical seafaring romp to the end of the world. The final book to feature the Pevensie children from 'The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe,' this book introduces their initially-irritable replacement in Eustace Scrubb, and sees the return of King Caspian and the courageous mouse Reepicheep from the previous book.
After the forest battles of the previous two Narnia books, 'The Voyage of the Dawn Treader' provides some excellent relief, and was always my personal favourite of the seven. Beginning fairly abruptly with a brief introduction for Eustace, the three children are sucked into a painting of a ship, and it's all high seas adventure from the onset. Like a seventeenth-century fantasy novel, new lands are discovered with fascinating inhabitants, and the reader is inevitably swept along in the excitement as Caspian and his crew sail headlong where no man has gone before, in search of Caspian's missing father and Aslan's mythical country at the end of the world.
Lewis' imagination at crafting vivid alien vistas and exotic situations is at its best here, and the style would be repeated somewhat in the later 'The Magician's Nephew.' The pace rarely lets up, and every character is featured heavily; a benefit of the marginally reduced cast of children compared to the previous books, a trend that would continue in 'The Silver Chair' and beyond. Eustace's story is perhaps the most prominent in the book, as he evolves from a snobbish atheist to a more accepting and 'enlightened' character in the vein of Edmund and Lucy, with a hint of that difficult transformed-into-a-dragon phase that all children go through. Even the adult Caspian is presented in a positive light, making a first for the series, as he is eternally noble and young at heart. Reepicheep is an easy favourite for children, and it's nice to see how far Edmund has come since the first book (in which he effectively played the role of Judas), in his new role as the eldest of the children.
The Dawn Treader itself is described as a magnificent vessel, and the BBC television series of the early 90s failed to do it justice in the way that the future Disney adaptation inevitably will. The reader really has to use his or her imagination in places to imagine a race of people with mushroom heads, and an entire aquatic civilisation seen from above. As I mentioned in my review of 'The Magician's Nephew,' Lewis wouldn't make a bad science fiction writer; his attention to detail in describing sights of vast scope remind me of Arthur C. Clarke, but the story's tendency to flit from island to island, event to event, is more reminiscent of TV sci-fi.
Lewis' Narnia books are aimed at both entertaining and educating children, both through Christian teachings and secular morals. The plot of 'Dawn Treader' contains no explicit Christian parallel, unlike the lion Aslan's crucifixion and resurrection in the first book, but there is one scene in which Aslan appears in the form of a lamb and refers to "another name" by which the children must learn to know him in their world. Unhindered by overt debts to Christianity, 'Dawn Treader' relies more on depicting heroism, in a far more admirable and less barbaric fashion than the sword battles of other Narnian books, and is perhaps more universal and commendable as a result. The objective of finding the fabled Aslan's country is comparable to the quest for the Holy Grail, or the 'Hero's Journey' narrative style identified by Joseph Campbell.
'The Voyage of the Dawn Treader' can be read independently of the other Narnia books (this was the first one I read as a child), but comes third in the correct reading order, following on a Narnian decade or so after the events of 'Prince Caspian.' Most editions of the book feature a nice illustrated map of the islands encountered on the Dawn Treader's journey, in addition to the usual black-and-white illustrations interspersed in the story, which I find can stifle the imagination after the narrator's eloquent descriptions.
Despite being written in 1952, there isn't anything in the form of a language barrier that should deter modern child readers, although it's clear that Lewis is writing for the privileged classes of his day, perhaps made oblique by the story's starting point in Cambridge. Some expressions and descriptions associated with Eustace smack of archaism, especially in the frequent uses of "bothersome." The travel narrative form is effectively timeless, and the characters act as suitable role models for young readers even today. This will be the best of the films, but I don't suppose I'll ever watch it.
Advantages: Takes the Narnia series in a less violent and more awe-inspiring direction.
Disadvantages: Narrative becomes a little too episodic and pieced together.
C. S. Lewis, The Horse and His Boy
Rock the Tashbaan
Written on 03.08.06
***
One of the more overlooked titles in C. S. Lewis' Chronicles of Narnia series, 'The Horse and His Boy' is a somewhat superfluous addition to the popular children' series. The only book to focus on children native to Narnia rather than our own world, its minimal events and simplistic moral plot seem overly stretched out, in contrast to the more eventful books that precede it.
Ostensibly a popular Narnian folk story, the tale of 'the horse and his boy' is mentioned by name twice in Lewis’ previous book 'The Silver Chair.' Rather than provide an intriguing platform from which 'The Horse and His Boy' could be launched, this name-dropping only jeopardises the story's necessity and credibility, making it something of a story-within-a-story, although admittedly the presence of the Narnian Kings and Queens from 'The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe' towards the end of the book at least validates its authenticity within the Narnian universe.
The fourth book to be written, but the fifth published, this story is something of an eccentricity, and this is only exacerbated by the publishers' choice to position it third in the 'recommended reading order,' due to its chronology. Due to its status as something of a myth, unconnected directly to any of the other books, 'The Horse and His Boy' can be comfortably read in any position after 'The Lion...,' although its retrospective view of the past means it works best when read later in the series, as was intended.
Despite its fairy tale premise, this book is written in a style not dissimilar to the rest of Lewis' Narnia books, the historical attitude perhaps a little reminiscent of the prequel 'The Magician's Nephew.' The narrator sticks close by the main character, a poor boy called Shasta, and his escapades are narrated in a linear fashion. Raised by a father who was not his own in the desert land of Calormene, far south of Narnia, Shasta learns that he is to be sold to a new master, until he learns that his loyal horse Bree has the secret ability to speak. Bree reveals that he hails from Narnia, a land where beasts speak and people live in prosperity and happiness, and the two set off on their journey. On the way they meet a girl called Aravis, whose horse is also Narnian, who is fleeing from her oppressive life as a Calormene noble. The four are forced to travel through the capital city Tashbaan on their way, under the threat of capture.
This is a very different story from the norm in the Narnia series, in both setting and character. For once, the protagonists are not English children exploring a faraway world, but natives involved in their own struggle. Similarly, the action takes place within the mythical realm of Narnia, but in a much different region. Lewis' distinctly Arabian culture of Calormenes is not, as could be argued, portrayed in a racist light (although this proves a little more contestable upon their return as a simplistic, devil-worshipping enemy race in the final book). Rather, the exotic locale provides a nice backdrop for a convincing adventure story, and an effective parallel to the frozen and/or lush forests of Narnia and the rocky northern wastes of the giants in the previous books.
Shasta isn't too different from the usual characters of the series, apart from his lack of well-spoken English platitudes and cultural references. His story evolves nicely, and he fulfils the typical heroic role very well in some memorable scenes against the oppressive adult Calormenes. The horse Bree is also an entertaining character, following in the footsteps of Reepicheep as a convincing and sympathetic talking animal character in the saga. Despite some token bossy exchanges with his boy, there's some intelligent moralising over the use of horses by man, and some nice moments of insecurity when Bree fears that his years away from his civilised homeland will result in him embarrassing himself. It's a shame that after the relatively strong female character in 'The Silver Chair,' Lewis can only give us another disappointing female secondary character here, and even her horse (or should that be the other way round?) pales next to Bree. There are some fun scenes where the two horses play hard to get.
Lewis strived to communicate Christian values with all of the Narnia books, making them enlightening and rewarding for adult readers as much as children in some cases, but Biblical parallels are at their most subtle here. I struggled to find any, but later research indicated that Shasta's story is much like that of Moses. The character's actions are commendable and inspiring regardless of the author's influence, and the characters here are some of the best in the series. The Biblical stuff’s fun to spot, but I find it can cheapen the stories sometimes when shoehorned in as an irrelevant moral at the end, as seems to be the case with Aslan's appearance as a lamb in the third book. Foregoing much of the fantastical, assuming you can accept the idea of talkative steeds, this story is about people. Or rather, animals and their people. Good moral people and corrupt officials who happen to have black skin and turbans.
The language of this book, first published in 1954, shouldn’t provide much of a barrier for young readers. It's a case of eloquence and use of difficult vocabulary rather than archaic style. The lack of human (non-Narnian) child protagonists shouldn't present a problem, but may make this less appealing than the other six books, although there can't be too many children who will relate to the upper-class war-time figures of Peter, Lucy and the others. Shasta is generic enough to associate with, his white skin in a foreign land evidently a device to further this connection with Lewis' target audience, and it's a testament to the author's skill that even the horses are likeable.
Previous Narnia books have been alternately more exciting, more compelling, more endearing and more entertaining, and the same can even be said of those that come after. With 'The Horse and His Boy,' C. S. Lewis does an admirable job crafting a strong, courageous tale that lives up to the owl's hype in 'The Silver Chair,' but is otherwise an expendable piece of the myth. The BBC didn't try to adapt this one, I wonder if Disney will give it a try?
Advantages: High adventure, with some good characters.
Disadvantages: More difficult than relate to, and more of a simple moral tale than the other books.
C. S. Lewis, The Magician's Nephew
The Deplorable Word
Written on 18.07.06
*****
The penultimate book in C. S. Lewis' Chronicles of Narnia series once again travels back in time to relate a story from Narnia's distant past, this time presenting the world's creation and the role that children from Victorian London played in introducing both good and evil to Narnia. 45 years before George Lucas filled in the back-story to Star Wars, Lewis does the same thing to his popular children's literature series that began with the acclaimed 'The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe.' Nowadays classed as the first Narnia book in the ridiculous 'recommended reading order,' The Magician's Nephew succeeds in tying up loose ends, elaborating on familiar events, and creating yet another exciting and interesting fantasy story for younger readers.
I seem to be refer to the other books in the series quite a lot, so to make things easier, here are Lewis' Chronicles in order of publication:
The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe (1950)
Prince Caspian (1951)
The Voyage of the Dawn Treader (1952)
The Silver Chair (1953)
The Horse and His Boy (1954)
The Magician's Nephew (1955)
The Last Battle (1956)
Continuing his trend from the previous three books, Lewis introduces new principal characters rather than relying on established favourites. The move to a smaller cast of two worked well in 'The Silver Chair' and 'The Horse and His Boy,' and is again the case here. The Magician's Nephew is the story of Diggory and his cockney friend Polly, who are deceived into being guinea pigs for Diggory's mad uncle, after his actual guinea pig vanished without a trace. Donning magic rings, Diggory and Polly find themselves in a vast wood with pools leading to other worlds: one is an ancient, dying place ruled by the evil witch Jadis, and another is a dark, lifeless place, until a roaring, singing lion appears and the children witness the dawn of a new world.
(For anyone worried about that guinea pig, it led a happy and fairly satisfying life in the magic wood).
The Magician's Nephew is a great pseudo-science-fiction adventure story for children, and it's perhaps Lewis' experimentation with that genre here that made this one of my favourites of the Narnia series. Where 'The Lion' was a fantastical story full of unexplained mystery and magic, this prequel attempts to rationalise some of the first book's eccentricities, albeit still in a fantastical way. Narnia is no longer the 'country' described in previous books, but to adopt sci-fi jargon, is more of an alternate dimension or distant planet. Jadis' cold, ancient world is presided over by a scientifically accurate red giant sun, and the excellent Wood Between the Worlds conceit serves much the same function as spaceships travelling between solar systems, only on an infinitely smaller scale and in a far more idyllic and green manner.
The dimension-hopping adventures of Diggory and Polly make for an exciting, fast-paced plot, and their discoveries are truly fascinating. My main criticism of this book in comparison with the others is that, in burdening the reader with so many scene changes and plot points and devoting so much attention to the creation of Narnia in the latter half, the characters themselves aren't given a great amount of attention. In presenting the old man of 'The Lion' as a young boy (as we learn this is Diggory's identity at the end), the character ends up seeming inconsequential apart from his link to that earlier, more well-known book, and although Polly is another fairly strong female character in the series, she nevertheless ends up seeming like an inferior clone of Lucy, Jill and the others who have come before her.
Lewis does devote a surprising amount of attention to 'filling in the blanks' of the established Narnia universe, and although this ultimately proves not to be detrimental to the book's quality, it does seem a little too much at times. Mysterious details from the first book that didn't really need an answer are given answers anyway, including the origin of the lamppost, the wardrobe and the presence of humans in Narnia, almost as if Lewis became embarrassed of these details as the series progressed from one enjoyable book to an entire serial. Re-using the same enemy in the form of the later-to-be White Witch even borders on fan fiction territory, but thankfully it's all done tastefully and will hopefully flatter young readers once they start to notice the connections. This is the reason that the recommended reading order of these books should be ignored in favour of reading the stories in the order in which they were published, otherwise the mystery of the earlier books is diluted before they've even begun.
The Biblical allusions are once again strongly present, this time recognisably from the Book of Genesis. The final book published the following year would move right to the other end, and the Book of Revelation. Taking his cues that it was God the Son who created the Earth, from a New Testament (John) reference and Milton's Paradise Lost of which Lewis is one of the most famous scholars, Lewis presents Aslan singing the light, plants and creatures of the world into creation. Previous books have equated Aslan the lion with Christ with varying degrees of subtlety, culminating in his appearance as a lamb at the end of the third book, in which he tells the children that they must learn to know him by the name he goes by in their (our) world.
Here, the parallels with Genesis are more obvious, and young readers who are familiar with the story of Creation, Eden and Noah's Ark could be expected to recognise the parallels. Following on from Milton in the 17th century, Lewis presents his own revision of humanity's temptation, only this time the genders are reversed, and the crisis is averted: Diggory succeeds in obeying Aslan over the White Witch, even though the forbidden fruit has the ability to save his dying mother, however he and Polly are already partly responsible for the presence of this evil in the new world. Such a religious bias may be off-putting to some readers, especially as Lewis confuses the issues somewhat and potentially introduces some unnecessary sexism, but thankfully the first half of the book is free of religious symbolism.
Children always come off well in the Narnia books, and Diggory's conscience and loyalty are inspiring. It's especially interesting to see his innocent and confused reaction to the 'love spell' effect of the Witch's presence, which has a far greater and more intoxicating effect on his foolish uncle. I also enjoyed how the characters and reader are constantly one step ahead of the adults, especially in the discovery that the magic rings are more complex in their function than the one-dimensional view of the mad scientist. Most of the friendly characters are likeable, and the evil ones fittingly despicable and punished.
The story of Narnia's creation didn't really need to be told, but it's nice that it was, and in truth the act of creation itself doesn't consume that much of the story. A problem I had even as a child was in the simplistic illustrations, which I don't think are necessary for fantasy books like this: I remember envisaging the Wood Between the Worlds and Jadis' Hall in far more grandeur than the disappointing sketches that appeared a couple of pages later. Lewis' language borders on the archaic now, but shouldn't pose much of a problem: some dialogue is intentionally old-fashioned due to the setting.
For those reading the Narnia books in publication order, it is a little confusing and even irritating that both the fifth and sixth books take place earlier in the chronology, but with the Carnegie-winning 'The Last Battle,' Lewis returned to the 'present day' and the end of Narnia, offering a nice, if depressing contrast to this book. More concerned with exploration and the nature of the universe than the battles of the other books, 'The Magician's Nephew' is recommended for all young readers who want to be sci-fi geeks when they grow up. Budding Lord of the Rings fans would be better off looking elsewhere in the series.
Advantages: Excellent fantasy/sci-fi story for children, with vivid descriptions and inspiring characters
Disadvantages: Feels a little burdened by the author's Christian morals, and lacks the innocence of earlier books
Renaissance Man
Written on 15.10.03
***
This review is an attempt by myself to turn to a more classical subject than iron maiden and pot noodles [Let me know if you want to read that one - Ed], and as there were no reviews written for this play I decided to try my hand. You can rest assured that all the observations are not taken straight from websites, as I studied this play for AS-level English Literature and my book is full of scribbled notes. [That you got from your teacher, so why is that better than a website?]
This early 17th century play was written for the stage but not performed widely until after the author Christopher Marlowe's death. Its themes of Heaven, Hell and damnation were common to a lot of the plays of the time, but it was also deemed inappropriate and blasphemous in places by the heavily Protestant Elizabethan audience. Still often regarded as blasphemous even today, the attraction about this play for me is the way the main plot and secondary, seemingly-irrelevant storylines can become linked as they are thought about. I was also surprised that something so old could be so easily understandable, and in structure not too dissimilar to modern books and television shows.
The fairly simple plot follows a tripartite structure: first there is contact with the Devil, travel and conjurings and finally regret and damnation. The protagonist, Doctor John Faustus, is the embodiment of a Renaissance scholar; his unsatisfied and inquisitive nature reflects the feelings of many intellectuals in the 'age of exploration,' however Marlowe makes it clear that it is over-ambition that causes Faustus' downfall.
The play begins with Faustus finishing his studies and conjuring the demon Mephastophilis from Hell. Believing himself to be in full control of the situation, Faustus offers his soul for twenty-four years of superhuman powers and abilities, with dreams of becoming as powerful as a god. Once he is granted this exchange however, Faustus very quickly finds himself manipulated by his constant companion Mephastophilis into attacks against the Church. As the years pass, Faustus does not recognise the truth that he has not achieved anything he set out to do; although his name is now widely known, Faustus has resorted to simple conjuring pranks to keep himself amused. As his death grows near, he is visited by an Old Man who tries to persuade him to beg for forgiveness, and Faustus realises that he has made a huge mistake. Conjuring an image of Helen of Troy, Faustus realises that there is no salvation for him and he waits for Lucifer to collect him.
Interspersed between this plot are a number of comedy scenes which mirror Faustus' actions. One of the most interesting aspects of the play is the relevance of characters Robin and Rafe. At first, these two stable workers seem to offer irrelevant comic relief and little in the way of plot advancement, but as the play progressed I realised [i.e. was informed] that their foolish jokes performed with Faustus' book, and base sexual desires, foreshadowed Faustus' deterioration until he is much like them. Faustus' apprentice Wagner also appears at several points in the play, and his character seems to show the corruptible nature of such 'dark magic' as Faustus is using. Marlowe also uses irony a number of times, most notably when the Seven Deadly Sins are paraded before Faustus by Mephastophilis prior to the start of Faustus' contract; by the end of the play, the character has been guilty of all seven.
While the play is certainly not as relevant to a modern audience, for example the scene in which an invisible Faustus plays havoc with the Pope and his dinner guests which would have been greatly enjoyed by the anti-Catholic Elizabethan audience, Doctor Faustus can provide an enjoyable reading experience. The play is not particularly long, and while some scenes are uninteresting there are many more which can prove borderline-funny. The characters are also surprisingly well-written in most places, considering the essential purpose of such characters in Shakespeare and other contemporary plays was to embody a typical trait of some nationality or occupation.
I hesitate to recommend this book, but it certainly has 'classic' status and is widely known, but most of the appeal does come from the fact that this book was written in a very different time for a very different audience. My study of Doctor Faustus has ensured that I am not put off by Medieval and classical English Literature topics at University, as I now welcome this experience. But remember that I have only read this book because I was required to; old English literature is not usually my preferred reading taste.
Advantages: Understandable, Believable characters
Disadvantages: Possibly blasphemous, although this was not the intention, Many phrases/scenes will doubtless require explanation
John Milton, Paradise Lost
All Hell Breaks Loose
Written on 05.06.05
****
John Milton is regarded by many as the last of the classical poets, before the Romantic movement of the late 17th century began the perpetual admiration/rebellion crisis of influence that still exists with the modern obsession with parody and deconstruction. ‘Paradise Lost’ is an epic poem published in ten books in 1667, later amended by the author to a twelve book version in 1674 just prior to his death. It remains one of the most revered and studied poems in the English language, surpassed only by Milton’s immediate precursor William Shakespeare.
Milton was always convinced that he would produce the greatest epic poem of the English language, and despite the attempts of Alfred Lord Tennyson a century later, the lofty and momentous subject matter of ‘Paradise Lost’ – aided by Milton’s rigidly structured blank verse – has ensured the blind puritan’s immortality in the English literary canon.
OF MAN’S FIRST TRESPASS
Inspired by the ancient classical poets Homer and Virgil, Milton had planned to write his great English epic on the greatest English legend, the story of King Arthur. But as he matured, the importance of writing a fundamentally Christian epic, something to rival and even exceed the achievements of the ancient pagan Greeks and Romans, led to him choosing the ultimate subject: God’s creation of the universe, Earth and man, and man’s Fall in Eden.
The twelve books of Paradise Lost expand greatly upon Genesis, the first book of the Bible, featuring a great deal of artistic license in elements that Milton added to increase the drama of the piece. Although Paradise Lost is primarily a poem of discourse and reasoning, Milton begins with a war in heaven between the followers of God and the Rebel Angels led by Satan, the most visually impressive of all the Angels that may or may not have been created by God. Satan is cast down to Chaos, a region below Heaven and the universe, and along with his followers he build Pandemonium, his hellish palace from which he can plan his revenge.
The other protagonists of the play are Adam and Eve, in the sections of Paradise Lost that will be familiar to those brought up as Christians. God made Adam, the first man, in his own image, but once Adam confessed his loneliness and desire for a counterpart of equal intelligence, God created Eve from one of Adam’s ribs. Book 9, the most widely-known book of Milton’s epic, sees Satan, jealous of the humans’ blissful lives in a Paradise they have not earned, possessing a snake and tempting Eve to eat fruit from the Tree of Knowledge, the only fruit forbidden to the humans by God. Once she takes a bite, Eve ‘descends’ into a more recognisably human character, embarrassed by her nudity and feeling fear and jealousy for her actions that she blames on others. Scared to take the blame by herself, and possessive of her beloved Adam, Eve tempts Adam with the fruit, stating: ‘Adam shall share with me in bliss or woe.’
‘But what if God have seen
And Death ensue? Then I shall be no more
And Adam wedded to another Eve’
THE FORTUNATE FALL
Milton’s goal with Paradise Lost is to ‘justify the ways of God to men,’ explaining the reasons for God’s actions in a way in which he feels no other poet would be capable. One of the endless paradoxes of the Bible is that an all-knowing God created fallible, fickle man and woman, and was surprised when they betrayed him. An omnipotent creator would know that his creations would fall, and the closing books of Paradise Lost reflect this:
‘Then the Earth
Shall all be Paradise, far happier place
Than this of Eden, and far happier days’
Adam is shown the future of mankind, up to the sacrifice of Jesus for the world’s sins, implying that this was all part of God’s master plan. After all, if Adam and Eve had not betrayed him, how could be show them humility and forgiveness? Even Satan’s actions could not have gone unnoticed, independent and wily as they seemed, informing Milton’s readers that all the trials and tribulations of life are simply part of a greater goal. Reassuring words for readers in perhaps the most turbulent and dangerous part of England’s history.
The political agenda behind Paradise Lost is also fairly clear when applied to Milton’s time. The civil war in heaven, leading to the punishment of those who dared to try and seize power from an aristocratic leader, mirrors the struggle of Oliver Cromwell and the supporters of democracy, for which many of the ‘traitors’ were later executed on the Restoration of the monarchy. Milton managed to escape this fate thanks to the support of his friend Andrew Marvell, but his limited fortune suffered immensely in reparation payments. The character of Satan can be viewed as Milton without claims that the poet was, as William Blake put it, ‘unconsciously of the Devil’s party,’ but the convincing arguments over the quest for knowledge do indicate that, placed in the position of Eve, Milton would make the same decision. Milton’s Satan is even prepared to make his dismal situation positive: ‘a heav’n of hell, a hell of heav’n.’
RHYME: ‘THE INVENTION OF A BARBAROUS AGE’
The introductory note to the verse of Paradise Lost sees Milton condemning the use of rhyme in poems, especially epic poems, for its constraint on the writer’s message. Rhyme is fun, but in Milton’s view, many works of genius have been hindered by their strict adherence to such structures. Dante’s ‘Divine Comedy,’ the Italian Christian epic to rival Milton, does suffer in places for its rhyme, and this is multiplied by those English translators who find it necessary to work the Italian into rhyming English verse.
Milton’s blank verse still conforms to a ten syllable iambic pentameter, and his elaborate similes and obsessive allusions to other classical works make reading Paradise Lost a difficult task. Even more confusing is his refusal to use words appropriated from other languages without using them in their original meaning. Paradise Lost may remain a book for scholars and students, but its revision of the Fall is fascinating and helps make sense of an otherwise rather simplistic attempt to explain how women are the inferior sex.
‘To thy husband’s will thine shall submit, he over thee shall rule’
Sadly, seventeenth century John Milton was as sexist as the rest of them.
Advantages: Lofty and ambitious English epic, Rewrites the Fall in thoughtful detail, Interesting, human characters
Disadvantages: Somewhat time-bound, Difficult for casual readers, Bogged down in references
Written on 28.08.04
*****
The hit early seventies comedy series Monty Python's Flying Circus is still seen by many fans as a show ahead of our times. They're wrong obviously (it's dead old), but it's a sad fact that few comedy series since have continued to innovate and destroy conventions in the way that the Pythons did, and in a country where recycled trashy sitcoms such as 'My Family' and 'Two Pints of Lager' are released on DVD without even a sign of a full Flying Circus release, fans have to settle for buying the excellent films and reading the zany madcap escapades in Roger Wilmut's reproduced script book of the complete series. Either that or they can buy Sky Digital where Paramount 2 have been repeating the show all year.
WHAT IS MONTY PYTHON? I HAVE NEVER HEARD OF IT
'Monty Python's Flying Circus' was the silly name eventually decided upon for the televisual collaboration of Graham Chapman, John Cleese, Terry Gilliam, Eric Idle, Terry Jones and Michael Palin, and as time passed and the series grew in popularity, this team became collectively known as Monty Python. The show premiered on BBC television on October 5th 1969 and it was largely word of mouth that led to the cult status of the show, as well as its international popularity.
The thirty minute programmes were based on comedy sketches and routines that were often expertly linked together by the use of animation or continuing ideas to make a consummate piece of television, the series being written and performed by the Monty Python team and a number of recurring guest stars, most notably Carol Cleveland, who was used whenever a man in a dress wasn't good enough, and the Fred Tomlinson Singers for those lumberjack- and spam-based signing necessities.
HUMOUR
Most casual viewers will describe the show as "silly" in a positive way, but there's a lot more to it than huge-nosed men and people with tape recorders up their noses. The Pythons delighted in their abstinence from practices such as ending a sketch with a satisfying punchline, and this even led to many of their shows featuring wild use of the opening and closing credits at different points throughout the show. The series also entered the darker comedy realm on a number of occasions, but due to the surprisingly traditional mindset of members such as Cleese, these would mostly be done deliberately over the top to become ironic, and were rarely disturbing or offensive.
THE WORDS
As it states several times, the book 'All the Words' (the collected volumes one and two previously released as 'Just the Words') contains all the words from the forty-five episodes of Flying Circus, without any drawings, photos or blurred screenshots of the performers in the middle for you to look at. These are not the original scripts of the series, something that divides peoples' opinions on this book, but rather a retyped transcript of the completed episodes by dedicated fans with a VCR on hand. The dialogue is all perfectly accurate and complete, while important events and actions are included in italics and parenthesis.
There are also some nice touches to help fans in visualising sketches they haven't previously seen: on the entry of each character, the performer's name is noted (Connie, Terry J, etc.), while the intended effects of actions are described when the words alone might not be enough ("staring transfixed," etc.)
Terry Gilliam's bizarre animations are also described very briefly, but this is mainly a tome for those interested in recapping their favourite Python moments or discovering new ones. Every sketch can be located very easily by page reference. This book does not include any material from the Pythons' other projects such as their hit films, their live shows, their albums and their reunion shows.
FEATURES
This book has been made as useful and to the point as possible, sacrificing pictures and fancy typefaces in favour of transmission dates and an index of sketches. These indexes are very useful for locating popular sketches such as the Dead Parrot, Scott of the Sahara and Mouse Problem, the. The contents page is also very well produced, with each episode given an appropriate title and a quick list of relevant sketches included for each one.
As the two volumes are printed upside down from each other, the indexes of each feature the sketch title in italics to indicate its presence in the other half. There are also a number of blank pages in the centre between the two books, which you could fill with your own Pythonesque sketches or drawings of Eric Idle or something I expect.
VERDICT
Reading the show is clearly something of a poor substitute for seeing it performed, or even hearing it on one of the Pythons' popular records, but this book does have its uses. Young people who enjoy literal sub-Python whimsy can recreate some of the less well-known sketches and pass them off as their own, or simply check whether Ivan the Terrible really did slice a dummy man in two with a sword, or whether that was just a dream you had. After many months I found out it's in episode thirteen.
Many of the sketches can be enjoyed as much just by reading them, as a great deal are based on clever or silly wordplay and basic monologues from the performers. So although 'The Ministry of Silly Walks' is wasted in this format, something like the anagram discussion of 'Blood Devastation Death War and Horror' can be even more enjoyable ("if you're going to split hairs, I'm going to p*** off.")
Some hardcore fans were disappointed that these scripts weren't the originals written for the actors that were ad-libbed and altered right up to the transmission date, but anyone really interested in some of the sketches that never made it can find them quite easily on the internet. SOTCAA has a fairly definitive and long-winded collection at http://web.ukonline.co.uk/sotcaa/python.html
A nice additional feature of the book is that the original scripts, where available, were kept on hand for some additional notes. This allows all of the Pythons' strange character names to be included for their dialogue, even those that were never given names on screen. John Cleese's character in the Dead Parrot sketch is called Mr. Praline.
Monty Python were arguably the most influential and brilliant comedy minds in television history, and this is an easy, cheap and definitive way to enjoy their most influential work. Anyone interested in the Python films can invest in the enjoyable Monty Python and the Holy Grail scriptbook or simply buy the shoddy and unnecessary "special edition" DVDs of Holy Grail and Life of Brian that are exactly the same as the cheap versions but include a wafer ("waffer") thin script book and film cell.
Alan Moore and Jim Baikie, Skizz
Written on 02.12.07
***
Another fondly remembered series from the early bibliography of Alan Moore (at least fondly remembered by people who were born at least a decade earlier than I was, lucky gets), 'Skizz' is one of the major limited series he wrote for London-based sci-fi comic 2000AD before really hitting his stride with more ambitious projects, re-inventing the mature comic format and sodding off to America. This twenty-three part saga, originally published as five-page parts of a weekly serial, was primarily demanded of the writer by the comic's editor to be an unapologetic and shameless cash-in on the popularity still riding from Steven Spielberg's blockbuster 'E.T.', released the previous year. Moore's take on the tale chronicles the sympathetic struggle of a funny-looking alien who had the rotten luck to crash-land on a surprisingly aggressive, hellish planet populated by the brutish descendants of apes. We finally really did it - you maniacs! God damn you all to hell! Spaghetti Junction twirls across the skyline and we realise it was Birmingham all along.
Moore knows full well that it's a bit cheap to make a straight E.T. rip-off, and makes sure to explicitly reference that film in dialogue, along with other alien-on-Earth clichés, to prevent himself from slipping into lazy parody. Although the restrictions of deadline, format and target audience keep this from reaching the artistic heights of his later 'V for Vendetta' and the numerous major successes that followed, or even the more modest achievements of his later, more liberated 2000AD series 'The Ballad of Halo Jones,' Moore's talent is still strongly evident in the interesting characters, dialogue and later elements of the plot, even if the whole endeavour does feel disappointingly pedestrian and family-friendly compared to the mad stuff he was writing at the time for Sounds magazine. The story of Skizz is the story of E.T., but slightly different - set in Brum of the early eighties against a subtle background of recession, with an intrepid cast of unlikely, unemployable heroes. They may not have a flying bike, but they have a minivan and they still have their pride.
If E.T. was largely about the divide between adventurous, loving childhood and cynical, paranoid adulthood (I actually can't remember, I haven't seen it since I was about four), 'Skizz' replicates this without much embellishment, ageing the main character to fifteen-year-old punk Roxanne and adding an irritatingly stereotypical arch villain in the form of Jan Van Owen, whose presence (and strange German accent) only serve to undermine the serious messages as the captured alien is subjected to testing and forced to reveal its non-existent violent agenda. Upon crashing outside Birmingham at night-time, Skizz (real name Interpreter Zhcchz of the Tau-Ceti Imperium) stumbles into its busy, crowded centre in a daze brought about by Earth's unusually low gravity and high concentration of oxygen, and witnessing punks engaged in a street brawl, forms his first impression of the human race. The question the reader is invited to ask is, was this just an unfortunate stroke of bad luck in terms of keeping up appearances, or was this incident of human conflict a more honest, unadulterated depiction of the truth behind our species' diplomatic veneer? It's fortunate that the shed he finally selects as shelter is owned by the family of the more accepting Roxy, whose parents are spending the weekend at Scarborough, and whose startled reaction of disbelief is tempered by her knowledge that this is clearly just a dream. A dream that seems to be lasting for quite a long time, even after she wakes up.
The larger plot suffers a little from this being a weekly serial composed of relatively short episodes that need to be self-contained to some extent, to prevent casual readers from feeling too alienated. There are some oversights as cliff-hanger endings from the previous week occasionally fail to be really addressed in the next, or the time span between instalments is assumed to be longer, particularly as Skizz first enters Roxy's care and learns to adapt to his new environment, which seems to be over far too quickly on the page for her to develop the attachment and devotion she displays through the rest of the story. For the most part, the deadlines don't affect the quality, and Moore's script, though naturally evolving to some extent with each issue rather than being set in stone from the start, features the level of consistency and pay-off to earlier set-ups that would be expected of a substantial serial such as this. Characters are consistent and entertaining, particularly Roxy's adult friends Loz and Cornelius who prove their worth, ingenuity and brute strength when required, and it's ensured that everyone will be rooting for the innocent, helpless Skizz to escape from the mad German's clichéd clutches.
I'd say that it's still primarily a story for younger readers (I'm thinking more the teenage audience, often stupidly classified as 'young adults'), considering its status as a beefed-up (and Brummed-up) E.T., but as ever, Moore makes things interesting for a wider audience. His stories for 2000AD usually tried to avoid the comic's trademark space wars and macho metal violence, and this is a great example of a sci-fi story based around human themes and interaction. Even the necessary technobabble in the opening crash sequence seems noticeably tongue-in-cheek in its excess, inaugurating yet another arbitrary lexicon of alien gobbledygook for the 2000AD multiverse, and the usual plot clichés are all dismissed during the alien's interrogation: his ship "just happened" to crash on Earth because he naturally directed its failing systems to find the nearest planet capable of supporting life, and he picks up the English language with speed due to his job as an Interpreter. Despite the significant drawback of learning it from Brummies. (I'm only joking, though I have to admit to getting an enhanced level of amusement from taking the time to imagine all of the characters speaking their lines in the quite frankly hilarious dialect of that great city).
I've gone over the top in praising Alan Moore without even mentioning the excellent art of Jim Baikie, which is striking in the publication's customary black-and-white format, and fulfils the requirement of rendering humans and aliens with the same degree of skill as the natural and industrial backdrops. Apart from some gratuitously indulgent double-page spreads at the most dramatic bits, which are ace, Baikie's most impressive feat comes in defamiliarising the modern structures we take for granted through the eyes of an alien who really is very alien; Baikie's electrical pylons and cooling towers really do look like "horrifying monuments." Like 'Halo Jones,' and I presume, much of the 2000AD canon, this is a series I can't imagine looking better in colour as the shading is enough. Anyway, the front cover shows that Skizz is sort of brown, so you don't have to read the whole book in tense frustration before that is revealed (for some reason he looks purple on DC's re-issue, but that might be the light).
Baikie went on to both write and illustrate a further two series of 'Skizz' for 2000AD in the early nineties, but trade paperbacks seem to focus solely (and thus I assume, wisely) on the original written by Moore, coming in at just over a hundred, nicely thick, black-and-white pages and retailing around the £10 mark, though probably a bit more expensive today. The complete series is presented back-to-back with only the unavoidably tell-tale 'Next Prog:', title bubble and repeated writing/art credits seeming amiss in this format, and the book is kick-started with a three-page 'The Making of Skizz' from the 2000AD annual that came out that year, a fair substitute for a more recent, original introduction by Moore or Baikie, and one that follows the comic's recurring joke of casting its production team as androids, keeping the whole thing light-hearted and semi-truthful to the point of intrigue. The only real flaw, that has gone uncorrected no matter how many times this is released, is the glaring error by letterer Tony Jacob in which he presumably wrote the wrong species of marsupial into a speech bubble that was later amended to 'wallabies' with an oblong sticker that failed to be masked by the photocopy. It's these sorts of unprofessional errors and rushed-to-deadline scripts that make me so fond of the humble early work of (later) legendary writers, and I'm sure the various companies licensed to reprint 2000AD material are similarly glad that the opportunity presented itself.
Advantages: An entertaining, Brummed-up version of Spielberg's heart-warming film, with more explosions.
Disadvantages: Short, a little inconsistent and unadventurous.
Overture
Written on 29.09.07
****
When a renowned writer has a number of huge successes behind them, it’s always interesting to go back and view their earlier stuff, and it’s especially satisfying to find out that their early work was actually really good. ‘The Ballad of Halo Jones’ was Alan Moore’s first prominent, long-running series for the English comic publication ‘2000AD’ following several years’ worth of mostly comedic one-off stories, most memorably featuring the extraterrestrial students D.R. & Quinch, and the double-decker-brained Abelard Snazz. Created and produced in collaboration with artist Ian Gibson, Halo Jones was envisioned as something of an antidote to the usual space age violence of the publication encapsulated by its most famous figure Judge Dredd, by focusing on an ordinary character having to cope with life in a harsh, dystopian future. Perhaps most strikingly, Halo was a girl, as Moore strove to diversify 2000AD beyond being a mere boys’ comic and to give something back to its surprising female following. And also, as he notes in this volume, because Gibson drew girls really well.
This first of three collections published by Titan reprints the first ten-part story that introduces Halo’s origins, fittingly in a floating district shaped like a hoop, and provides her motivations for leaving the Earth behind and heading out to space as a lowly stewardess to face whatever the rest of the stories will throw at her. The stories were originally printed as mere five-page episodes in each weekly issue of the comic, making the first few parts rather disappointingly brief and inconsequential as they explore self-contained scenes, but after this the narrative becomes fairly continuous as Moore and Gibson depict Halo and Rodice’s eventful shopping trip and their ill-fated return home. At only fifty-five pages, plus a few extras at the end, this is a lightweight and easily read paperback that has since been incorporated into larger complete collections of all three stories, since it’s been apparent for about twenty years now that Moore won’t be writing another.
‘Halo Jones’ is set in a distant future, precise and concise details of which are withheld by Moore to essentially drop readers in at the deep end and try to sort it out for themselves. The world is very effectively explored from the perspective of the main characters, all young women who share a dwelling together with a robotic dog for companionship and protection, and by denying readers an easy introductory paragraph to explain how everything works, the reading and observation process becomes more demanding and enjoyable, as casual lines of dialogue or details in the artwork build up to create quite a fair overview of Halo’s world, or at least as much as readers need to know. Some of these revelations are more transparent than others, but some, particularly those concerning the reptile-like aliens who seem to cohabit the Hoop with humans, will only really be revealed through repeated readings, if at all.
This edition of the collection unfortunately destroys this sense of mystery to a large extent by including just such an introductory page that explains some of these things away through the conceit of a promotional advertisement for life on the Hoop, but thankfully it was left until the back pages after the story had finished, and it did contain some points that I was surprised I hadn’t noticed, particularly the disproportionate number of females living in the Hoop and the number of limbs on a Proximan. Moore alienates readers even further with a very nice system of slang and futuristic language similar in function to that of Anthony Burgess’ ‘A Clockwork Orange,’ which he claims in his introduction (also at the end of the book so as not to spoil things) is a genuine, workable language system developed by Gibson years earlier for fun. As with Burgess’ and most other fictional slangs, it’s usually clear what characters are talking about, but it will take until several issues in that some of the earlier dialogue will actually make any sort of sense in context.
Alan Moore is widely praised as the finest comic writer of all time, and although this more straightforward and consciously domestic plot lacks the multi-layered extravagance of something like ‘Watchmen,’ it’s very clear that both he and Gibson are enjoying working on a project that defies convention. His dialogue is flawless as ever, once readers get accustomed to its eccentricities, and the characters are all highly distinctive and progress excellently as the story evolves. Halo’s house/pod-mate Rodice takes charge of much of the action early on, proving herself to be quite feisty and sarcastic with a knack for cracking puns, but when she gets in out of her depth, whether it’s being exposed to the unfamiliar vastness of the outside world with its open skies, or to the consequences of a death in the adoptive family, it’s time for Halo to take the spotlight and prove what she’s capable of becoming, despite her modest background and earlier fears. The robotic dog Toby is a very nice addition, bringing a male presence to balance out all that oestrogen without veering too far into macho territory (he is only a dog, after all), and he has a great antagonistic relationship with Rodice, having a similarly sarcastic sense of humour.
There’s no real sense of an enemy force or larger dramatic plot as of yet, though the ominous news reports of a military build-up in the Tarantula nebula and the unexplained state of humankind’s relationship with the Proximans (and any further, as-yet unseen races that might be out there, such as the oft-mentioned Cetaceans) are perhaps awaiting Halo Jones in books two and three. Indeed, fans of 2000AD’s usual action-oriented sci-fi may have been disappointed with what is essentially an extended ten-part prologue of build-up, but those people would be missing the point; while it’s regrettable that Moore wasn’t able to get a satisfactory deal with the publishers that would have allowed him to produce more Halo Jones stories in his intended saga of numerous books (a few more than three, at least), making this introductory book more prominent and focal that it was intended to be, I wouldn’t be surprised if it turns out to be my favourite of the lot precisely for that focus on everyday life rather than adventure. I’ll get back to you on that in a couple of weeks.
As with all my favourite work from Alan Moore, the depressing situation of the slums for the unemployed is balanced out by a large smattering of ironic humour, leading to an alternative, propagandised description of the Hoop as a haven for ‘increased leisure citizens,’ whose generously provided habitat seems to double up as a convenient collector of tidal energy that’s not so convenient for the Hoop dwellers themselves. Moore uses the futuristic setting to comment on present-day concerns like all good sci-fi, with plenty of digs at unreasonable concerns over fashion, including a preference for spherical weapons this season over pointy ones, and an anticlimactic scene in which Halo’s plan to leave the Hoop behind and head boldly into pastures new requires extensive paperwork, reminiscent of Terry Gilliam’s ‘Brazil.’ There’s also a very interesting take on the dividing nature of popular music, with an underground group of violent ‘Drummers’ being confined to the Hoop, and frequently spacing out to the music they can evidently access through a chip inserted into their shaven heads. Perhaps most glaringly comical of all is Rodice’s arsenal of ‘zenades,’ grenades that unleash positive energy waves that send the victim into a gibbering new-age philosophical mode.
Of course, Alan Moore’s comics would only be readable if the art was up to scratch, and Ian Gibson has an excellent style that’s perfectly suited to just this type of story (and, according to Moore, its defining gender). Originally produced on a hurried weekly schedule for a comic that sold for ‘22p Earth Money,’ the art is naturally in un-shaded black and white, and while this makes some of the more detailed panels a little more difficult and time-consuming to properly absorb, the reader/observer soon gets accustomed to the visual style of the depressing Hoop environment, with its curving, artery-like hallways and artificial gardens. Gibson’s characters are all drawn with some quite drastic angles ensuring that he retains his credentials as a slightly edgy artist, and it’s true that he draws really good women, rather than the customary huge-bosomed Valkyrie warrioresses, huge-bosomed superheroes and huge-bosomed damsels-in-distress more associated with comics like this. They also have quite cute big eyes, and his renditions of Toby appear satisfyingly world-weary.
Advantages: Excellently realised futuristic setting encourages the reader's total immersion.
Disadvantages: Slow pace, lack of traditional comic action and alienating local jargon will deter casual readers.
Intermezzo
Written on 06.10.07
***
Alan Moore reveals in his introduction to the second Book of 'The Ballad of Halo Jones' that the general response of '2000AD' readers to the first serialised story was lukewarm at best, and the sequel had none of the inevitability of anything Moore churns out today (to a consistently high standard, admittedly). Moore's eighteen-year-old female protagonist inhabited a bleak and confusing fiftieth century world where a single shopping trip could lead to tragedy and even death, and her decision to escape the hopeless planet Earth as a crew member of the luxury liner Clara Pandy presented a hope for drastic changes from those who found the first story alienating or dull, and were awaiting Halo's transformation into Judy Dredd: Space Warrior Whore or something similarly backwards-looking.
Fortunately we're dealing with Alan Moore, a follower of Glycon the hairy snake god glove puppet; a writer who is renowned for sticking to his strong principles even when they fly headlong into the face of public opinion. He admits without shame in his introduction that he was happy to go along with IPC Magazine's demands of more action and less futuristic newspeak, but only because these could be fit nicely into the story he and artist Ian Gibson had already outlined. Consequently, Book 2 of Halo Jones, despite being set almost entirely aboard an uneventful luxury liner on an intermediary journey, was received with greater warmth by comic readers, and Moore didn't have to sell out to win them over. There's always one annoying purist though, isn't there? The irritating reader who thinks he or she (don't laugh at the notion, Halo Jones supposedly attracted a fair few girls to '2000AD') is on a more artistic plain than the common reader, and much preferred what the creators were doing before they were forced to make changes for the better. Unfortunately, I happen to be that person this time... as well as most other times to be honest.
Book 2 of 'The Ballad' is set out similarly to the first, reprinting the ten five-page comics, but this time accompanied by an extra 'prologue' issue at the start to bring new readers up to speed. It's a good idea, and by introducing the events from a perspective that is even further detached from our own - namely a University or school lecture a further 1400 years after Halo that focuses on her as an "obscure historical figure" - the narration through dialogue is conveniently permitted to explain certain aspects of Halo's contemporary society and universe, straightforward explanations that were sadistically denied to readers of the first book. This first issue is fairly inconsequential, especially for fans already familiar with the preceding events, and it must stand out quite oddly when appearing a third of the way through the complete collected edition, and by spoiling some of the mystery it takes away what I found to be one of the most satisfying aspects of the first book's reading experience. It's also never a good thing when a writer has to expressly state the point of a character - in this case, the fact that Halo was a completely ordinary human being who just happened to find herself in these as-yet unexplained situations that "could have been anybody." Now that the lowest common denominator has been catered for, the story can begin in earnest, and it is indeed an entirely non-confusing, enjoyable tale with some cracking action scenes.
As a ten-part story, Book 2 is handled similarly to the earlier parts of the first book, which would spend each five-page episode telling of a single event. Most of these parts are separated by a space of at least a month, stated in the opening panel, in an effort to advance the story through a whole year to conclude with Halo's promised rendezvous with her friend Rodice, though some of the more eventful days receive two to three issues to flesh them out further. There's a stronger sense of overarching and building plot lines across all of the segments which lends it well to repeated readings, with some of the larger galactic concerns expanding on the subtle hints dropped in the first book and promising some monumental things for Halo’s future. But that's after she's completed this first year's tour of duty as a lowly stewardess on a ship for the rich and secretive, where nothing interesting can happen... right? An early terrorist threat from members of the Tarantulan Emancipation Army in part two is dealt with fairly swiftly by Halo's violent robotic dog Toby, but this fairly arbitrary action scene (important though it is in explaining more details of the shady Tarantulan situation) is chiefly important for helping to set up the book's most devastating and exciting fight sequence spanning two later issues, complete with a killer twist that readers like me will probably feel stupid for not having seen coming, despite a real lack of evidence towards that end.
Halo and her dog are the only characters to transfer to this second story in a major fashion, and most of the new faces are much better developed than those of the first, excluding its power trio of Halo, Rodice and aforementioned dog. Halo's roommate Toy is amusing to observe as she indulges in excessive muscle toning over the course of the year, though a couple of her predictable criticisms of the male species represent the only real weak points of Moore's dialogue. Male characters actually begin to overtake females in terms of number in contrast to the female dominance of the Hoop in Book 1, but it's perhaps an intentional joke on Moore's part that all of them, at least the humans, are portrayed as either irritating, odd or otherwise stupid. Halo forms a strong friendship with the ship's Cetacean navigator Kititirik Tikrikitit, which even seems to border on romantic (a woman and a dolphin - even Alan Moore wouldn't write that, surely?), and although the character's speech is entirely unintelligible to readers, the concept behind his function is rather interesting, even if it seems like a direct rip-off of Frank Herbert's Guild Navigators in 'Dune.'
Special mention has to go to Halo's other roommate, a tragic figure who goes unnamed in all of its appearances (though it suggests 'the Glyph,' which appears to have stuck according to a poster at the back of the book in which a sculptor is unable to remember its name past the initial 'G'), and this character receives the bulk of an entire issue devoted to its rather sad life story, before involving itself in the main plot. An insecure victim of numerous total body remoulds (like a sex change, but more holistically severe), the Glyph travels through the universe without being seen and very rarely noticed, delivering the upsetting but also quite amusing explanation, "my personality had been completely erased. That's why I'm so boring." Moore points to the character's popularity with readers as the main reason for the second book's comparative success, and it does add a nice bit of sympathetic human charm to the otherwise nasty centre of the tale.
While I didn't enjoy the odd clashing of action with tedium in Book 2 as much as the more focused non-events of its predecessor, it was nice to see an entirely different perspective on Moore and Gibson's fiftieth century, and the new characters are all very entertaining. Oddly, despite Toy's considerable strength, this story seems less progressively feminist than its premise would indicate, as Halo is reduced to a damsel in distress on two occasions, and is forced to wear a very tight and revealing uniform while on duty - though this is clearly a satirical point in itself. It's a little strange to see the Hoop slang almost completely eradicate itself from her system so quickly, though it's believable that this was indeed a mere local dialect of the slums that wouldn't be found in the more privileged environments. It's also very easy to empathise with Halo's loneliness in the scene when she replays Toby's memories and the reader is treated to a reprise of dialogue from the first book, when her friends were still close at hand, and before tragedy had stricken her household. The character is coming along nicely, and it will be interesting to see the next phase of her "ordinary" life in the third, final book.
Ian Gibson's art is as strong as it was in the first book, as he is yet again called upon to design an entirely new, inhuman setting, this time involving multiple areas of a space-faring luxury liner, and his renditions of familiar areas such as Halo's quarters and the main dining lounge and bar area are both believable and intelligently futuristic, reminding me of 'Red Dwarf' despite that series coming several years later. In fact, I realise that I imagined the general colour scheme of the ship in this black and white book to be in shades of red, despite a lack of evidence either way. Come to think of it, I envisioned Toby to be that colour in the first book too, before I reviewed its cover afterwards and was hit by a disappointing gunmetal grey. Perhaps my mind's eye simply sees all fictional worlds through blood-stained spectacles.
Advantages: More exciting than the first book, due to popular demand.
Disadvantages: Pressure from above interferes with Alan Moore's creative vision.
Cadence
Written on 13.10.07
****
The third story in the saga of 'ordinary' 50th century space adventurer Halo Jones was never intended to be the last, but its open ending feels like a satisfying conclusion of the character's early life that really could go anywhere, though writer Alan Moore has failed to betray his principles and write a sequel for over twenty years (and to be fair and understating, he has been concentrating on a couple of projects in the meantime). 2000AD publishers IPC Media, whose comic hosted the series in its original five-page weekly form, continued to add irritating pressure and unrealistic guidelines for Moore's increasingly popular story, and to his credit Moore once again reached a compromise that didn't impede on the quality of the finished product, even if the greedy and unreasonable attitude of the publishers effectively put an end to the series and saw Moore jump channel to the American market, with which he would become equally disillusioned in due time.
While the action scenes of the intermediary Book 2 felt somewhat superfluous, never really hiding the fact that their inclusion was due to publishing pressure, Book 3 very naturally finds the series moving into the popular genre of full-blown futuristic war, providing readers with Moore's self-described "slightly different" take on the subject. The third 'book' was extended from the previous ten strips to fifteen, a compromise on the publishers' preferred twenty, and is all the better for the extended focus and added depth this provides. Book 3 is almost undoubtedly the best of the three books (though I still enjoy the small-scale domesticity of the first book as a nice contrast), with the plot reaching its height, long-running loose threads being tied up and exploding all over the place, and a great step up in the quality of Ian Gibson's art, which even the artist felt was a little rushed and half-hearted in the preceding offering. Moore and Gibson learn from their earlier successes and failures and unleash a horrific, action-packed and deeply personal story that manages to cater for even the 2000AD readership's lowest common denominator; the carnage-hungry adolescent.
Where the previous two collections published the same year by Titan featured cover art from Gibson depicting Halo in relevant civilian attire and kinky stewardess gear respectively, the third promises some long-awaited action heroine carnage and shows Halo armed with a massive space gun. True to form, there is a substantial focus on war in this story that makes clear parallels to the American invasion of Vietnam by keeping all the fiftieth century technology distinctly 1970s at its foundations - but being able to hover, and stuff like that. Gibson renders everything to look particularly menacing and almost alive, from the initial recruitment 'Glory Barge' swallowing Halo into its maw to the great-looking gravity suits required to survive on Moab, which resemble overgrown frogs from a distance and are pretty unique. The story follows a fairly standard and predictable course of events for a war story told from a deeply personal perspective, leaving several issues at the end for the necessary moralising analysis on the futility and inhumanity of all conflict and its personal effects on the conscience, set up by some telling sarcasm in the earlier sections where Halo despairs at her new career path but figures, "things could be worse - at least it's a job."
A prologue (labelled as 'Part 0') again opens the story, but this time fills readers in on Halo's actions over a ten-year period since the second book, assuming that everyone is already familiar with who she is, or at least doesn't require a patronising and unnecessary introduction to that end, as was provided at the start of Book 2. Although it flashes past, this manages to be one of the more interesting parts of the story for the sheer amount of information and ideas it packs in, from the bleak desolation of Pwuc at the figurative rear-end of the universe where scarce jobs are allocated according to a lottery, to the hideous and fascinating self-preservation measures taken by the trees of Vescue that form screaming human faces in their bark and emit a natural howl upon destruction as a successful biological deterrent against tree fellers, a career that Halo, with her ever-developing conscience, was only able to hold down for three days . While Moore feels obligated to spell out his themes in so many words without the unpopular subtlety of the first book - namely, "she'd escaped the Hoop to find a bigger prison waiting outside" - the scene is painted fantastically with words, and just as impressively with the pencils and inks of Ian Gibson whose much greater use of shadows here adds a distinctly darker tone to this book than has been found previously, while also making it a black and white success that for the first time would be spoiled by colour, rather than improved.
The tale begins in earnest when the army's recruitment barge arrives at Halo's latest hell-hole to find willing/desperate recruits for the continuing war in the Tarantula Nebula, where she is reunited with her former roomie Toy and is enlisted into a trainee troupe of all-new characters, less ridiculous and more compelling than those of the previous book. The nervous, stammering Mona is a great human focus who fills the role of cute supporting character you least want to be killed off, while the long-awaited appearance of General Luiz Cannibal himself is particularly striking and disconcerting. The female bonding is enjoyable to follow due to Moore's flair for natural and often humorous conversation, and the little details such as Toy's love of holo-soaps, which she can now receive direct into her artificial left ear after an accident robbed her of her previous one, keep things firmly (if stereotypically) feminine, without reducing the characters to mere men with breasts. Probably enormous ones at that.
'Halo Jones' was never a straightforward sci-fi action story, and it's always apparent that every scene of carnage and tragedy is intended to strike a nerve and make a heartfelt point. Halo and her team take out hostile snipers who appear to be only children, while the character's eventual descent into shock is carried off fantastically, in one of the plot's more memorable phases. The longer duration of this book is used to its full extent to put Halo through hell on numerous occasions and really examine the effects and her own changing personality and objectives, while also allowing time to examine some nifty sci-fi concepts involving the effect of extreme gravity on time. There are, as usual, plenty of background details and minor sub-plots glossed over that make Halo's universe all the more intriguing and believable, from the Moabite's adoption of Puritanical Christianity to the statement (after hints way back in Book 1) that humans of the future have all evolved into vegans, either through a shortage of meat or as a natural progression of values. As a limited, self-contained story with a rather narrow focus (at least compared to long-running 2000AD series such as 'Judge Dredd'), it's usually easy to spot the details being hammered into the reader's consciousness at an early stage that are all going to pay off later, and although most of these are tied up very nicely by the end of the book, there's enough left to whet appetites for future stories that will sadly never arrive.
Alan Moore and Ian Gibson achieved a commendable feat in taking 'Halo Jones' fully into the genre of future war without losing any of its thoughtful and compelling attitudes towards humanity and the struggle for existence. This third book is an improvement over its predecessors and a work that should satisfy readers who would be put off by the low-key or uneventful nature of the previous stories, though those who still object to the almost entirely female cast are best left to their primitive macho publications in any case - we don't need their input (and as Alan Moore asked in his baiting introduction to Book 1, "what's the matter? Don't you like girls?")
The original three volume publication by Titan Books in 1986 proved extremely popular, selling out in pre-orders before the books even hit the shelves, and this separation of the distinct stories into individual volumes is the most satisfying way to read the saga. Those editions have long since been deleted, meaning that the more affordable and available complete editions are a fine alternative, which tend to be updated every decade or so with a new front cover. This original version features the usual introduction by Moore (replaced with one by Gibson in newer editions, I believe), as well as black and white reproductions of the several 2000AD covers that featured the series during its original run. It's a shame there wasn't more 'Halo Jones,' but at least it goes out with a bang, and everyone likes a nice trilogy don't they?
Advantages: The longest, most focused, most action-packed and most tragic volume yet.
Disadvantages: Falls for the war story clichés at times, and lacks the humour of the previous books.
Ich bin ein Octavianer
Written on 12.12.07
***
Canadian author Jim Munroe publishes his own work, granting his science fiction novels a sense of D.I.Y. punk credibility and theoretically allowing him to get away with pretty much anything. 'Angry Young Spaceman' is his second novel, and despite some misleading quotes in the blurb that promise something of an unhinged psychedelic sci-fi trip (like Steve Aylett's work), this is actually more of a very easily digested space opera that works along the same lines as classic metaphorical science fiction.
We catch up with the tale of Sam Breen about a thousand years into the future, by which time the Earth has established itself as more or less the dominant planet in the known universe following a war in the recent past that is alluded to on several occasions. This barren, capitalist Earth has advanced considerably in some ways and acts as an example to other 'inferior' planets still stuck in the twentieth century, particularly in regard to the equal treatment of homo- and heterosexual relationships, the absence of a gender divide and the abolition of eating meat (the latter most likely a practical issue, as humanity's 'advancement' has led to the extinction of all Earth's fauna), but in other ways things are much worse. Munroe presents something of a capitalist dystopia, a realistic and plausible rather than nightmarish situation, and one that even the least intellectual reader will immediately recognise as a metaphor for American expansion today.
Sam Breen has decided, more or less on a whim to escape some of the embarrassments of his youth, to sign up for a job as an English teacher on one of the distant planets, the farther away the better. After losing his costly Speak-O-Matic translator unit at the spaceport, he is faced with the daunting task of having to learn the unique language of the Octavians, a distinctly alien race of squid-descended humanoids, complete with eight tentacles and with an atmosphere with a high water content, but still breathable by humans. Sam revels in the opportunity to effectively start again in this unique civilisation, and begins to despise the planet of his origins once it dawns on him just how unfair Earth's dominion is. English is the international language of commerce, meaning that all alien children are expected to learn it in schools, and aspects of human culture have already begun to corrode away at the conflicting traditions of planets like Octavia, sometimes for their modern appeal - Sam's new Octavian friend and lover Jinya is happy about increased power and freedom for females, for example - but occasionally enforced because they fail to comply with Earth's own standards.
The majority of the book is spent chronicling Sam's fairly quiet and cosy domestic life, teaching English to eager Octavian children, courting Jinya, hanging out with teachers to improve his grasp of the Octavian language, and visiting some of the planet's more spectacular areas. Sam intermittently meets up with the three friends he met at orientation, who are also teaching English on other planets in the sector, and it's this smaller portion of the novel that stands out the most for being a little jarring and incompatible. While it's interesting to get further insight into the other exotic planets of this novel's universe, and the four young teachers are all interesting characters in their own right, the ending is just plain weird, and the reader is plunged in and out of it so quickly that it fails to be the good kind of weird. As for the Octavian culture itself, Munroe does a great job making them bizarre and recognisably human at the same time, demonstrating that even the most outlandish or 'alien' culture is still the same as us, deep down. Ahh.
The Octavians may have eight tentacles, but apart from this they very clearly parallel the Japanese. Or the South Koreans. Or Eastern Europeans. Or in fact, any culture that has been more or less forced to teach its children English as a second language in order to remain formidable and competitive in a world controlled by America, even down to adopting American fashion and culture in place of its own. Sam's anger at the corruption of Octavian culture makes him an instantly likeable character, particularly once his own violent, rebellious past is unveiled as another level of control by the government in their shady creation and perpetuation of subcultures to facilitate the release of pent-up aggression in youths. Spherical Octavian dwellings and beverage bladders perfectly suited to their tentacles are being enthusiastically replaced with square accommodation and mugs with inconvenient handles, while pop bands like Intergalactic Cool Youth are following a distinctly Earth style of music, right down to their English name (as you've probably noticed, the language of this future Earth is specifically and unanimously 'English').
But for all its positive, relevant and angry statements of cultural preservation, Munroe's novel feels like it doesn't quite go far enough. For the most part, it's content to be the story of Sam learning to live happily on an alien world to get over the break-up of his last relationship and eventually start pursuing another, but the issue of the easily-impressed, easily-obtained foreign bride is all but avoided. Sam makes sure not to flout or encourage his developing celebrity status as the only human on Octavia, but anyone who's spent time in a similar profession abroad will likely recognise many of the moral dilemmas, and the way it's all too easy to be made to feel superior due to your more privileged background, but Munroe chooses not to dwell on these issues. The weird ending concerning Sam's human friends is also far too much of a deviation to make any kind of sense or real purpose, and this is really the kind of book that could be read in part before abandoning it, rather than one that needs to be read right to the end for a satisfying conclusion.
Munroe's independent publishing ethic is attractive (though there's no doubt that this book would have been easily snapped up by a major publisher if he wasn't so opposed to them), but I can't help feeling that he's missed some of the opportunities to expand on his major concerns. Still, it's got a nice cover and some snazzy fonts.
Advantages: Thoughtful and relevant metaphor of America's monopoly on the world. But in space, in the future.
Disadvantages: Doesn't push hard enough, and descends into bland soap for the most part.
Grant Naylor, Better Than Life
Pool With Planets?
Written on 10.06.04 [2017 update]
****
BACKGROUND
As most of you will doubtless know, Red Dwarf is a television series mixing science fiction and comedy produced by the BBC. The creators and writers Rob Grant and Doug Naylor went to great lengths to get the series commissioned throughout the eighties, and the show's popularity increased with each series.
Rob and Doug, under the alias Grant Naylor, decided to write a Red Dwarf novel once the show really hit its stride in its third series. The limitations of television production and a very meagre budget had hindered their creative vision of the series in a large way, and their first novel (titled 'Red Dwarf' but often referred to as 'Infinity Welcomes Careful Drivers') can clearly be read as a more definitive version of their original intentions and vision. Because it was.
Deeming itself "the not-very-long-awaited sequel to the internationally best-selling 'Red Dwarf,'" Better Than Life continues the story threads left hanging at the end of the first novel and continues to incorporate successful ideas from the television show.
CHARACTERS
The five principal characters are the same as those in the television series, and although Rob and Doug had originally planned some of their major players as being very different - Lister, for example, was originally intended to be middle-aged and slightly demented - the characters here are very believable as those presented on screen. Already established as the essential backbone of the show, the character of Dave Lister takes on a much more primary role in the books than on the series, although there are still plenty of lines and events focusing on the others.
Dave Lister - The last human being alive, Lister held the lowest rank aboard the mining ship Red Dwarf and was sentenced to six months in suspended animation for smuggling a pregnant cat on board when the ship was docked at Titan. Sadly for Lister, he is not released for three million years due to a nuclear accident that wipes out the crew.
Arnold Judas Rimmer - The annoying, career-minded failure who was one rank Lister's superior before failing to repair a drive plate properly and accidentally wiping out himself and 1,167 of the crew. Resurrected as a hologram of his former self to keep Lister sane, the antagonistic relationship at least gives them both something to do.
The Cat - When Lister's pregnant cat was safely sealed in Red Dwarf's ventilation system it became the mother of a new species, evolving over the millions of years into Felis Sapiens, a species resembling human but with the mannerisms of a feline. When these religious fanatics eventually wiped each other out or abandoned the ship they only left behind the lame and the stupid, and this self-obsessed moggie is the last survivor on board.
Kryten - A sanitation and service mechanoid who accidentally killed the all-female crew of the spaceship Nova 5 when washing the consoles with nice, soapy water. Kryten was stranded alone for millions of years before Red Dwarf chanced upon him on its long return to the solar system, and Kryten enjoys his ironing and sheet-folding chores on board despite Lister's protests that he should break his programming.
Holly - The ship's computer. He used to have an IQ of 6,000, but three million years alone in space have taken their toll on poor Hol, who is now suffering from computer senility. The provider of information and the occasional joke, when he’s a bit bored.
PLOT
At the end of the previous book, Lister, Rimmer and the Cat had all drunkenly plugged themselves into the illegal total immersion video game Better Than Life, a game that taps into the user's subconscious desires and creates their perfect fantasy world without them even realising it. Thanks to the influence of Kryten, Lister eventually realised what was going on and he was prepared to leave, although he then got a feeling that he couldn't abandon his life in the fictional town of Bedford Falls on Christmas Eve. Even though he knew it was always Christmas Eve.
'Better Than Life' begins with the crew still in the game, their bodies decaying and wasting away in the real world despite the efforts of Kryten and Holly. Lister lives a quiet life with Kristine Kochanski, the woman of his dreams, while Rimmer's fantasies are quite the opposite: he is the richest and most successful businessman in the world and is married to a beautiful Brazilian bombshell. It's only when this idyllic and self-absorbed lifestyle begins to fall apart that Rimmer realises his own subconscious mind can't stand him being happy, and once he realises the truth about the game he is quite embarrassed about the very unsubtle way he has imagined the perfect life. The smeghead.
Cat, on the other hand, is inhabiting an island on Denmark where he is constantly attended to by scantily clad Valkyries and enjoys hunting dogs for sport in his milk-moated castle, and when Kryten enters in an attempt to rescue his friends he realises that he might as well wash the dishes and iron the clothes that are lying around in endless piles. It would only be polite.
Needless to say, this total immersion video game isn't the only aspect of the novel. Some ideas from the episodes 'Marooned' and 'White Hole' are also used in the book, but are expanded to epic proportions. Lister ends up stranded on an ice planet that reveals itself to be the litter-covered remains of the Planet Earth, a planet that aeons ago was deemed the least important planet in the colonised solar system and which ended up quite literally "farting itself into the cosmos" due to the vast amounts of waste gases on its surface. As Red Dwarf is sucked through the time dilation effects of a black hole due to Holly's attempt at increasing his IQ, Lister becomes and old man whose only companions are huge mutated cockroaches.
STYLE
The Red Dwarf books all sold incredibly well worldwide, especially this and its predecessor, and there are clear reasons for this. Firstly, these are not mere adaptations of episodes, despite containing some plot ideas and dialogue from the more successful shows, and are very solid books in their own right. This means that they can reward fans of the show as well as newcomers, and although Rob and Doug are arguably not the most talented writers they still have a great grasp of wordplay and clever or funny ideas.
Better Than Life is most commonly classified as a science fiction book and I agree with this classification; although the series is often more oriented towards comedy, even featuring a laughter track throughout, this book is based much more upon interesting ideas and theories, although it's still a very funny read. Douglas Adams' excellent 'Hitch-Hiker's Guide to the Galaxy' series is more of a comedic take on a very daft but meaningful universe, and the Red Dwarf novels are more sci-fi efforts with humorous dialogue.
VERDICT
I really like this book, although mainly as a follow-up to the excellent 'Infinity Welcomes Careful Drivers.' I had seen quite a few Red Dwarf episodes when I was young but I didn't see the early episodes for quite some time, and as such I was granted a much more interesting version of the events in that first novel. The plot of Better Than Life is similarly disjointed like the original, but a little bit too much in places: it took me some time to realise that the Garbage World and the black hole were in the same book as the total immersion video game, but the effects of each occurrence do link together and have an overall impact on the ending.
Anyone who is a fan of Red Dwarf not only as a comedy, but as a funny sci-fi series should get hold of the books, although this isn't just a guarantee of a hilarious read before bed-time. It's still much more impressive than the later Red Dwarf books, which were written solely by Rob and Doug after they decided to end their writing partnership.
Related products:
Red Dwarf (aka Red Dwarf: Infinity Welcomes Careful Drivers) - the first novel that should be read as an introduction to this book. It's also much better.
Better Than Life audiobook - My introduction to this novel was the abridged audio book from Laughing Stock, read by Chris Barrie (Rimmer in the TV series) whose impressions of the cast are all very skilled. The unabridged version costs a lot more.
Red Dwarf the TV series - Series 1 to 4 are available on DVD, and the rest will be released during the next few years. This book was written shortly before production of series 4, as shown by the dialogue and ideas based on some episodes.
Grant Naylor, Red Dwarf Omnibus
Everybody's Dead, Dave
Written on 10.06.06 [2017 update]
*****
Just like the television series and proposed feature film, the popular series of Red Dwarf novels, written parallel to the show's run in the late 80s and early 90s, seems consigned to a frozen existence in stasis for the foreseeable future. The four novels - 'Red Dwarf' (a.k.a. 'Infinity Welcomes Careful Drivers'), 'Better Than Life,' 'Last Human' and 'Backwards' - were well-received by fans of the series and of science-fiction comedy in general, and were consciously (and admittedly) written to provide a more definitive and epic account of the story Rob Grant and Doug Naylor developed in the 1980s, but were never really able to communicate in Red Dwarf's 52 episode run.
'The Red Dwarf Omnibus' collects together the first two classic Red Dwarf novels, the two written by Grant and Naylor cooperatively and published by Penguin in 1989 and 1990 respectively. Both books pick up on (and in the case of Better Than Life, pre-empt) events from specific episodes of the series, making for something of an episodic feel to the books, however hard the writers try to create an overarching storyline. To their credit, the action and humour in these books never slips up for long, and the plot that evolves and mutates between escapades and 'to be continued...' conclusions would make for a far more satisfying movie than anything Grant Naylor Productions will finally come up with, ten years on from the split of the duo's writing partnership. With under 300 words each, these books make for relatively easygoing reading, aided by the division of each book into three distinct and named parts.
The major difference between the novels (which are not simply novelisations) and the TV episodes is one of style, and all comes down to the books being liberated from the constraints of a twenty-eight minute television sitcom format. For a show like Red Dwarf to be well received by viewers, the writers would be required to find a middle ground between their desire to tell an epic character story and the BBC's desire for a series with plenty of laughs that won't deter viewers with lofty sci-fi concepts. The books, however, target a more selective audience than a television comedy series can afford to. Firstly, the books will primarily be read by fans of the show, eager to discover more. Secondly, the books are commonly classed as science fiction; that's where they can be found in most bookshops and libraries.
Simply comparing the blurbs of the books and DVD/VHS releases of the show indicates that the essential premise of the Red Dwarf story remains consistent in both mediums. 24-year-old Dave Lister reluctantly finds himself three million years in the future, and the last human being alive (at least, that's the logical assumption). As the colossal dilapidated mining ship Red Dwarf begins the hopeless journey back to Earth's solar system, its crew of a endangered slob Lister, deranged computer (Holly), resurrected hologram (Arnold J. Rimmer) and humanoid cat (known simply as Cat) essentially devise ever more ingenious ways of wasting time between "zany" space adventures. At least, that's the word generally favoured on these types of blurb.
The first novel (commonly referred to as 'Infinity Welcomes Careful Drivers' or 'IWCD' due to the exploding space traffic sign on its cover) expands these ideas from the TV show's first episode into truly epic proportions. The story is deepened, extended backwards and forwards. The book opens with Lister scrounging a meagre living on the seedy Saturnian moon Mimas, and explains his reasons for joining Red Dwarf, and presents his first encounter with future bunkmate Arnold Rimmer in an excellent scene involving android brothels. The writers revel in their newfound freedom on occasion; the football pitch sized monitor displaying the face of the ship's computer Holly smacks of this enthusiasm, as do the repeated attempts to wow the reader with descriptions of Red Dwarf's immense size and crew complement (it's roughly as big as a city, has at least a few thousand decks and boasts 1,169 crew members, of which Lister ranks position 1,169).
After spending the necessary amount of time setting up the premise and introducing the characters, the novel moves on to deal with story concepts from the early TV episodes 'Future Echoes' (flashes of the future, and the futility of trying to escape fate), 'Kryten' (the introduction of the eponymous fifth main character) and, finally, 'Better Than Life.' The concept of the total immersion video game is expanded to incredibly sinister proportions from the comparatively shallow and whimsical version featured in the episode, and provides the cliff-hanger ending that leads into book two.
'Mistakes' are rectified in this debut book; some of the glaring differences of opinion present in the first two series of the TV show compared to the latter majority. The sanitation Mechanoid Kryten is introduced to the cast at the earliest opportunity, and Lister's dream of a relationship with the deceased console officer Kristine Kochanski is rendered less immature now they are provided a history as a couple, for a brief time. The writers' thanks to the cast are certainly well meant, as the dialogue in the books owes a small debt to the talents of the more impressive cast members, especially Robert Llewelyn’s Kryten and Norman Lovett's deadpan Holly. Rimmer, oddly, seems somewhat different in the books than in the TV series, despite many of the same lines being recycled between formats. Perhaps it’s the frequent dips into his mindset and memories, excellently avoiding generating more than the tiniest amount of sympathy for the bitter, snide and unlikeable character, who is clearly the real focal point of Red Dwarf and the best reason to watch or read.
'Better Than Life,' often described as "the not-very-long awaited sequel," in fact only spends something like a quarter of its pages concluding the story of the previous book, and is in fact a little less impressive as a result. But once the subject matter shifts, this second novel proves itself to be on equal par with the first, perhaps exceeding it in terms of originality and ingenious sci-fi. The central section of the book would later form the fourth series episode 'White Hole,' and the finale, another cliff-hanger, owes to the earlier 'Backwards,' yet the most memorable and creative segments have yet to appear in any other form. Then again, I can't really imagine seeing Craig Charles fly around towering mountains of broken green glass bottles on enormous sofa-eating cockroaches under a BBC2 budget.
Serious fans of the television series will almost certainly enjoy the books, as the characters (with the possible exception of Rimmer, as mentioned earlier) are recognisable and easy to visualise, even in the ludicrous fantasy landscapes of Better Than Life. Grant and Naylor were the sole brains behind Red Dwarf in its heyday, and it's incredible to see how far they intended to take their idea beyond the limits of an episodic TV format.
My primary criticism of these two books is that they are quite disjointed; IWCD and BTL each contain three to four separate episodes that conflict slightly and don't always convince me of a dominant plot, but it's still very enjoyable to see how elements from the TV series are combined to link these sections. And although it's a comedy as much as it is science-fiction (although the books tend toward the latter more than the series ever did, even in its later years), sometimes the tone seems a little off. The writers feel the need to include classic dialogue segments from episodes, such as the Wilma Flintstone exchange from 'Backwards,' but such arbitrariness is more distracting on the page than on the screen. The books focus heavily on dialogue, which is always excellently written, but sometimes the witty put-downs and contrived similes seem a little too out of place. The writing is best when the humour of a situation is balanced out with a sobering, serious coda, such as Lister and Cat's shockingly frail and malnourished bodies resulting from two years trapped inside the virtual computer game that previously brought so many laughs.
Like the successful series of books spawned by the late Douglas Adams from his 'Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy' radio series, the Red Dwarf novel series clearly aims itself at readers looking to be amused and entertained with quality sci-fi. Comparisons of Red Dwarf with Hitchhiker's Guide have existed from the start, and are to be expected. Both series originated (in a way) on the radio before appearing on the BBC, and the novels (written afterward) bear both of these broadcast versions in mind in crafting and perfecting a definitive version of the events with which fans are familiar. Red Dwarf and Hitchhiker's Guide also concern themselves with the story of the last surviving human hurled headlong into the insanity of space travel and its inhabitants. Picking a favourite and discussing at length why Hitchhiker's Guide is clearly superior is as tiresome as arguing that Kirk was better than Picard, or that Jaffa Cakes are clearly biscuits, no matter what the lawyers think. So let's all just get along. In my opinion, the Red Dwarf books aren't as laugh-out-loud funny as the television episodes, but are more thought-provoking and rewarding for fans.
This Omnibus was originally intended as more than simply a cheaper alternative to buying these two books separately. As well as providing fans with a couple of cheap thrills in the form of a section of script and what is allegedly a photocopy of 'the original Red Dwarf beermat' on which Grant and Naylor first scrawled their ideas (I don't care if it's genuine or not, it's a funny idea), the Omnibus was perhaps the first in the infuriating attempt to make Red Dwarf more universally accessible by altering its content. Creating a more America-friendly version of Red Dwarf is a noble goal, I guess, but the 90s saw many embarrassing and botched attempts at achieving this goal. Most notorious were the unsuccessful American pilot episodes of Red Dwarf, with a US cast, and later came the pointlessly re-edited remastered versions of the BBC episodes.
The Omnibus sets the trend by removing some jokes deemed "too contemporary," namely those criticising Kevin Keegan's authorship skills and references to 80s popular culture, and trimming some sections of the books to make for a slimmer volume. My advice would be to buy the novels separately, as they can often be found second hand on eBay or in charity shops, but the Omnibus is a more cost-effective way of collecting these two publications, which now commonly retail at £6.99 each. The other two books, Doug Naylor's 'Last Human' and Rob Grant's 'Backwards,' each act as individual, unconnected sequels to the action of Better Than Life, but the break-up of the classic writing partnership results in less impressive books. I'm glad that Grant and Naylor have never advocated further Red Dwarf novels written by other writers; as such, Red Dwarf (IWCD) and Better Than Life remain sought-after and acclaimed books that offer something new to fans sick of repeat viewings of Red Dwarf DVDs.
The real strength of these books is that readers need no prior involvement with the TV series to appreciate them fully; compulsive fans set the books in an alternate reality to the TV shows to comfortably explain away the differences, but Grant Naylor couldn't give two hoots. Their decision to publish with Penguin and disassociate the novels from the BBC label intended to grant the books a wider and more accepting readership, and this was completely successful. As Tony Lacey of Penguin asserted in the BBC's 1998 'Red Dwarf Night,' the novels sold so well (over two million by that date) due to their excellent quality. This is no cheap TV cash-in, but a lovingly detailed definitive vision of a sci-fi sitcom freed from its bonds.
Advantages: Fleshes out and expands the familiar Red Dwarf story to epic, filmic proportions
Disadvantages: Traces of an episodic TV nature remain
Doug Naylor, Last Human
Written on 12.08.04 [2017 update]
****
Lister had died three million years from home on a garbage planet populated by mutant cockroaches. His aged body was retrieved by his crewmates - a robot, a cat and another dead man - and sent to a backwards universe to begin ageing young again. But if you thought that was confusing, try grasping the dual chronology of the Red Dwarf novels.
Following their long-time partnership as writers of television and radio (most notably 'Red Dwarf') and novels (most notably 'Red Dwarf'), the gestalt entity calling itself Grant Naylor separated, and Rob Grant and Doug Naylor went their separate ways. Rob effectively distanced himself from the successful space sitcom he had co-created despite its popularity, leaving control of the franchise to Doug. 'Last Human' was finally released in 1995 as a continuation of the previous Red Dwarf novels, again incorporating ideas and plots from several television episodes while sticking to an original plot.
BACKGROUND
Red Dwarf is primarily the story of Dave Lister, presumably the last human being alive following a reluctant three million years spent in suspended animation aboard the mining ship on which he was content to hold the lowest rank. The ship's computer revived Lister's irritating bunkmate Arnold Rimmer in order to keep him sane, while the discovery of an unbalanced service mechanoid and a man evolved from the descendants of Lister's pregnant cat brings together a distinctly motley crew.
Dave Lister - the last human, deceptively capable but lacking any sort of ambition or effort.
Arnold J. Rimmer - a hologram made entirely of light, whose arrogance and general gitness have softened over time.
Cat - unbelievably vain, self-centred and lazy, with wardrobes that cross international time zones.
Kryten - the service mechanoid who lives only to serve and is thankfully skilled with technology.
Kristine Kochanski - Lister's old flame who split up with him for all the obvious reasons. Although she died in the radiation leak that wiped out the crew, her ashes were recovered and sent with Lister's to regenerate.
The difference between Red Dwarf the TV series and Red Dwarf the novels is greater than might be assumed: the first book was written in 1989, at a time when the show's budget was still miniscule and when character and story details were still being modified, so Grant and Naylor wrote the novel to present the show's origins as they should have been told. 'Better Than Life,' the second novel, branched out into new territory as the writers now felt free to explore other concepts that would be too expensive for television, or simply wouldn’t be effective in a short comedy show format.
STORY
Last Human picks up where Better Than Life left off, with Dave Lister having regenerated in a universe where time flows backwards. His temporary amnesia allows Kryten to explain the situation to new readers (in a scene adapted from the first episode of the show's sixth series, which had the same intention) and also allows for some jokes about curried Corn Flakes and Rimmer's neuroses before the real plot has to begin.
Red Dwarf was let behind when the crew used the insectoid transport ship Starbug to retrieve Lister and Kochanski from the backwards universe, but they are still unsure whether they have returned to their home dimension or one of the other five. The discovery of an identical ship crashed on an asteroid indicates that they haven’t, although the horrific display of mangled bodies and missing heads isn't enough to put Lister off finding himself. Literally, not in some kind of mid-life crisis way.
The search for the alternate Lister involves passing through dangerous GELF (Genetically Engineered Life Form) colonies, but it soon becomes clear that this dimension's Lister was much more dangerous than the curry-obsessed bum we have come to know and sort of like, a bit, and the hideously mutated creatures send Lister to the penal colony of Cyberia - a prison in which every inmate's subconscious nightmares are played out throughout their sentence.
STYLE
As with the previous Red Dwarf books, this is written in a humorous tone that never takes the science fiction concepts too seriously. The character dialogue is true to the series - which it should be considering Naylor's involvement - and the events do feel, for the most part, like they could easily be the genuine occurrences of a big budget Red Dwarf movie. Not that the plans for the proposed film will see the light of day any time soon.
Doug has once again incorporated dialogue, scenes and concepts from several episodes into the plot, and with good reason - these exchanges are excellent, and are mostly derived from the sixth series of the show in which the crew are marooned in Starbug, and this was the series that first got me interested (let's face it, in love with) the franchise. The low-key cockpit exchanges between Lister and Cat, discussing such things as toenail trimmings, gullibility and dancing moose-shaped asteroids, bring back fond memories of the series while not standing out as separate from the plot.
Many fans feel that while Rob Grant was perhaps the less funny of the duo (as shown by his solo Dwarf novel 'Backwards'), there are also claims that Doug Naylor is less adept at exploring sci-fi concepts, and that he has never outgrown his adolescent urge to write about Kochanski. It's true that the female character makes her appearance here and would go on to star in the show's seventh and eight series, but the descriptions of the penal colony, genetic experiments going awry and a currency based on semen all show that Doug is capable of doing it all on his own. In fact, the chapter in which Lister offers his fluids to another culture - a culture that is not sterile and as such reacts rather badly to this gesture - is a lot funnier than most of the later TV series.
It should be an easy matter to tell whether or not you would enjoy this book by your reaction to this dazed description of a slowly awakening Dave Lister on his reluctant honeymoon night:
"There was a name for it, it was very popular. What was he doing? It was something he hadn't done a lot of recently: he was having sex. Wait a minute, he was having sex? With a grizzly bear? No, of course he wasn't. Crazy idea. It must be Kriss wearing an old gorilla-gram costume. Why would she be doing that? Had she ever done anything like that before? Not really. So why now? Damn his eyes, why couldn't he see properly? He tried to rub them back into focus but her might hands pulled them away from his face and placed them back on her large, hairy breasts. Hairy breasts? Wait a minute. He was being screwed by khakhahhakkhhakhakkkhakkkkkh."
VERDICT
Anyone who enjoys the Red Dwarf television series for its concepts and ideas should check out the books as they provide extra depth and insight that will never be found in the brief televised plots, but at the same time I wouldn't recommend them to anyone who doesn't enjoy the more science fiction-oriented episodes. The books are funny, but in a different way to the series - while most audience laughs stem from Chris Barrie making a deadpan observation over an idea's idiocy, the book relies more on humorous descriptions of situations and characters, and as such may not be to everyone's taste.
'Last Human' lacks the strong concept of the first Red Dwarf novel, but it is more enjoyable and fast-paced than the second and fourth novels. Some confusion was caused when Rob Grant decided to make his own continuation to the second novel, which means that both 'Last Human' and 'Backwards' are different representations of post-'Better Than Life' events: thankfully, some fans suggested that both books could be seen as equally valid if they occur within the different universes that Red Dwarf itself is always going on about, and several over-obsessive men could finally sleep well at night.
I would personally recommend 'Last Human' over 'Backwards' as it is more fun, lightweight and evenly focussed on each character in the way that the alternative isn't, and although it isn't vital to have read the previous books that have a very different atmosphere, it would still be wise to leave Doug's solo effort for a later date.
Oh yes, and this does include the celebrated 'blue alert bulb' joke from series six also. You'll know it if you've seen it.
Robert Newman, Dependence Day
Written on 15.08.07
***
Robert Newman's first novel is firmly entrenched in the writer and comedian's bohemian days of the early 1990s, before the haircut that led to the more satirical political leanings of his more recent works. Newman is most remembered as the former double-act partner of David Baddiel in the successful BBC series 'The Mary Whitehouse Experience' and 'Newman and Baddiel in Pieces,' even though this primarily consisted of two very different stand-up comedians doing their very different material in turn, rather than a truly collaborative effort. Following his rebellious nature as the king of 'the new rock-and-roll' that comedy was being optimistically billed as at the time, Newman seemingly opted to pack it all in just as he hit the height of his fame, performing at the sold-out Wembley Arena and perhaps feeling that this constituted selling out to his own principles. Newman slipped off the public radar and got around to writing this book, a demi-autobiographical, experimental affair that can clearly be traced to the frustrated, world-weary romantic of his on-stage persona, even if none of the characters points to a dog turd on the pavement and exclaims: "you see that dog turd? That's you, that is."
I always find first novel attempts by comedians interesting, as they usually try to blend the well-crafted monologues of stand-up with a down-to-earth plot that is more often than not based directly on their own lives (Baddiel's own 'Time for Bed' is the perfect example), before developing a finer and more readable style in later publications that somehow prove less entertaining for me. It's the amateurish nature of 'Dependence Day' that I find most endearing, not content to be a simple piece of linear prose and incorporating frivolous literary diversity in a way that reminds me of the portfolios I produced for my University's creative writing course. It was this empathy that allowed me to see past the often crude or out-of-place experiments going on in Newman's book, towards the bigger picture he obviously had in mind, but that doesn't quite work on the printed page. There are several stories at work, connected in some small manner but mostly standing alone (much like Newman and Baddiel's act), with the whole work being rather grandiosely separated not only into chapters of anarchically varied lengths, but into two 'books.' The lives of a small cast of characters are followed over a similar period of time, all connected in some manner to a drug-motivated murder in a Manchester pub and a plot to transport heroin overseas in the stomachs of swallows.
Kevin's attempts to deal with heartbreak after his athletic girlfriend leaves him, sometimes suicidal and always desperate, are related in the format of an extended first-person letter to Kenny Rogers, in response to his song 'If You Happen to See the Most Beautiful Girl in the World.' This technique, which becomes forgotten for most of Kevin's narrative, is only a smaller framing narrative within the larger notion that the characters are all returning home on a boat, as a clear literary homage to Joseph Conrad's 'Heart of Darkness' (which is even explicitly referenced with the sidelined storyteller Marlowe, whose account we never hear). Kevin's story is the more ridiculous of the main plots, but still within the bounds of credibility as it's clear that his actions are those of an extremely unbalanced individual; one whose occasional eloquent outbursts on the futility or mesmerising brilliance of life are written in the same manner as Newman's more enthusiastic television monologues on the same subjects, and with the same show-off Latin quotations. Less riveting is the more primary story of Karen, a woman living on the run who is eventually persuaded to testify against Buzz, whose murderous actions she witnessed and whose life outside incarceration is threatening to hers. Despite the potentially Hollywood nature of such a plot, it's all very deliberately played as mundane and 'real-life' as possible, part of Newman's overall plan to prove that real life isn't like the movies, with exciting and convenient endings that tie all of the loose threads together. As expected, the slightly short novel ends without making too much of a fuss, and this stubborn refusal to provide a shocking, climactic, filmic, conclusive ending, while being commendably true to life, is also unavoidably a disappointing anticlimax.
Shifting between several different stories can often be an irritating feature of books like this, and it's true that at points towards the end I was hoping that certain chapters would finish so I could learn more about the more interesting characters. By far the most entertaining narrative is a brief and entirely unconnected story offered as the book's 'prelude,' which details a crazy tale of the speaker's friend having a chance encounter with a friendly and approachable David Bowie, followed by another chance encounter, and another, until it becomes clear that Bowie is stalking him and attempting to work his way into all aspects of his life. As a short story this sets the book up to be far more ludicrous and hilarious that it ultimately is, making me laugh once every few chapters, which is good enough for a book that doesn't restrict itself to comedy, but also making me bored as it approaches an unimpressive finale. The success of the opening short perhaps indicates that this novel would have worked better if presented as a selection of short stories, featuring the same characters and events but presented from a wider range of perspectives, and avoiding the back-and-forth switching of narrative. Such a direction would also serve to make the more glaring diversions from the prose format - namely the mock screenplay format of Buzz's trial and the author's consciously stylised descriptions of the surrounding events - less intrusive and disrupting. But of course, this could just be the part of me talking that thinks Rob was in my creative writing class and offering his weekly contributions up for criticism.
I did enjoy Robert Newman's first novel, but it's clearly an unstable attempt to translate an educated comedian's creative vision to the page, blending literary trickery with the humdrumity of life in a manner that doesn't really mix. The subject matter of pubs, drugs, love and sex will be familiar to fans of his early work, and certainly appeals more than his recent performances and novels that follow a stricter political agenda, although I haven't seen any of this work so can't comment on how funny it is. I'm new to Newman, my experiences being almost entirely thanks to YouTube, so I was glad when I saw a scruffy first edition of this book in one of those boxes outside an independent bookshop for a mere £1. It's certainly worth trying out for that price, but many will doubtless fail to appreciate the cute amateurishness as much as I, a fellow novice with a degree to prove it. The author throws up a number of excellent and concise observations on life throughout the 170 pages, but these are far apart and, sadly, easily forgotten, unlike the detailed descriptions of Kevin's (and presumably the author's) favourite sexual practices that may be ingrained for some time to come.
Advantages: Witty and realistic, with lots of unusual ideas.
Disadvantages: Confused mix of styles that doesn't really work.
Future Relic
Written on 12.07.07
****
Encyclopedias, however you wish to spell them, have faced a major threat in the form of free and more up-to-date online equivalents since the 1990s, from the first commercial encyclopedia software such as Encarta to the eventual launch of the ever-handy Wikipedia. ‘The Star Trek Encyclopedia,’ Michael and Denise Okuda’s ‘Reference Guide to the Future,’ was revised and updated twice before being forced to surrender before the force of free online equivalents, however unofficial and un-endorsed they may be. Ironically, publication of this encyclopedia from 1994 to 1999 ran alongside the busiest and most changeable time in the history of the Star Trek franchise, with new series beginning, old series ending, and the increasing number of episodes and feature films rendering the book out of date before it even hit the shelves.
A vast franchise like Star Trek is one that needs mapping, for the convenience of both fans who wish to know more, and writers who don’t want to contradict each other. Star Trek reference works have been published in force since the series first aired in the late sixties, but most of these, such as the cute and wildly speculative ‘Star Fleet Technical Manual,’ took great liberties and artistic license in presenting facts that were not grounded in the television series or accompanying film series. The series’ late creator Gene Roddenberry had a very determined view of what could and could not be considered ‘canon’ information from his show, wishing that fans accept everything presented on screen as factual (presumably including the frequent inconsistencies and contradictions, especially in the old series), excluding the 1970s animated series which he practically disowned, and not counting any licensed novels or other works of fan fiction. With these ground rules in place, it was a fairly straightforward, if painstaking task to trawl through roughly six hundred episodes and nine films and jot down all the noun words.
Thankfully for readers, the people trusted to do this job were Michael and Denise Okuda, with the help of some others. As the scenic art supervisor for Star Trek: The Next Generation, Star Trek: Deep Space Nine, Star Trek: Voyager and the more recent films, Michael Okuda was responsible for creating the majority of graphics and designs seen on the series, permitting him and his wife, scenic artist on the more recent series, the benefits of inside knowledge and access to original props and plans to clarify any canonical facts that may appear too hastily or out-of-focus on screen for their details to be deciphered. Of course, the writers can’t help but break the rules of canon sometimes, particularly it seems in speculating the class, registry and appearance of starships name-checked on screen but never actually seen. While their source material is just about as official as you can get outside the episodes themselves, it does place the whole thing on shaky ground, extending to the acceptance of Spock’s childhood experiences in the animated series episode ‘Yesteryear’ merely because they seemed to think it was quite a good episode.
Approaching the encyclopedia is made into a fairly easy task, but it will obviously require more than a little prior knowledge of the series to get any kind of enjoyment or satisfaction out of it. All the information is arranged as an extensive alphabetical index, with reference to the episode or film the information is taken from, and a large number of images (originally black and white, but later replaced with colour) gleaned from production photos, video freeze-frames, production artwork or new and original illustrations. The whole encyclopedia is extensively cross-referenced with bold text pointing to a different article, and turning the pages seems like a bit of a labour in the age of hyper-links. The book is probably most useful for fans who are curious to learn more about something or someone they know only a little about, such as Captain Picard’s birthday, Klingon language, the known fates of characters from the original series by the time of the later series, or the impending mid-twenty-first century demise of baseball, as coming to the book without a specific goal will most likely be a disappointing trawl through an information overload. As expected, the A-Z bulk of the book is followed by several appendices including episode lists with airdates and a fictional timeline of the Star Trek universe, from the creation of the universe to the late twenty-fourth century, all of which perfect the informative experience. Although written primarily from an internal perspective, the encyclopedia entries being written from the perspective that the Star Trek universe is real and the events and characters genuine, the writers do let off steam occasionally and break the illusion with interesting and entertaining behind-the-scenes fact boxes alongside relevant entries, which keeps the experience from becoming stale and taking itself far too seriously.
This is a book of limited use, however impressive (or shameful) it looks on the bookshelf. The first interactive ‘Star Trek Omnipedia’ followed shortly after the first edition, updates to which allowed users to enter their own information on contemporary topics, but the entire range has been abandoned by Paramount and Pocket Books in recent years in response to both the previously discussed growth of free online equivalents and the diminished interest in the Star Trek franchise after Voyager. There are some positive consequences of this cancellation however, as the older encyclopedias, whether first, second or third edition, all act as nostalgic relics of a simpler time when they were very temporarily bang up-to-date. This only falters for the third edition, which was evidently rushed into production shortly after the end of the television year that saw Deep Space Nine end its run, Voyager conclude its fifth season and the film ‘Star Trek: Insurrection’ hit box offices, as information from these three sources is added at the end of the book in a separate section, revealing a difficulty in alphabetising the information in time for the deadline. The other advantage for collectors is also, obviously, that they don’t have to keep buying new editions and wondering what to do with the old one (in my opinion, any encyclopedia that includes information on the franchise after the end of the superb Deep Space Nine would be a waste of time and money anyway).
The encyclopedia is handy and compact, repeating information only when strictly necessary – for example, a brief summary of an episode’s plot under the episode title’s entry, and reproduction of similar information on the entry of the planet or character involved in that episode – and is thus much better value for money than the extended magazine equivalents available such as the ‘Star Trek Fact Files.’ There is still a degree of pointless reproduction in terms of the small illustrated profiles of starships, which the editors seem to think need to be tagged on to every entry even when dozens of ships throughout the book will feature the very same picture. It was necessary before computer animation for series such as The Next Generation to re-use the same Excelsior- and Oberth-class starship models from the feature films again and again in numerous scenes, but it becomes irritating to see the same picture crop up for each of these insignificant ships, when a single, large photo of each starship class could serve the same purpose, and be linked to. The varying quality between genuine promotional photographs of characters, ships and exotic objects and the more blurred sources for planets and scenes taken from film cannot be avoided, and although the difference is noticeable and a little distracting, it’s handy to have all the different images available even when the editors had to settle for an inferior source.
The pictures, as well as the limited amount of non-canon speculation, is what places the encyclopedia above previously available unofficial reference works, and great care is currently being taken with sites such as the vast but unofficial Star Trek Wiki ‘Memory Alpha’ to ensure a similar standard, inspired by these books. ‘The Reference Guide to the Future’ may be ironically and hopelessly outdated even in its most recent form, but its fastidious selectiveness and canonical alphabetising laid a solid foundation for all other Star Trek reference works to follow.
Advantages: Comprehensive and definitive information on every facet of the Star Trek canon (once).
Disadvantages: Outdated, and difficult to approach by newer fans, or those with limited knowledge.
Dystopia
Written on 21.04.04
****
The oppressive and futuristic society of George Orwell's Nineteen Eighty-Four is widely known, with the book becoming one of the most recognised novels of the twentieth century. Many aspects of the plot are similar in context to earlier Dystopian novels: Aldous Huxley dealt with similar notions of human oppression, albeit from a different angle, in the novel Brave New World, while the much lesser known novel We by Russian author Yevgeny Zamyatin, has been credited as the forerunner and inspiration for these later classics, cited by Ada Palmer as "the first modern Dystopia, and the work on which all the rest are based." All three novels share similar traits, however the differences in style and plot reflect each individual author's personal fears and the message they are attempting to convey.
Orwell's novel takes place in London on 'Airstrip One,' formerly Great Britain, in the empire of Oceania, one of the three empires of the world that constantly vary between war and peace with each other. Society has been divided into three classes, the privileged Inner Party, the less recognised Outer Party and the proles, uneducated labourers who form the majority of the population. Posters and television monitors constantly display the moustached face of 'Big Brother,' the figurehead of the government which, with its Thought Police and surveillance, can observe your every action.
A TOTALITARIAN SOCIETY
Government in Airstrip One is divided into four dubious departments; the Ministry of Peace, concerned with war; the Ministry of Truth, which falsifies old records to ensure the government has always been correct; the Ministry of Love, where criminals are tortured and laws are passed; and the Ministry of Plenty, which rations food. The novel features an ambiguous conclusion as to whether the rebellious movement known as the 'Brotherhood' actually exists: although seldom discussed in Orwell's novel, the oppressed working masses, the proles, are a group that would certainly benefit through carrying out their own revolution; Winston writes in his diary that, "if there is hope - it lies with the proles."
The symbolic figurehead of the oppressing force is another theme common to all the novels, however neither Huxley's Ford nor Zamyatin's Benefactor have the same function as Orwell's terrifying Big Brother, required by the government to accustom the citizens to living repressed lives through fear. The ultimate goal of the governing bodies in Dystopia novels is the creation and maintenance of stability, although this has been achieved through different means and for different reasons, relating to each author's motive for writing their novels based on their personal experiences and fears. Orwell's novel can be seen as a comparison to totalitarian Russia and Nazi Germany leading to forced slavery for a society, due to it being written shortly after the demise of the Nazi government when the full extent of their atrocities became known.
CHARACTERS WITHOUT HOPE
The similarities between the Dystopian novels can be largely seen in the actions and presentation of the characters. The protagonists in all three, most notably Nineteen Eighty-Four, follow the cycle of curiosity, discovery, rebellion and destruction; ultimately there is no sense of hope or salvation.
Nineteen Eighty-Four is the story of Winston Smith, a man whose job concerns falsifying old records for the Ministry of Truth. Winston feels the need to write his thoughts down in a diary, an illegal practice which will likely be observed despite Winston's precautions, eventually being told of an dubious underground resistance movement called the Brotherhood by a woman called Julia. Winston begins meeting her in private for sexual liaisons, and is finally arrested and taken for rehabilitation and execution in the ironic 'Ministry of Love.'
Winston, like the protagonists in all three novels, is one of society's more privileged males, not content with his lifestyle, whose rebellious feelings are eventually forced further through sex. The end of each novel features the destruction of the rebellious individual: Brave New World sees John committing suicide and Bernard exiled to Iceland; the end of We sees D-503 undergo reconditioning and becoming an emotionless drone; in Nineteen Eighty-Four, Winston is forced to share the ideals of the Party before being killed for his crimes.
We and Nineteen Eighty-Four feature female characters who are very similar in purpose; E-330 attempts to persuade D-503 to help her sabotage the Integral, causing him to fall in love with her before they are found out and permanently separated. In the latter novel, Julia is also a member of an underground rebellion movement who finds she has fallen in love with Winston but who is unable to perform any terrorist acts before they are permanently separated.
STYLE & LANGUAGE
The major difference between the three texts is the style in which they are written. Brave New World takes an objective and distanced view of the events, using scientific terms to explain concepts. We is written in the form of a journal, incorporating a large amount of mathematical calculation and dialogue in the early stages before D-503's progression. Nineteen Eighty-Four manages to tell the most personal story with its explorations of Winston's thoughts and feelings.
An interesting feature of the Dystopian novels is their reference to slogans and terms which are commonplace in the horrific future. Brave New World's simplistic slogans are taught to children in their sleep from an early age, while Nineteen Eighty-Four's unique 'newspeak' terminology allows for an exploration of futuristic slang terms, explained as an appendix to the book and easily believable.
Unlike the distanced viewpoint of the other novels, Orwell's narrative is centred on the world as Winston experiences it, and this personal approach encourages more sympathy for each character's plight from the reader. Nineteen Eighty-Four is written from the perspective of their respective protagonists, making these far more intimate accounts and offering a personalised view of the societies and governments with which they are concerned.
CONCLUSION
Nineteen Eight-Four is the most recognised and acclaimed novel to portray a nightmarish vision of the future, but is by no means the only one. Fans of one novel will likely enjoy, and be inspired by, the alternative works as they fit together well: Brave New World, We and Nineteen Eighty-Four portray alternative Dystopian futures at different stages; Orwell's oppressive society is still in its development with a population in the process of conversion; Huxley's society exists centuries afterwards, at a time where the government has firmly established its perfect control over the population; Zamyatin's novel exists in a distant fantasy time when the naturally evolved survivors of a devastating war intend to spread their "idyllic" existence to other stars.
Not a book for the faint-hearted, this is ultimately a little depressing but acts as a well-known warning of how society must stay on the right track.
Advantages: A classic novel with a genuine message, Believable characters with which to sympathise, Not overlong
Disadvantages: The book drags on at times, Not an uplifting experience
Phaidon Press, The Art Book
...But I Know What I Like
Written on 03.10.05 [2015 update]
*****
Probably one of the most widely-owned art books, Phaidon’s somewhat pompously titled ‘The Art Book’ is a colourful, concise and informed pocket guide to different takes on art and its history and development from biblical scenes to lobster phones.
Originally a heavyweight tome, this bestseller was scaled down to handbag size and its price thankfully reduced proportionally. There is no other difference between the two editions; the larger book is easier to read and admire, while the smaller volume is easier to carry and afford as a casual purchase or gift.
Featuring 500 paintings from legendary to less renowned artists, this is an excellent, basic introduction to art in general for students and normal people too.
PRESENTATION & ARRANGEMENT
The first impression to be gained from The Art Book is that it is arranged alphabetically by artist surname, its first commendation and flaw. There has never been an agreed method of grouping paintings, some preferring a chronological view and others gaining more from thematic groupings regardless of the painting’s age or fame, but this A to Z at least makes the paintings easy to navigate. In fact, the publishers see the occasionally excellent juxtapositions as a major selling point to the book, allowing for an interesting view on contrasting or complimentary views of ‘what makes art.’
Each artist is represented by a single work, almost always their most famous or inspiring, but occasionally seeming oddly chosen in light of more renowned examples. Da Vinci’s Mona Lisa is here, as is Picasso’s Weeping Woman, while the always fascinating world of modern art is represented by names such as Andy Warhol and Yves Klein, with the unlikely inclusion of his ‘IKB 79,’ a canvas of patented deep blue hue.
LAYOUT
The artist’s name, surname first, heads the page in a large font, accompanied by the artwork’s title above the work itself. The pages are excellent quality, surprising for the price (in the compact edition at least), varnished and sturdy to allow for much flicking and scrutiny. The drawback to this is the comparatively weak spine: with any wide paperback there is a danger of creasing the spine, and even more so when biographical and historical details are tucked away in the shadowy margins. The book doesn’t crease if care is taken, and the predominantly white spine and cover don’t show such wear and tear so easily.
NOVEL FEATURES
A celebrated and dedicated addition to the brief description of each piece is a list of similar artists, a feature that can aid fans of a particular style greatly in discovering new favourites. The notes on each work are satisfactory and mostly interesting, if a little dogmatic and controversial in expressing the artist’s intent, but this helps to gain a better understanding of art’s development in the reader’s head. It’s very interesting to see classic and much-lauded works treated with no greater enthusiasm or praise than less successful offerings, aside from occasional adjectives such as ‘pioneered’ and ‘developed,’ and the final pages of the book include copyright information, addresses and contact details for international art galleries.
VERDICT
Although not essential or indispensable, The Art Book is highly useful introductory and reference material as well as an entertaining and jam-packed collection of artwork. Although more contemporary genres receive much more focus than others, especially modern art and painting after the 19th century, the variety of work on display in this mini home gallery is fascinating. Nothing can compare to seeing artwork (with the exception of reproducible media such as photographs and prints) in its original exhibited glory, but the clear colours throughout the book really do the masters justice.
With 500 artists, art nerds are clearly going to be disappointed. There is currently nothing from the last few years due to the publication date of 1997, something amended only slightly by the sequel-of-sorts ‘The 20th Century Artbook’ in 1999. And there are, of course, influential artists left out. It isn’t Phaidon’s goal to include the post-apocalyptic fantastical realism of Beksinski and Barlowe or the erotic extraterrestrials of Giger, although no doubt every casual reader will question the validity of many pieces contained within: part of the fun of this book, and art in general.
Currently available on Amazon.co.uk with 20% off for the low price of £5.56, plus postage and packing, Phaidon’s Art Book is waiting to be usurped by an even more balanced and affordable collection, but is currently a common bookshelf resident in schools, colleges and homes and a book that will never become tiresome. If only for the erotic nature of the numerous nude portraits. I don’t know much about art...
Advantages: Excellent range of styles, genres and formats; well researched; affordable
Disadvantages: Unbalanced focus; limitations
Paul Pope, 100%
Written on 21.11.07
**
Paul Pope's ambitious "Graphic Movie" of a graphic novel, originally released as five large-size comics between 2002 and 2003 on DC's adult Vertigo label, must have been something of a fun pet project for the popular writer, who both wrote and illustrated all two hundred and forty-something pages of this future-based soap opera. It's insightful and something of a rare privilege to see an artist's creative vision realised precisely as they intended without any outside involvement beyond a little pressure from the publishers, but it also brings up the less favourable possibility that the work will end up so self-indulgent that its appeal is limited to an audience of one.
Pope's credentials as a prolific writer and artist allow '100%' to avoid this pitfall almost entirely, but it does feel like the project's narrow field of input affects how it eventually plays out. While there's no doubt that the resulting highly detailed, black-and-white screenplay of this 'movie' makes a seamless transfer from its creator's mind to the blank page, there's a substantial change in tone and style between the first issue and the four that come after it, which I put down to the writer's misguided use of a shock opening as much as my own false preconceptions based on this and the heavy doses of science fiction in the written introduction. Seeming to start out as a dystopian future noir style crime story in the vein of 'Blade Runner,' the plot becomes increasingly low-key and cosily domestic as it continues, to the point where the final two issues are entirely devoid of any sinister overtones whatsoever. Upon reaching the arbitrary end to these characters' dull stories, the reader can decide whether to praise the writer-artist for his authentic depiction of everyday humdrum life outside of the unrealistic twists and turns typical of fictional drama, devoid of any kind of neatly-packaged, satisfying ending that would be untrue to such a realist statement; or to simply feel a bit angry and disappointed at the lack of flying car chases and rampaging, post-apocalyptic mutants that became increasingly unlikely as each issue moved on.
'100%' is entirely a character story, dealing with a core cast of five characters whose situations are loosely entwined. The sci-fi background is disappointingly irrelevant beyond the repetitive scenes at one of the primary locations, a nude dancing club called the Catshack that utilises twisted 'gastro' technology to project the dancers' internal organs for a fuller invasion and penetration of their bodies, advertised through such catchy slogans as "Transparency is sex-sex-sexy!" and the irresistible "What's boiling inside her stomach?" Gastro is the most interesting and witty aspect of Pope's dystopia, presented as the natural evolution of human (alright, male) perversion and reminding me of a question posed by satiric celebrity interviewer Dennis Pennis to Madonna in response to her coy sex publication, when he asked whether the sequel will allow us to see her intestines and fallopian tubes.
It's an effectively chilling dystopia that seems all too plausible, but one that is left largely mysterious and unexplained, detailed only through hints to a past war through characters' natural dialogue but helped along with insightful technical journal extracts in the first two issues. This whole process of teasing readers by dumping them into an unfamiliar environment and forcing them to adapt was used even more successfully in Alan Moore's early work 'The Ballad of Halo Jones' for 2000AD comic, while Moore's legendary 'Watchmen,' one of the gospels for adult comic writers since its publication in the late Eighties, seems to provide inevitable inspiration for the filmic layout, from oblique opening 'shots' to incorporation of apocryphal supplementary material on the fringes to help flesh out this world even more.
Prior to this publication, Pope spent a number of years in Japan producing Manga, and the style makes its way into his work here, though in more subtle ways like character dynamics and graphic perspectives, not just by something less subtle like giving everyone big hair and making the women frequently display their hulking breasts. Well, he doesn't do the hair thing anyway. The art really is great, as would be expected from a fairly mainstream publication that didn't demand another artist to be drafted in, taking interesting approaches with first-person perspective in the opening issue, and spending a significant amount of paper on detailed establishing shots and movement without dialogue that really help to convince that this is some sort of highly detailed storyboard for a feature film, without distracting annotations. I do, of course, have to take issue with the series' ridiculous sub-title of 'A Graphic Movie,' which seems to imply that this is beyond the graphic novel format and will achieve for cinema what 'Watchmen' did for literature, but Pope is unfortunately completely wrong and his work hasn't been snatched up like that of Frank Miller. This is not a movie at all; it is a comic. Comic. Or graphic novel if you want to distance yourself from the stereotype of that bloke from the Simpsons. A graphic movie would be something completely different, commonly known as a movie (or film).
Stripping away the sci-fi backdrop, this film's script is fairly bland and not that interesting, but still contains some nice ideas and likeable enough characters, particularly the slightly eccentric Eloy whose enthusiasm for his expanding collection of old kettles on miniature stoves all tuned to whistle in C major to form a blaring, beautiful symphony is quite endearing in its pointlessness. Elsewhere in the drama we have the obligatory Romeo and Juliet couple John and Daisy, the former being an everyman slaving away in the kitchens and washrooms of the dancing club where the mysterious and elusive Daisy works for a fleeting time, herself providing some tedious "she's only felt comfortable with dangerous men" style musings from the sometime-narrator and concealing what's most likely a drugs problem; still an issue of this late twenty-first century despite government initiatives to legalise and brand softer drugs like marijuana.
The first characters to be introduced end up accomplishing the least, the nightclub owner Strel receiving a sinister phone call that threatens to drag her character into the darker recesses of the nightmare future at first, before being cleared up and made weakly amicable in the next issue, and her friend Kim who illegally buys a gun in order to feel safe, before realising that all she needed was a boyfriend after all. Pope apparently conceived of this project as a collection of five characters' independent stories, but was overruled by the publishers who insisted it be made continuous; thus, the links between the characters are all rather loose and occasionally non-existent, and the narrative simply chooses to jump around with each of its twenty-five 'chapters,' some of which are ludicrously short and insubstantial at only a couple of pages - and anyway, I thought movies were split into acts and scenes, not chapters? This all sounds a bit too novelly for my liking, what I wanted was a graphic movie (on bound paper).
This is something of a graphic novel (sorry, movie) aimed at readers who are preoccupied with promoting the idea of comics as a legitimate art form, seeking out the avant-garde and daily insisting to anyone who mocks their hobby (or is just unfortunate enough to be in their vicinity) that comics are not just about 'flying men in tights,' but to be honest I'd rather read 'Izzard the Airborne Transvestite' any day. The art is really good, but the plot is weak and drawn-out, and it wasn't the wisest idea to open with the discovery of a mysteriously murdered dancer sticking out of a bin, as it only raises readers' hopes that this story will be something that it's not. The ending is left open for an unlikely sequel ('200%'?), but I'd rather see the writer move away from soap and apply his skills to something more dramatic and exciting. Some of the sci-fi ideas here are good, but weird distractions such as the 'Four-Dee Booth' that acts like Star Trek's holodeck and briefly transport the characters to exotic locations indicate that Pope was perhaps feeling a little constrained by this grimy not-too-distant-future Manhattan he'd bricked himself inside for what must have been a gruelling and lonely writing, drawing and inking period. '100%: A Graphic Movie' is never coming to a cinema near you, but you can buy this storyboard from comic shops.
Advantages: Interesting future vision and artistic concept.
Disadvantages: Rapidly degenerates into bland soap opera, and the later issues offer very little.
Old as Time, Patient as a Brick
Written on 06.10.05
***
The Discworld is heading towards a large red sun, and nobody knows why apart from Great A’Tuin him/herself (there is a strong possibility here of the latter). Rincewind and Twoflower have cheated Death again, miraculously landing unscathed in a lush talking forest, but soon find themselves hunted for the spell lodging inside Rincewind’s head. Twoflower just sort of hangs around for support and adventure and stuff.
‘Twoflower didn’t just look at the world through rose-tinted spectacles … he looked at it through a rose-tinted brain, too, and heard it through rose-tinted ears.’
The second book in Terry Pratchett’s continuing Discworld series introduces more oddities and develops those features of the disc introduced in ‘The Colour of Magic.’ Focusing on failed magician Rincewind and the arrogant, power-crazed wizards of Unseen University, ‘The Light Fantastic’ sees the Discworld slowly heading to its destruction and a mad rush to find Rincewind’s brain, preferably still inside his skull.
THE SEQUEL
This book was originally sub-titled ‘A sequel to The Colour of Magic,’ and that’s effectively what it is: a second part to a previous tale that ended with a dramatic cliffhanger. Or rather, cliff fall-off. Not having read the first book I did feel like I was missing out on character development and history that seemed to be taken for granted a little, despite the author’s attempts at clearing up what led to the current situation. Namely, that of Rincewind and Twoflower plummeting off the edge of the world. Don’t worry, they’re alright really.
‘It was always a considerable annoyance to any Disc citizen with pretensions to culture that they were ruled by gods whose idea of an uplifting artistic experience was a musical doorbell.’
The Discworld, a flat plane supported by four elephants who in turn stand on the back of Great A’Tuin the space turtle, is obviously developed a little more at this early stage of the series. Confused talking trees, drudic computer programmers and a barbarian called Cohen add to the encyclopaedia, while many characters are re-introduced: most memorably Death (sadly seeming less original now thanks to the character’s overuse in pretty much every adult cartoon series since) and the brilliantly conceived Luggage, a loyal, magical chest with a bad attitude and hundreds of sprawling legs to carry itself after its owner. The wizards of Ankh-Morpork were presumably a prominent feature of the last book based on their actions here, but on the whole they don’t seem particularly cunning or terrifying as the sort-of-villains of the story.
STYLE
Terry Pratchett’s writing style is popular and has helped him shift many books. I haven’t read any of his other books so I can’t compare the level of humour or literary accomplishment, but this feels less like an epic read than something that will entertain and make the reader laugh for 285 pages. The plot does make sense and leads to a logical and actually surprisingly tense and exciting conclusion, but it’s littered with distractions and asides that aren’t necessary to the driving story arc but are welcome in a book of this type. Pratchett doesn’t divide the book into evident chapters, simply using double spaces to separate each paragraph, and although it’s a nice, personal touch it does make it more difficult to keep track of exactly what’s going on sometimes.
There are some very obviously contrived paragraphs that discuss a completely irrelevant issue just so Pratchett can end on a bit of a rubbish joke – most memorably a parody of the ‘what is best in life’ scene from the 1981 film ‘Conan the Barbarian,’ which lasts for two pages and ends with the rather weak statement, ‘hot water, good dentishtry and shoft lavatory paper.’
INFLUENCE OR COINCIDENCE?
First published in 1986, this is post-‘Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy’ stuff, and whether intentional or not, the style is often very similar to Douglas Adams. Pratchett’s excellent descriptions that litter the pages and are, for me, the highlight of this book read like they could have been penned by Adams, especially when describing usually inanimate objects showing traces of personality.
Pratchett’s ideas of ‘charm, persuasion, uncertainty and bloody-mindedness’ keeping the sun and moon orbiting the world and a rock being able to fly just so long as the riders don’t let themselves realise that it’s impossible seem, at times, directly lifted from Adams’ ‘Life, the Universe and Everything.’ Even the double act of sarcastic, reluctant hero Rincewind and strange, otherworldly Twoflower also made me think of the interaction of Arthur Dent and Ford Prefect (from Hitchhiker’s Guide), but as a fan of that series I found these similarities quite fun and nostalgic.
Also, being a huge fan of the recent sci-fi adventure show Farscape, the idea of obsessively hunting someone down for the knowledge inside their head seemed eerily familiar, but that’s fifteen years down the line.
VERDICT
Terry Pratchett confesses in the short biography at the start of the Discworld books that ‘it became obvious that [writing] the Discworld series was much more enjoyable than real work.’ The author’s sense of fun shines through here as he creates an expansive fantasy world to make himself and others laugh and, occasionally, get involved in the plot. But this is early days; doubtless the other Discworld books are aimed a little more at newcomers than this ‘part two,’ although as an introduction to the books in its own right, it doesn’t fare too badly.
As can be expected from a male author’s pet project, the book is dominated by witty and heroic blokes. Bethan acts as little more than a bizarre love interest for the octogenarian Cohen while Pratchett’s introduction of Herrena, a potential but underused warrior woman, is littered with incomplete descriptions of her leather-clad body that lead the author to admit he requires a cold shower. Potentially enjoyable for people of all sexes and backgrounds, it’s not uncommon to see a multi-coloured row of Discworld book spines occupying the same shelf as an adolescent’s Warhammer army.
Recommended for fans of funny and fantastical books alike, but I’d recommend reading The Colour of Magic first. That makes it better, I expect. The cover art is fun too.
Advantages: A fun fantasy romp in very funny writing style
Disadvantages: Not too original; hard to keep track of plot at times
Written on 26.08.07
*****
Art books are always far more interesting than other books, because they're full of pictures. Despite having a degree in English Literature, I was only partially joking about that. This large, affordable and extensive collection of original Star Trek design artwork and photography is a fascinating look behind-the-scenes at the creation of the series, from its modest roots in Leonard McCoy's trumped-up salt and pepper shaker medical instruments to the awe-inspiring, high-concept designs for the Deep Space Nine space station and its unique technology. Released in the mid-90s in hardback (now hard to find), this paperback version was produced in 1997 and has never been updated, though unlike all-encompassing reference works this does not act against it as a simple sketchbook of designs and prop photos from Star Trek's conception to its most prolific era in the mid-90s, before its arguable downfall in more recent years.
Judith and Garfield Reeves-Stevens (how do you like that? A married couple of Star Trek fans!) have evidently carried out a huge labour of love with this book, collecting all of the available design work for the series and printing it in pristine quality. For Star Trek fans (who else is going to buy this book?), the concept sketches in particular act as a fascinating comparison between the creators' ideals and the ultimate result achievable due to the technology available, and the time and budget permitted. This is especially noticeable in the designs for the original series, which went into production in 1964 with a comparatively small budget, but also evident as each new incarnation brought lofty and sometimes ridiculous ideas with it. Much of this material has likely been seen before and since in other publications, but this is the only book to collect it all together in one neat, chronological volume, including much material that was previously unseen as part of private collections.
The book is helpfully and logically arranged in two sections of chronological chapters, from the 1960s to the "present day" of around twelve years ago. The first half, 'The Future in Our Living Rooms,' covers the television series, while 'The Big Picture' tackles each feature film one at a time. The chapters are of uneven lengths, depending on the amount of material available, and the arrangement makes it much easier to locate specific areas. All of the Star Trek series produced up to that point are covered, as well as the feature films one to seven, but most interesting of all are the chapters on the lesser-seen or even unproduced series that are usually ignored in reference works. Most surprising in an officially licensed Star Trek work is a chapter on the animated series from the early 1970s, which although popular was later seen by Gene Roddenberry and others as an embarrassing mis-step and eradicated from the "official" canon completely, until more recent years. Thanks to this book, fans can once again see the simple cartoon drawings of the original cast, as well as the often ludicrous concepts developed for the new-found freedom of animation, where budget concerns could no longer get in the way of eccentricity.
Also from the seventies is the production work for the never-produced live action series tentatively titled 'Star Trek: Phase II,' which was ultimately abandoned in favour of a film series in the wake of Star Wars' popularity. An amusing mix of leftover ideas from the original series and lower budget predictions of what was in store for the first film, this is likely to be seen as the most intriguing chapter of the book, unless the reader already owns the more extensive 'Phase II' publication from around the same time, which is entirely devoted to this lost series. Cancelled prior to the production phase, the only photographic evidence of this series are the two images of new cast members Persis Khambatta and David Gautreaux who would both return in the first film (Gautreaux playing a different character). The rest consists of the usual sketches and attractive paintings, mostly for the refitted Enterprise and its redesigned interiors that would eventually appear in 'Star Trek: The Motion Picture,' after a further series of very odd-looking and clearly Star Wars-inspired designs from Ralph McQuarrie, which can also be seen here: http://www.robsacc.nl/_forgottentrek/phase2_1.php
My personal favourite section of the book is that covering the feature films, as the higher budgets allocated encouraged the designers to come up with some truly impressive designs. Star Trek III in particular was responsible for expanding the range of spacecraft significantly, from Starfleet's Excelsior- and Oberth-class ships and huge, mushroom-like Spacedock to the nifty Klingon Bird-of-Prey, all of which would be recycled endlessly in the future television series. It's also interesting to see the changes made to background graphics and interiors, tiny elements of the film experience that nevertheless help to change the tone subtly towards the creators' intentions, from the submarine feel of Star Trek II to the jollier fourth and fifth in the series. The evolution of alien make-up for races such as the Klingons and the more elaborate species that would come later (particularly in Deep Space Nine) are also explored visually, and even the progress of computer generated special effects is charted, from the memorable 'Project Genesis' demonstration to the stellar cartography set from the first Next Generation feature. Although it leaves aside the actors and many of the characters (the dull human ones anyway), this book achieves its goal of covering everything strikingly visual in the Star Trek universe, leaning heavily towards original concept designs for which I am grateful - after all, it's easy enough to see the finished product on screen.
It's refreshing to see a Star Trek work such as this that doesn't attempt to present itself 'in character' within the fictional Star Trek universe, something that makes the official encyclopaedia publications a little dry and distant. This book is set entirely behind-the-scenes, and the writers' honest comments accompanying each image, or introducing each section, are the perfect mix of awe and even humorous criticism for some of the more desperate-looking or recycled props. The amount of text is kept to something of a minimum, explaining the premise and history behind each step in the Star Trek production timeline and the goals of the designers, but aside from a couple of confusing mistakes in the annotations there really isn't anything lacking in terms of information. The pictures themselves are all in full colour, sometimes grouped together or occasionally spread across a double page, and the only real problem is that there is much material left out, although to be fair this is mainly matte paintings and starship models of a similar design to what's included. Many of the great looking but completely unconvincing matte paintings used for alien vistas in the original series would look great on my wall.
The limited, anticipatory focus on 'Star Trek: Voyager' and the 'Generations' feature film obviously date this book, but in a cute way, and there have been enough behind-the-scenes releases since that contain the sketches and models for the newer films and series. All the same, it would be interesting to see an expanded edition or supplementary volume of 'The Art of Star Trek,' perhaps once the franchise receives its regrettable big-screen reboot at the end of next year and becomes popular again. Although it may now seem incomplete, 'The Art of Star Trek' is undoubtedly my favourite Star Trek publication, and certainly the one I've flicked through the most over the years.
Advantages: Hundreds of full colour illustrations covering all aspects of Star Trek imagery.
Disadvantages: Nothing from the last decade.
Written on 12.01.06
***
The Broadview Anthology of Seventeenth-Century Verse & Prose, to give its full title, is a bulky 1300-page volume that falls a little short of being A4. Its pages are filled, as the comprehensive title indicates, with writings from across the seventeenth century from over 100 authors, not exclusively English, boasting a greater proportion of women writers than has been seen before.
The 17th century is a very interesting period of English history, although really that's to be expected considering it lasted for a hundred years and was relatively recent as far as centuries go. It's sometimes hard to contemplate progress within a time frame like this, and to be honest the fastidious adherence to writings between 1600 and 1699 doesn't help the matter: they're not having any of that 1599 or 1700 rubbish here. At least it gives the book some guidelines, and allows the keen reader to see the development from Renaissance to Restoration (with a bit of revolution in-between), and a noticeable development in Early Modern English.
As is customary for literary anthologies, the works are arranged in order of the writer's year of birth, beginning with John Chamberlain (1553-1627) and ending with Elizabeth Singer Rowe, pen-name 'Philomela' (1674-1737). This arrangement is hugely helpful in keeping the changing historical context in mind, and seeing the influence exerted on later authors, but is perhaps a little flawed due to the ages at which the writers start writing. The only way to avoid this discrepancy would be to arrange each specific work in order of publication, skipping between authors all the time, and this would be a lot less useful. To aid those searching for specific works, the anthology has two indexes: the first is an index of first lines, the second an alphabetical list of authors by surname.
The anthology's prime goal is to make available works of poetry and prose from the 17th century that are of historical and literary interest, with the specific bent of excluding those that can be commonly found elsewhere. This is most obvious in the omission of Milton's epic poem Paradise Lost, one of the most famous and important works of the century, but one that exists in a wide variety of affordable forms elsewhere. It's also quite easy to see which authors are more influential than others, as a quick browse of the contents pages sees recognisable names being devoted a far greater amount of space than their less remarkable contemporaries, as should be the case.
All spelling and grammar has been 'modernized' (as the American editors put it), which will anger purists, but makes it a lot easier to read poets like Donne and Herbert without being distracted by extraneous eeees. Unfortunately, this is also likely to bring unnecessary 21st century subconscious anti-American feelings to the fore as Donne's 'The Canonization' gets the z treatment. I don't really mind though, I was brought up on 80s cartoons: I think zs are cool.
This book features nothing on the historical context of the time outside the comprehensive biographies that introduce each author, meaning that companion volumes will be needed to fully appreciate the position of the more politically-minded works. All this is done deliberately and wisely, although I think the biographies themselves could do with providing a little more information about the authors outside their texts: flatly stating some of their political views would be a bit of a time-saver.
The bulky Broadview anthologies are designed with University studies in mind, and as such they can rely on the judgement of course tutors in selecting the relevant authors and works to study. As you may have guessed, I'm studying 17th century literature and this book forms just under half of the selected reading across two terms. It would be useful for anyone with an interest in literature from the century, but it would have to be quite a large interest - and remember that this excludes some longer popular works and doesn't feature any plays or masques.
Some notable poets and authors included in the anthology:
Francis Bacon: writer of The Essays, commonly seen as laying the foundation for the century's prose writing style, as well as detailing Bacon's influential views on science and the search for knowledge
John Donne: founder of what would be later termed 'the metaphysical poets,' the randy promiscuous lover who later became priest of St. Paul's produced some of England's most memorable poetry
Ben Jonson: chiefly a writer of plays and masques, Jonson's Cavalier poetry (a bit of a misleading categorisation, as he died before the civil war) contrasts perfectly with Donne's extravagant Renaissance verse by being almost completely plain. It's fortunate that their birthdays were so close that Rudrum and the other editors could place these men side by side.
George Herbert: Herbert's consistently Christian poetry deals with varying themes but always turns them into a celebration of God by the climax, and as such may not impress non-Christians to the same extent, not that this would have been a concern for this man, who died age 40.
John Milton: Puritan revolutionary and notorious free thinker, Milton's contribution is vast enough to be divided specifically here into poetry and prose. His famous pamphlet Areopagitica, criticising overly strict censorship laws, is included here among a very limited range of his poetry including some of his sonnets. Not an exceptional reference point for Milton, but there are plenty of those out there.
Andrew Marvell: switching back and forth between Catholicism and Protestantism, and from a Royalist supporter to one of Cromwell's MPs, Marvell's varied nature comes through in his lyric poetry. A close friend of Milton from the 1650s onwards, it was probably Marvell who protected him from those Restoration men who fancied hanging, drawing and quartering followers of Cromwell.
Margaret Cavendish, Duchess of Newcastle: the inclusion of Cavendish seems to be one of the book's selling points, a figure who many feel has been overlooked over the centuries. Her Utopian prose writing 'The Blazing World' isn't included here, controversially lauded by some as the first work of science fiction (take that, Wells!), but her stubborn pride in publishing her own works under her own name, as a woman in a patriarchal century, makes the resulting effects of her works much greater than the sum of their words. But this was really accomplished by:
Aphra Behn: the most recognised woman author of the century, Behn comes in at the final quarter with her radical stories of female sexuality, lust, seduction, incest, rape - all manner of shocking subjects. Especially for a woman, whew. Behn is most famous for her plays, which aren't included here.
This Broadview anthology is pricey and bulky, but in the end the reader has to rely on the selections of its editors, which are likely to change year to year according to the blurb's own admission of "the breadth of seventeenth-century studies in recent decades." My personal approach was, controversially, not to buy the book at all, instead checking it briefly in libraries and opting to read the original collections of the poets studied (I don't mean the first editions, obviously. If I can't comfortably afford a £30 anthology, what would I be doing with a library of 17th century folios?)
In this way I feel I'm emulating Milton in his stand against the Royalists. And by borrowing the anthology over the Christmas holiday I feel I am emulating his somewhat contradictory and otherwise confusing depiction of rebels and conformists by admitting that it's quite a good book after all. I'm your biggest fan John, you blind dead Puritan.
The key thing readers should keep in mind when reading this text is that the 17th century produced a whole load of very good and important plays too, but I can't fault the anthology on sticking fanatically to the rules of its title.
Will Self, How the Dead Live
Written on 24.11.07
****
Anyone familiar with Will Self himself won't be surprised to learn that his critically acclaimed novels are saturated with the critic/writer/cartoonist's unsurpassed world-weariness, and this is only one of the issues that makes 'How the Dead Live' an incredibly demanding read. This odd and unsettling hybrid of social satire, gritty soap opera and urban fantasy doesn't mesh together with any kind of ease, but somehow results in a completely unique and compellingly disturbing book that's likely to leave quite an impact on the reader.
The novel is all about Lily, an old American immigrant of Jewish background who spends her final years living in London, as well as the subsequent years of her death. The novel is written in the third-person for the most part, but the narration absorbs Lily's consciousness to such a degree that the reader gets a clear idea of her character fairly soon, and is stuck with her for the long haul whether they like it or not. Despite her frustrations with seemingly everything that comes across her field of vision, from rather obvious and trivial concerns about modern culture that provide some refreshing comic relief to more serious and distressing obsessions with her own weight and regrettable lack of sexuality, Lily is ultimately quite a likeable character whom the reader can't help but feel sympathy for, even as she criticises her own daughters for their drug habit and unfortunate resemblance to her late husband, respectively. Oh, that Lily.
Opening with a bizarre 'Epilogue' set many years down the line that launches the reader straight into the more fantastical side of things for a few pages, the novel then switches to a more customary linear format starting from Lily's final days in 1988, divided into the even sections 'Dying,' 'Dead' and 'Deader.' The first is conversely the most accessible, for its focus on the 'real' world (ahh, but what is real? Oh shut up), and the most disturbing as the reader is taken along for the ride leading to Lily's inevitable death from breast cancer. For its profound and horrific effectiveness, this is the strongest section of the book, and it takes some personal effort to make it through the later chapters as Lily's consciousness becomes more flighty, returning to key incidents in her distant past and only occasionally providing glimpses of the deterioration and rushes to hospitals occurring in the even more distant present, as she loses control over her own grunts and actions.
The greatest relief in this difficult time is the introduction of the spiritual factor; just as many dying people take comfort in such obviously made-up rubbish in their final hours, the appearance of the bizarre urban aborigine Phar Lap Jones as Lily's death guide inaugurates Self's own confusing, flawed and inconsistent mythology, but at least allows the reader a degree of relief as it becomes clear that Lily is being watched over, and you no longer have the responsibility of being her sole companion.
From this point on, in 'Dead' through 'Deader,' Self lets rip with ingenious and less ingenious ideas from his own twisted mind and borrowed from the history of mythology and fantasy literature, and while his construction of a parallel world of the dying existing alongside the living world is interesting, sometimes visible to the living depending on the dead's intentions or the needs of the plot, the idea reminded me a little too much of a similar but better 'alternative London' concept in Neil Gaiman and Lenny Henry's 'Neverwhere.' Lily's depressing squat is a fittingly bleak location for the early years of her death, a state that has failed to mellow her in the slightest, and her companions are similarly frightening, in the form of the children she lost - one stuck for eternity as a rebellious nine-year-old, the other a tiny foetus prone to signing the hits of the Sixties that it absorbed during its brief tenure in Lily's uterus - and three lumpy creatures made up of the fat she gained and lost during her life of yo-yo dieting. Seasoned sci-fi and fantasy readers will doubtless find some of the inherent contradictions of this world a little distracting - how, for instance, is Lily able to live a relatively normal death for dying of lung cancer, while her dead children and numerous other characters are condemned to die an eternal parody of the manner of their demise? - and this jarring mix of genres does affect it somewhat as it moves from human drama to Lily's desire to be reborn. A number of explicit comments make it clear that this book is intended to educate the (dead) reader in the waiting room that follows their demise, and it's equally creepy and enjoyable to be addressed in such a manner.
Self's writing style, as Lily of course, is quite overwhelmingly cynical, and as such this is a book that doesn't lend itself to being re-read, or even read in large doses. The author's grasp of his craft is inarguably excellent, similar to J. G. Ballard (who is quick to praise the endeavour in the blurb), and he makes nice, if off-putting use of repeated phrases and ideas as the prose slips into something approaching stream-of-consciousness, albeit from the perspective of a dead woman. It's funny in a subtle way, and not above less subtle toilet humour and terrible puns, but the author's obviously pain-staking research into pens really pays off by making Lily's humorously tedious discussion of her work in the pen industry completely authentic. Less commendable is his habit of drawing too much attention to his own mythological allusions, spoiling the fun for smart-arse readers in identifying a minicab driver as an urban Charon for instance, but there are enough original and inventive creations to raise this above a mere parody of myths, particularly in the interesting idea of Nowheres, Phar Lap's chain of restaurants that mimic the aboriginal walkabout experience by being unpalatable and almost impossibly elusive, and of course the novel's most memorable creation in the singing, dancing, eternally foetal Lithopedian (Lithy for short).
I haven't read any of Will Self's earlier or later novels, I'm not sure I have the necessary stamina, but 'How the Dead Live' is an excellent character piece, complicated to an unnecessary degree by the author's weird fantasy ideas but kept sufficiently entertaining as it approaches a conclusion that starts to explain the cryptic, italicised 'Christmas 2001' segments that have closed each chapter, set at a later date and spoken in the first-person in a voice and situation dissimilar to Lily's. Casual readers will be instantly deterred by the shifting of time and fantastical overtones, something that won't be helped by Matin Rowson's pretty map that opens the book and details the locations important to the story in London, Australia and New York, that will likewise lure fantasy fans with its false promise that this will be similar to C. S. Lewis' Chronicles of Narnia. Really, the map's just there to look nice.
The story of a fat and miserable old woman's descent into death and regurgitation through the other end won't be to everyone's taste (though I'm sure that in an infinitely diverse world, there's at least one person who's been waiting for just that book to come along), but it makes for an interesting, if strenuous reading experience, and should be enjoyed by fans of Ballard and William Burroughs as a modern equivalent.
R.I.P.
Advantages: Disturbing, charming, realistic and fantastical.
Disadvantages: The fantasy side of things is a little uneven.
William Shakespeare, Othello
Written on 18.05.04
****
O beware my lord of jealousy;
It is the green-eyed monster which doth mock
The meat it feeds on.
- Iago, Act 3 Scene 3 [Class. Literally.]
Shakespeare's Othello is one of the most debated and controversial of the Elizabethan playwright's works [Thanks for clearing up which Shakespeare you're talking about: the Elizabethan playwright], and as such is one of the better examples of his tragic plays [I'd only read this and Hamlet.] Bill Shakespeare [Let your hair down for the review] has long been the scourge of school pupils with his comedies that aren't really funny and his words that are difficult to read, and although I have always enjoyed studying English Literature I have often found myself conforming to this popular view. The text I have been studying for the last few months has offered me a new appreciation for the late William.
THE DEVIL WILL MAKE A GRANDSIRE OF YOU: PREJUDICE IN OTHELLO
Othello is refreshingly different from Shakespeare's other tragedies in a number of ways; although the main characters are of relative importance in society, the tragedy is limited to a domestic affair that only affects those directly involved, unlike plays such as Macbeth and Hamlet in which the future of a country's monarchy is in the protagonists' hands.
There are elements of racial and sexual prejudice throughout the play, although this should not lead to the conclusion that Othello is a racist play; the titular character is black, and the prejudice of the time leads to characters with direct hostility towards Othello using racial slurs such as "thick-lips" to describe him to others, along with beastly animal imagery intended to rekindle prejudices. The famous phrase "the beast with two backs" is used in the first scene to describe alleged sexual activity between Othello and Desdemona, Iago instructing Brabantio that "a black ram has been tupping your white ewe."
Shakespeare's plays are also a little notorious in the modern day for their somewhat disdainful view of women; Hamlet famously noted, "frailty, thy name is woman," and Desdemona is used here as the innocent victim of blind love and devotion. This play does manage to set itself apart once again however, as Shakespeare creates two female characters who are every bit as knowledgeable of the world as the men; Iago's wife Emilia offers advice on the opposite sex to Desdemona, and the brief appearances of Cassio's courtesan Bianca present the audience with a powerful female who is willing to speak her mind.
Othello's deterioration into animalistic qualities towards the end of the play has led to the impression by some that this is a racist play, but Shakespeare offers enough reasons to balance this out; Othello's violent and oppressed past has left a permanent mark on him along with a survival instinct, and he is seen to suffer epileptic fits, indicating that his physical and mental health are not all they could be. There is also the very effective influence of Iago.
HONEST IAGO
Although Othello is the eponymous character, many critics have argued that the play should in fact be titled 'Iago,' as a reference to the ways in which that character essentially drives the plot and events. Motivated by political greed and jealousy, Iago is an incredibly cunning man and a skilled manipulator, managing to play on characters' feelings and weaknesses. I have seen an exhaustive list of interpretations of Iago's character, many of them plausible and others a little extreme (there is little to suggest that he is a repressed homosexual in love with Othello!), although in the first Act he outlines his motivations and goals.
He tells his foolish accomplice Roderigo that he is after political gain, as Othello promoted Michael Cassio to his lieutenant over him, but in a soliloquy he admits to the audience that there are further reasons for his feelings of hatred: "It is thought abroad that 'twixt my sheets he's done my office" refers to the belief that Othello has slept with his wife, something that is never confirmed, and it is obvious that he also extracts a certain amount of perverse pleasure from deceiving his master; he even describes it as "my sport and profit."
Out of all of Shakespeare's popular characters, Iago is by far the most interesting to me, as he confides in the audience while also remaining something of an enigma. "I wear my heart upon my sleeve - I am not what I am" is a line from the first scene of the play, and Iago stays true to this false persona throughout, acting as an ally and confidant of every principle character to suit his own goals: "in following him, I follow but myself."
Iago is cunning and without remorse, and is therefore very appealing. Once he has set his plan in motion, he can do little else but watch it take its course and rely on his good fortune; after the third Act there are no more soliloquies with the audience, as he knows that "This is the night That either makes me, or fordoes me quite."
RUDE AM I IN MY SPEECH
Othello's deterioration from a noble-speaking Venetian into a cursing, decrepit murderer is brought about in full by Iago's plots, but the character's background and latent emotions will have existed in any case; Iago can only play with what he is given. The relationships between Othello and Desdemona seems to be based on very thin grounds, more a statement of ownership than love, and when Othello is prompted into considering the murder of his wife he feels it is through noble causes; his mental state has very broad definitions of what is honourable.
Critics argue over the ending of the play, and whether Othello is too stupid to be considered an honourable character. In my opinion, Othello is another unfortunate victim of both Iago and his oppressed youth, as both bring out the very worst in him. I have found nothing to support the view that Shakespeare offers a racist presentation of the character, and it is still tragic to see his life spiral downwards. In many ways he is more complex than Iago, especially as the audience are not offered the benefit of soliloquies to explain his feelings, but with the inside knowledge of what Iago is doing is it difficult not to find Othello far too trusting and prone to rash, unsound judgements.
MUCH ADO ABOUT A HANDKERCHIEF?
Desdemona's handkerchief was given to her as a token of love by Othello, and it is introduced subtly when she asks if she can use it to wipe the frustrated Othello's forehead. He informs her, "your napkin is too little," which can be interpreted as a message regarding the inherent flimsiness of their relationship; "one that loved not wisely, but too well."
Iago's world-weary but loyal wife Emilia attempts to earn his gratitude when finding Desdemona's handkerchief, after it is dropped in the previous scene, and giving it to her husband. Although the misogynistic Iago forces her off the stage, he sees an opportunity in the small, spotted silk and indicates, "this may do something." In his next meeting with Othello, Iago offers him the "ocular proof" he demanded by showing him the handkerchief and claiming to have found it in Cassio's quarters.
This trivial item, the background of which is uncertain as Othello offers two contradictory explanations that seem designed to increase his wife's guilt at losing it, becomes the catalyst for Iago's machinations as Othello finally believes everything he is told. His feelings and "honour" cloud his judgement to the point that he does not even realise that he has never been granted ocular proof of a relationship between Desdemona and Cassio.
VERDICT
As an A-level student of English Literature I have had the opportunity to explore many aspects of this play, aided by discussion and teaching, and I am increasingly impressed by the opportunities for speculation for almost every event and speech. If you have been disappointed by some of Shakespeare's other plays as I had, but enjoy reading classics and tragedies, this may be of interest to you. Although this was written with the intention of being performed, I have seen two adaptations and have found it more interesting to read the book at my own pace, especially when equipped with a helpful set of annotations to explain some of the more obscure Elizabethan language.
Ultimately depressing but morbidly engaging, it's difficult not to share in Iago's glee as the characters are successfully turned against each other leading to inevitable but still quite shocking conclusions. Every aspect of this play can be explored in depth, even down to the location of the Acts and what each setting represents, and I have enjoyed going through this process, actually being thrilled when confronted with an interesting opinion I hadn't thought of myself. I know, it's quite odd (and fairly sad), but Shakespeare has come up with a winner here.
I enjoy reading literary classics concerning damnation and religion, such as Dante's 'Inferno' and Marlowe's 'Dr. Faustus,' but the political struggles of Shakespearean plays rarely interest me aside from this. The five Acts craft an engaging story that never seems to drag on, and although a few of the characters are frustratingly one-dimensional and indecisive, Iago is always at hand to poison their lives.
Lord of a Dead Labyrinth
Written on 28.11.07
*****
I'm really quite astounded that no one ever made a film or TV adaptation of Robert Silverberg's 1968 sci-fi classic (or at least, one of the sci-fi classics the prolific author released that year), but with computer games getting more advanced all the time, I fear it's too late for that idea to seem anything but redundant. Silverberg's tragic, sympathetic and heroic tale of principles and stubbornness set in a weird alien maze can be seen as one of the final publications of his 'earlier' period before his writing apparently improved to the standard of raking in an obscene amount of Hugo and Nebula awards in the following decade, but its futuristic revision of Sophocles' already outlandish Greek tragedy Philoctotes works incredibly well, far better than some of the more desperate cyber-Greek productions the twentieth century offered: I can't help but think chiefly of the cartoon series 'Ulysses 31.' If this novel was ever in danger of becoming a lost classic, it's only for being buried so deep within such an extensive bibliography.
The background is rather a sad one; just as Philoctetes was exiled from Greece for having a smelly foot, famed Earth ambassador Dick Muller is haunted by a terrible psychic sickness that leads all within close proximity to experience sudden, unbearable, distressing emotions, and caused no objections when he packed his woman-cubes and departed his homeland forever in favour of the isolation of planet Lemnos. The ancient world is one of many known to mankind in its lonely expansion throughout the Milky Way that displays obvious archaeological signs of a native alien race long since extinct, specifically the enormous and seemingly impenetrable labyrinth they left behind; a puzzle that Muller no doubt appears to have solved, beginning the novel nine years into his self-imposed exile, having settled into a comfortable routine of hunting local dumb beasts and exploring the functions of his environment. This routine is rather suddenly and rudely interrupted when an Earth space craft appears in the skies overhead and lands in the general vicinity, outside the active defence perimeter of the vast maze of course (things aren't going to be that easy), and Dick must choose whether to exact revenge by using his traps to impede their progress, or leave the future of his exile in the hands of fate, in the unlikely event that anyone makes it through.
There's a nice trisected narrative to the book that shifts between Muller's perspective from inside his ancient fortress to the increasingly opposing views of aged officer Charles Boardman and his young subordinate Ned Rawlins on the other side of the divide. I don't know whether this is another narrative parallel to Sophocles' tale, but it's effective in really fleshing out both sides of the argument and explaining the background to this situation and to the futuristic setting in general without such insights feeling forced. There's even enough moral ambiguity and indecisiveness to prevent this from being a simplistic us v. them tale that expects the reader to identify with Dick's side against the advancing threat, as the truth about his situation is explained in depth and he considers whether continued exile in a dead city of booby traps is really what he wants from life. Similarly, Boardman isn't really the villain of the piece, despite seeking to control events with cold, unscrupulous precision for the sake of humanity's future and even lying or withholding information when necessary (like Cancer Man from 'The X-Files,' but not as cool), but it's Muller's tragic situation and young Rawlins' triumph of personal morality that endears them the most. I quite liked Muller, who I couldn't help but visualise looking like Richard O'Brien standing cool and confident in the Aztec Zone of 'The Crystal Maze,' as his time as a hermit has allowed him a clearer insight on the arrogance of his youth, proclaiming to be the next Columbus and elevating himself to a God, only to realise that due to his curse of expressing unclouded feelings, he is now more human than the race he left behind for good. Unfortunately, this is exactly why they need him back.
This novel stems from the most classic and speculative age of science fiction, and doesn't disappoint with its outlandish alien creatures. Muller's famous diplomatic encounter with the tall creatures of Beta Hydri IV was deemed unsuccessful due to a complete lack of communication opening between the two races, but on his return the emissary found himself substantially changed. Muller's resonance of this 'frequency' of negativity is intelligently deemed to be the only possible means with which to make contact with a new and even more exotic race of space whales slowly conquering the galaxy, whose absorption of the entire spectrum from infrared to ultraviolet finds little time for primitive verbal communication. Even the architecture of Lemnos and the maze itself are explicitly designed to be unrecognisably alien, from the architecture's complete lack of symmetry to the combination of traditional physical traps and more inventive psychic distractions to impede the invader's progress. At less than two hundred pages, this book necessarily leaves the majority of this mysterious universe satisfyingly unexplained, most obviously the question of how Muller - angry, careless and near-suicidal - ever managed to successfully navigate his way to the centre when all other have died in the attempt.
The tense and lengthy penetration of the maze from the outside with a series of expendable probes is the sequence that would most obviously lend itself to film, although the abstract nature of some of the traps would probably only have ended up looking disappointing. It feels as if Silverberg is foreshadowing video games that wouldn't be released for twenty years in this memorable section, particularly when human cannon fodder is sent in to establish whether the routes determined by the probes' trail-and-error progress are safe for people. Needless to say, these guys might as well be wearing red shirts ('Star Trek' in-joke there, this review is getting far too nerdy). Amidst all this mystery and drama, Silverberg finds a little time to squeeze in some space opera romance in Muller's memories of his old flames, unfortunately mainly serving to highlight the complete absence of women in this male-dominated universe as anything other than fetishised sex objects (personified literally with the 'woman cubes' that seem to be some form of futuristic sex doll), and there's even minimal use of comedy with the description of bizarre practices of human colonists on outlying worlds, particularly the Fat Cult of Loki. This novel doesn't encompass all, but it makes an admirable effort.
'The Man in the Maze' is essentially one of a seemingly infinite number of mid-twentieth century science fiction novels and as such is easy to take or leave - even wading exclusively through Robert Silverberg's works from the period would be a monumental task - but it impresses more than most for its strong human focus rather than a dependence on showing off innovative ideas for technology that wind up sounding daft and outdated when read several decades down the line. Its basis in timeless Ancient Greek tragedy helps quite a bit, even if this might be considered cheating, and the characters are all life-like, if a bit distinctly 1960s in some of their attitudes. The maze concept also provides a wealth of potential metaphors that more literary-minded readers can apply to the inner turmoil of the characters or the universe in general if they like, as long as they remember that it's actually about a maze. With false turns and dead-ends and stuff. I wouldn't necessarily read another of Silverberg's novels straight away, but as he's published about a thousand, it stands to reason that there's something in there that will grab my attention.
Advantages: Interesting concept with strong characters, particularly for classic science fiction.
Disadvantages: Some of the sci-fi concepts are a little silly, and the women stay at home to do the ironing.
Written on 11.06.05
****
...when things have got about as bad as they can reasonably get.
Tom Stoppard's acclaimed play 'Rosencrantz and Guildenstern are Dead' is a postmodern existentialist drama that re-centres Shakespeare to expore the crisis of identity and the nature of death, but it's also funny as well.
First performed in 1966 at the Edinburgh Fringe festival, Stoppard's seminal work earned him a place in the literary canon overnight when it was performed by the National Theatre Company the following year. Spawning a 1990 feature film and allowing Stoppard to pursue a career as a co-writer on several prominent semi-comedy films ('Shakespeare in Love' and Terry Gilliam's excellent 'Brazil'), R&G is now often taught at an academic level back-to-back with 'Hamlet.'
THE PREMISE
"The sight is dismal;
And our affairs from England come too late:
The ears are senseless that should give us hearing,
To tell him his commandment is fulfill'd,
That Rosencrantz and Guildenstern are dead."
(Hamlet, Act 5 Scene 2)
For those unfamiliar with Shakespeare's most famous tragedy, Rosencrantz and Guildenstern were attendant lords in the royal castle at Denmark, who reportedly shared an upbringing with Prince Hamlet and who were ordered by the King (Hamlet's villainous Uncle) to observe his odd behaviour, eventually ordered to deliver a note for the Prince's execution to authorities upon arrival in England.
The buffoonish, inseparable characters provide light comic relief in Shakespeare's erudite play, and Stoppard's foregrounding of these previously peripheral characters presented the opportunity to discuss the importance of a defined identity and independent thinking. Fleshed out as likeable (if a little odd) 'human' characters in R&G, there is nevertheless a constant confusion over exactly who is who, something that even the characters themselves fail to discern on many occasions.
THE READ
As with most plays (although there are exceptions), the live performance is more entertaining and understandable than the script, but the best-selling book features enough notes on action and the feelings of the characters, written as stage notes. The interaction between the two main characters in brilliantly written, and they become as real as any double act as they face the various tasks they are required to undertake. The repetitive banter may grate to those not fond of playful postmodern wit, but for those that are it's highly entertaining.
The metaphors linking to fate are also made very obvious for the reader, while fans of Hamlet especially will no doubt enjoy seeing the occasional overlapping of events, handled expertly by Stoppard. This isn't a large book, coming in at under a hundred pages in most editions, and can easily be read in one sitting if the interest is there.
THE VERDICT
The current culture of literature and media seems obsessed with referencing past works of interest (just look at the numerous references in comedies such as 'Spaced' or 'Family Guy'), but the specific focus here means that R&G can be successfully read in tandem with its precursor. Stoppard's focus on ignored, perhaps unimportant characters, their deepening humanity and their own uncertainty about what exists outside the realm of the play, really involved me as a reader and made me wonder whether the characters would indeed escape the fate penned three hundred years earlier by Shakespeare.
Perhaps this is one for literature students and other overeducated unemployables, but unlike other attempts at postmodern existentialist drama, such as Samuel Beckett's 'Waiting for Godot,' [Hadn't read/seen it] Rosencrantz and Guildenstern are Dead really makes the reader think and laugh in equal measure.
"They had it in for us, didn't they? Right from the beginning. Who'd have thought that we were so important?"
Various, Sonic the Comic
Blue Streak
Written on 17.08.06 [2016 update]
****
Published by Fleetway from 1993 to 2002, ‘Sonic the Comic’ began as a simple cash-in aimed at fans of the burgeoning video game franchise, but quickly developed into an impressive and intensive labour of love for its dedicated writing staff and artists. ‘The UK’s official Sega comic’ was released every fortnight, beginning life at a friendly 95p but escalating to a final price of £1.35 in its bleak final days.
The comic was aimed at young readers, as is customary in the UK, and this was especially noticeable in the early issues, which featured brief, inconsequential adventures for the blue hedgehog and his associates. Things took a turn for the epic as soon as writer Nigel Kitching began multi-part adaptations of the Sega video game storylines (yes, those brightly-coloured 16-bit things did have plots), which in turn blossomed into original ideas and spin-offs that kept the comic fresh and creative even during the late 90s, when Sonic video games were few and far between.
The comic would usually consist of four comic strips, the first titled ‘Sonic the Hedgehog’ and starring the popular character. Writer Nigel Kitching (who also worked on the less successful ‘Red Dwarf Smegazine’ among other publications) created a Sonic that was set apart from the character’s other incarnations in cartoon series and print; STC’s protagonist was a little flippant and aggressive, taunted his buddy Tails and could lose his temper at times, which occasionally led to him unleashing his own Mr. Hyde in the form of the yellow-hued and practically indestructible Super Sonic, cleverly adapted from the video game appearances. The most popular aspect of the comic throughout its impressive run, the Sonic stories fit snugly into the Sega canon while venturing out to increasingly creative realms.
The early years of the comic featured story adaptations of other prominent Sega MegaDrive games of the time, including ‘Golden Axe,’ ‘Shinobi’ and ‘Streets of Rage,’ but as the popularity of the console dwindled it became apparent that most people were buying for the Sonic storylines, and a decision was made to feature more stories based on characters from Sonic’s world. These featured a combination of existing characters from the games, such as Tails, Knuckles and the nemesis Dr. Robotnik (the planet’s tyrannical ruler until he was finally deposed in the celebratory 100th issue), but equally popular were characters created within the comic’s universe itself. Most of the non-Sonic stories were written by Lew Stringer, whose approach was somewhat more light-hearted and comical than Kitching’s serious adventure stories. People who enjoyed ‘Adventures of Sonic the Hedgehog,’ the Roadrunner-style cartoon series based on slapstick humour that had little or nothing to do with the Sonic franchise, would probably prefer Stringer’s work, although it had a lot less going for it.
In addition to the comic strips, which were each five pages in length apart from the Sonic features which boasted seven, the comic devoted time to addressing the ‘real’ world of Sega video games and the readers themselves. Every issue (in the early years) was hosted by MegaDroid, the fictional representation of the editor who was intended as a robot built out of Sega MegaDrive parts. This character would introduce each issue briefly as well as answer reader queries in the insightful ‘Speedlines’ page at the end. The self-explanatory ‘Review Zone’ reviewed contemporary game releases on Sega consoles, ending with the ill-fated Sega Saturn, while ‘Q&A’ was a double page feature helping players to cheat their way through favourite games. Recurring features alternated at random, but included ‘Gallery Zone,’ which either featured photos of readers with varying degrees of hedgehog obsession, or their artwork. There were also a number of centrefold posters. These features vanished without trace in the new millennium, when the comic’s decreasing readership led to its fate as a reprint mag comprised entirely of recycled material from past years.
STC was the highlight of the fortnight for my eight-year-old self (and a few years thereafter, although I’m not going to admit how many). The stories were aimed at a young audience, but constituted fairly epic sagas, the like of which is rarely seen in the medium today, or in modern cartoons (there are a couple of exceptions). The power duo of writer Nigel Kitching and artist Richard Elson was largely responsible for the comic’s appeal, developing the on-going story intelligently and with often surprising results. The lack of any new material from Sega hindered the development a little, leading to a few too many alternate-dimensional plots, but surprisingly there was no noticeable drop in quality from the first serialised story ‘The Sonic Terminator’ in 1993 to the saga based on the ‘Sonic Adventure’ video game in 2001. The comic arguably reached its peak sometime between 1994 and 1995, when the release of the games ‘Sonic 3’ and ‘Sonic & Knuckles’ gave Kitching and Elson a wealth of material to work with, adapt and improve.
Fleetway attached free gifts to the comic’s cover at regular intervals, which may have encouraged a few people outside the fan base to take a look. Some gifts were extremely fitting in their relation to the Sonic franchise, such as packets of Sonic stickers from Bandi or a Sonic Frisbee, while others represented blatant sponsorship deals with Rowntrees and other producers of sweets. For the initial price of 95p the comic was well worth the money, printed on glossy paper in full colour, but the quality did wane towards the end, even as far as the no-longer-glossy paper.
The Sonic franchise was effectively dead after the disappointment of the Sega Saturn, and a loyal hardcore readership wasn’t enough to convince Egmont (the new Fleetway) to continue with the unprofitable publication. Sadly, things began to take off again as soon as the comic reached its end, with the well-recieved Sega Dreamcast releases paving the way for the even more successful GameCube titles that continue today. Running for over two hundred issues, Sonic the Comic had served its purpose and outstayed its welcome. The wealth of new material from Sonic games led a group of the comic’s more dedicated fans to start an online continuation at stconline.co.uk, an unofficial e-zine that has nevertheless been endorsed and praised by Nigel Kitching and other important figures from STC’s past. It’s unknown whether the continuing popularity of the Sonic games will lead to further Sonic comics, as it has done for the franchise’s animated spin-offs, but it doesn’t seem likely that STC will return.
Advantages: Intelligent writing and excellent artwork throughout the series' duration.
Disadvantages: Many pointless throwaway stories towards the back of the publication.
Viz, More Viz Crap Jokes
Written on 23.06.07
****
The second compendium of self-confessed 'Crap Jokes' from Viz magazine offers a handy portable resource of cheap laughs smattered with the occasional swear word that can be read from cover to cover in around ten minutes, or dipped in and out of more leisurely. Each of the 96 widescreen pages is taken up with a single panel cartoon, drawn by a variety of artists whose contributions become recognised as the book carries on, most commonly presenting a slightly unusual scene that is not funny in itself, until the caption or dialogue is read. One's expectations are confounded, and from thence the humour will arise.
The jokes are occasionally incredibly formulaic, or pastiches of traditional forms (most notably the frequent 'Doctor Doctor' gags), and for the most part involve manipulating wordplay to present a common saying in a ridiculously literal manner. As a couple of examples, an early joke is a shamelessly contrived 'Chess Pieces Christmas Party,' which sees a gathered throng of chess pieces enjoying refreshments. The angry King orders the pawns to shut the door on the uninvited piece from a draughts set, who insists he should be allowed in as he's brought a bottle; the King's command is, obviously, "shut the door, don't let the draught in." It's sort of like a rude version of 'Catch-Phrase' that doesn't take itself seriously in the slightest.
I personally find the jokes more amusing, the more ridiculously contrived and unbelievable they are - one of my favourites is a crudely drawn headmaster shouting "you're late boy!" at a schoolboy's grave, and another sees a driver make a sharp left turn following a sign for 'German Sausage Factory,' causing a bystander to comment: "looks like he's taken a turn for the Wurst." There are about ninety-three more crackers where they came from, but that's not really the point of the review. Some jokes break the format, being entirely visual or based on obscure seventies pop and rock groups whose names are worked into the pun, and these I'm not so fond of, even when I actually get the jokes. The most bizarre oddity is the 'Rude Kid,' probably the most love-it-or-hate-it facet of the book, which is basically an obscene child swearing at his well-meaning mum.
Viz endeavour to make the most of this limited book, and essentially go a little above and beyond what is necessary. The index is listed alphabetically by category - so the writers were obviously aware of the formulaic nature of what they were doing - but aside from saving about ten seconds of page flicking to find a particularly favoured wheeze, this section is largely irrelevant. At least, in their mercy, the compilers tag a further joke about litter collecting ("don't worry, you'll pick it up as you go along") to make use of these extra pages at the end. The ordering of the jokes through the book seems to be completely random, though some thought was clearly put in to spacing out the categories so all the Doctor or Tailor jokes didn't crop up together, and this is really the best way to read it. There's also an exhaustive introduction in very small print, in which an alleged Doctor inaugurates readers into the process of reading and responding to a joke, in relentless scientific depth. There's a bit of a gag at the end, but it's really just a bloke experimenting with tedium by going on for far too long with one idea, which is great as that's precisely what I'm into. There are probably as many words in these first two pages as the rest of the book combined.
The format of the book is suited to travel reading, though it would have to be a fairly short car journey. The main problem is the excess horizontal length of the envelope-sized book, which makes it slightly too big for pockets but is necessary to accommodate the shape of the panels. The book is completely black and white save for an eye-catching yellow background on the hardback covers, which themselves feature additional jokes not collected inside - some of the more family-friendly ones about animals rather than Rude Kid, obviously. The page length is just about right, and although the R.R.P. of £4.99 seems a little steep, it's as realistically cheap as the book could be sold (this was almost ten years ago, it might have gone up in price since). It's certainly not a book for all the family, the pages smeared with talk of sexual bodily functions, harsh swearing (especially in the 'Coarse Fishing' joke, which is self-explanatory) and even a drawing of a man's meat and two veg half-way through, replacing the photographed breasts from the previous collection. Thankfully, it's so crudely etched that it would probably just confuse any children who accidentally glanced at this 'Crabs Joke.'
On the whole, it's a lot less rude than the average issue of Viz, using sexual innuendos surprisingly rarely (there's no equivalent of 'Finbarr Saunders and his Double Entendres' here), and all the characters exist only within the confines of the jokes, which can alleviate any worries about Buster Gonad dropping in. These Crap Jokes originally appeared once per issue in a bottom corner of the mag, and although they can get a little irritating and repetitive in excess, it's up to the reader whether they dip into the book or read it obsessively. The myriad artists and writers keep things interesting, as the pages move from a lavishly illustrated scene hosting a rather disappointing joke about telephones to a scribbled and out-of-proportion thing about stilts which squeezes additional speech bubbles in with apparent contempt for the whole format. It's a book I enjoyed thoroughly when I was a young teenager, but now only show to people when conversations turn stale. I'd say it was about equally as good as the first book.
"I've come for this job polyfilla-ing this piece of fence."
"I'm sorry, this post has already been filled."
Advantages: Some of the most brilliant and ridiculous wordplay I've ever seen.
Disadvantages: Expensive and not-quite-pocket-sized, with a few too many pop group and 'Thing' jokes.
God is an American
Written on 23.09.07
***
This release from American Christian media group Zondervan is a complete unabridged reading of the Book of Genesis, taken from the larger collection of the complete NIV audio Bible (New International Version). Performed by a fairly small cast of American voice actors and narrators accompanied by some very limited sound effects and a constant stream of background music, this isn’t as extravagant or high-budget as the more recent ‘Inspired by the Bible Experience’ selection starring Samuel L. Jackson amongst others, but serves a similar function; a complete and authentic reading of Genesis that misses out none of the boring stuff whatsoever. This Genesis extract is accompanied by very selective releases of other books from the Bible such as a couple of the Gospels, while the rest can only be experienced from buying the full set – presumably, these are the Bible’s ‘greatest hits’ and it was appropriate to release them as three-hour singles.
Genesis spans a considerable span of time, from the creation of the universe through to following the individual domestic happenings of Abraham and his descendants, and the common New International Version released in the mid-twentieth century seeks to eliminate some of the discrepancies and archaisms of the famous King James translation that had been in perplexingly common use since the early seventeenth century. Thus, oft-quoted passages are replaced with more easily understandable (if less impressive) modern sentences, and there is a commendable and allegedly well-researched approach to the definitive pronunciation of names. Genesis purports to be factual to the extent that precise numbers and names are thrown at the listener with tedious regularity, the audio format making it difficult to keep track or make any real sense of these figures without the printed page, and these intermission sections between the events are clearly the low point from an entertainment point of view. The main noticeable trend is for the declining lifespan of humans from impressive numbers approaching one thousand in the early years to a more modest (but frequently broken) one hundred and twenty year limit imposed by God after rebooting the human race from the sons and daughters of Noah.
God is the only real protagonist of the story, as the only character to span the whole time frame. It’s quite interesting to see his change and learning curve over the course of this book, particularly as the figure has always been presented as infallible in Christian education; here, the Bible’s writers (whoever they may be) present him as quite human, learning from his actions and prone to frustration, resentment and forgetfulness. There are some obvious inconsistencies with his character in regards to a lack of foreknowledge and the ability for disappointment (the argument being, ‘surely he would already know everything that’s going to happen, ever?’) that readers and scholars have attempted to explain through conceits like the ‘paradox of the fortunate fall,’ but this doesn’t really work, and it should just be forgiven as a sign of simpler times before science fiction introduced these predestination paradoxes and such to the regular lexicon. It wouldn’t really make any sense for God to be planting all these cunning traps and watching gleefully as gullible humans fall for them with no freedom of choice, and it’s much more satisfying to read/hear the character’s real disappointment when it happens.
The perception of a vengeful Old Testament God is seen throughout this early book as God cares for a very small and local group of followers while paying little attention to the other races of the world, and delivers threatening messages to them whenever his people are passing through potentially hostile territory. God’s anger is clearly best displayed in his eradication of the entire world’s population of humans and animals (save one ark) with the devastating flood as he admits to himself, “I am grieved that I have made them.” After the crisis is over and Noah’s children are ready to re-populate the land, God admits that his actions were a little rash and he promises to never again do such a thing to humans, “even though their every inclination is evil.” His attention thereafter is rather more focused, and unlike his modest son from much later on in the Bible stories, he demands a fair amount of recognition in the form of sacrifices and loyalty, though the old trickster is still present when he witnesses the grandiose Tower of Babel and decides “come, let us confuse their language.” There’s also quite a nice, if repetitive scene in which God explains his intention to kill the entire population of Sodom unless Abraham is able to find fifty good people there, and Abraham haggles him down as far as ten, demonstrating the value of a human life and giving his Lord something to think about.
The stories are all very well-known, though some more than others, and their popularity is roughly proportional to their level of interest. The stories of Adam and Eve, Cain and Abel, Noah and the flood, Abraham and Isaac, and Joseph in Egypt form the bulk of the narrative in that order, but for anyone who went through a mostly Christian school education (or failing that, watched Tony Robinson’s early 90s Bible stories TV series ‘Blood and Honey’) it’s nice to fit these familiar stories into their proper context. Of course, despite its apparent immortality, this book really does show its age in terms of attitudes, particularly towards women who are frequently treated as objects of barter between men for the birth of children, and who are commonly portrayed as liars in contrast to their more noble husbands. The story of Sodom and Gomorrah also very plainly demonstrates God’s attitude towards homosexuality, while modern readers will probably need some time to adjust to the general values and economy of the time period to properly understand what’s going on.
Walter Wangerin Jr. narrates this story with the required authoritarian and slightly deep voice, but his lack of variation fails to make the intermediary lineage sections any more interesting than they would be on the page. The voice actors used for all instances of speech are fairly typical and as expected, all being American and of rather mediocre talent, and there’s a very plain difference between the wizened, kindly old man playing Abraham and the nasal, snivelly weed playing Joseph’s murderous brother. God himself is performed in an echoed film trailer voice-over style that caused me no end of amusement. There are, as stated, a couple of instances of sound effects, but these are kept to a minimum and pushed heavily to the background to avoid encroaching on the story: notable instances include the creaking and storm effects of the Noah story, the blazing destruction of Sodom and Gomorrah and the farmyard noises of Pharaoh’s dream, and it’s perhaps no coincidence that these are mainly found towards the beginning and end of the recording rather than the less notable centre, where the whole thing tends to slump somewhat. The ever-present music follows a similar path, beginning with numerous variations appropriate to each shifting trend of the Eden story, before seeming to settle on a basic piano or violin melody for the remaining two and a half hours. It provides quite a pleasant background, but there are a number of times that it accidentally jars with what’s being said.
The Bible is much less widely read today than it used to be, and experiencing this considerable ‘extract’ of the entire first book makes it fairly clear why. The stories themselves are all entertaining, and mostly suitable for modern standards, but their precise chronological arrangement doesn’t add an awful lot to the briefer and more enjoyable alternative of reading narrative versions in a children’s book of Bible stories, and even the narrator Wangerin seems to concur, having published a novelisation of the Book of Paul. I enjoy the laziness of lying down and listening to an audio book, but the unabridged Bible doesn’t provide the most suitable audio material, though I’m sure religious readers will clearly gain a lot more from it. The acting, music and sound effects will probably prove too distracting for those interested in a pure reading, and not exciting enough for those used to the higher standards of the ‘Inspired by the Bible’ series, making this dramatisation of Genesis slightly weak when taken on its own merits. As the first part of the larger NIV audio Bible series it would probably be more impressive, but I couldn’t sit through that.
Advantages: Authentic and unabridged rendition with researched pronunciation.
Disadvantages: Distracting touches, and a slightly laughable American cast.
H. G. Wells, The Time Machine
Hurled Headlong into Futurity
Written on 07.02.07
*****
First published in 1895, ‘The Time Machine’ is the first in H. G. Wells’ impressively consistent bibliography, followed a year later by the equally (or perhaps more) famous ‘War of the Worlds.’ Time-travelling DeLorians and all Star Trek episodes where the characters wind up in the late 20th century and have hilarious mishaps (ha ha) owe their existence to Wells’ innovative sledge.
‘The Time Machine’ is one of the first truly extrapolative science fiction stories, meaning that its science and predictions are based on futuristic estimates of current trends, and are plausible to some degree (as opposed to Swift’s fairies and things). Wells bases his anonymous Time Traveller’s discoveries on current scientific thinking, with only the slightest hint of magic to distinguish his world from ours, as the time machine is made of a partially ethereal material. Suspension of disbelief is aided by the Time Traveller’s persuasive rationalising of the impossible to his assorted group of wealthy sceptics, one of whom begins the narration of the book before the Time Traveller takes over. This narrator, Hillyer, encourages the reader to go along with the crazy man’s ideas, and holds more than a passing interest in the ideals of communism. As such, he seems quite clearly to be a stand-in for the author, while the Time Traveller is more of a traditional action hero: the scientist who exercises (still a common trope of sci-fi).
The book (technically a novella) comes in at an easy 100 pages and the serialised chapters make it very easy to read, and to locate specific events when returning to the book later. The story begins in Victorian London, where the Time Traveller, a reclusive and somewhat eccentric inventor, has gathered some of his posh associates and members of the press to demonstrate his latest invention. A time machine, obviously. Despite a brief moment of puritanical fear, the gathered throng are not convinced by the inventor’s demonstration with his miniature Tomy version, and he asks them to return several days later to witness the real deal. Bold and reckless, the Time Traveller completes his work and zooms towards the future, only to return with a fascinating and horrific tale of humanity’s self-destruction.
Wells’ presentation of a far future dystopia is incredibly effective and well crafted, owing to Darwin as much as Wells’ own socialist leanings. As ‘The Time Machine’ comes at the tail-end of Victorian literature, just before the world plummets into Modernism, the narrative is subjective rather than omniscient, as it would be in a Jane Austen novel (where the narrator seems to know everyone’s life story and thought process). The Time Traveller is something like a detective, and a failed one at that, trying to connect the dots over millennia in a futurity without the aid of books or a common language. Lacking the superhuman deduction of his fictional contemporary Sherlock Holmes, the character comes to a number of conclusions that are eventually proven false in light of new evidence. He even admits that his final hypothesis may be inaccurate, in light of the enormous historical blind spot he’s faced with. Things become even harder to comprehend as the Time Traveller follows through with his experiment to its logical conclusion and speeds forward into the mind-meltingly distant future and ‘the sunset of mankind,’ in a sequence that reminds me of the psychedelic epilogue of ‘2001: A Space Odyssey,’ only with giant crabs and a diminutive Kraken.
‘The Time Machine’ is a light read and a fascinating one. Though not the best character study – even the main character is never given a name – its blend of adventure and science-fiction is novel and exciting. Wells should also be commended for providing all the ingredients for critics and smart-arse readers to draw meaningful conclusions from the events without being whacked over the head with them (‘ahh, I see – the advanced Time Traveller must now rely on fire, like primitive man’). The exception comes in the author’s determination to instil the socialist message, marked in the explicit comparison of the Eloi and Morlocks to contrasting social classes in Wells’ contemporary London. This presumably puts off some over-privileged, bottom-feeding aristocrats from reading the text. There should be no political ill-effects from reading this book. Hardly at all.
This Oxford edition has a characteristic pointless cover as well as extensive background notes and a comprehensive overview of the text, if you find it hard to think for yourself.
Advantages: Persuasive science leading to enormously influential science-fiction.
Disadvantages: Perhaps too abstract and detached for readers of the realist novel.
Virginia Woolf, To the Lighthouse
Moments of Being
Written on 18.07.07 [2016 update]
****
Virginia Woolf’s most daring expression of modernism continued her experiments in finding a distinctly female voice and writing style to stand against the male-dominated literary canon. Like ‘Mrs. Dalloway’ before it, which is more well known and less cerebral, the book is written entirely in a stream-of-consciousness style, the long-winded sentences striving to evoke each character’s thought process as their minds flit from one topic to another, and back and forth through their lives.
Despite being her preferred means to find the feminine voice, contrasting against more usual rigid sentence structures she saw as typical of male phallic domination, the technique was largely inspired by Irish author James Joyce, whose demanding final chapter of ‘Ulysses’ is a huge un-punctuated sentence of around forty pages, chronicling the mental process of Leopold Bloom’s adulterous wife as she drifts off to sleep, masturbates, and comes onto her period. It’s a highly creative and revealing insight into a woman’s mind that is, of course, written by a man. ‘To the Lighthouse’ is similarly a celebration of the feminine against male oppression, as well as a very effective and chilling observation of the generation gap carved by the First World War, particularly in the changing attitudes of women.
Woolf’s novel is divided into three uneven sections all taking place on the Isle of Skye, the favoured holiday destination for the Ramsays and their middle-class friends, over a period of ten years. The author’s own preferred analysis of the structure was to imagine an ‘H’ shape, with the first part of the novel (occurring in 1910) linked to the third (in 1920) by the smaller and radically different central section, forming the horizontal connection of the H. Being a sucker for a clever structure, this was what appealed to me the most about Woolf’s novel, as the clipped, rushed and deeply impersonal central passage is just about as different to the sprawling interior monologues that dominate the bulk of the book. Woolf’s intention was to represent a world devoid of human influence as the holiday retreat is left to decay while a great war is being fought overseas, and the narration’s flippant and detached descriptions of the deaths of major characters from the first part are quite shocking in their unsympathetic finality. Once things cool down and the surviving Ramsays and friends return to the island, it’s clear that the world has radically changed.
‘To the Lighthouse’ is a demanding work of fiction, but far from the neoclassical pomp of ‘Ulysses,’ and its family drama and deeply personalised narratives should appeal to anyone who survived through ‘Mrs. Dalloway.’ Both novels disregard the normal conventions of time in stretching single moments over pages and pages of reactions, and there’s a fair amount of chaos in a novel whose seventeenth chapter, the pivotal dinner scene, lasts for around a quarter of the book. The main focus is on the conflicting attitudes of the characters and their feelings towards each other, demonstrated memorably in the first few pages when the young James Ramsay is told by his father that they cannot visit the nearby lighthouse due to the probability of bad weather, and the child’s thoughts instantly turn to vicious murder. It is similarly revealing to see the downtrodden Mrs. Ramsay living a servile life under the dominance of her husband, but not having the ability to see this as a problem. Her opposite comes in the form of the artistic Lily Briscoe, who spends her time on the island painting Mrs. Ramsay’s portrait despite repeated criticism from Charles Tansley that ‘women can’t paint, women can’t write.’ Her timidity aside, it’s clear that Lily is the closest thing to a representation of Woolf herself in this novel, the female artist struggling in a male world with a knowledge that the time is right for change.
If I’ve favoured the book’s structure and messages over detailing its plot, it’s because there’s very little plot to speak of in Woolf’s story, which she preferred to label an ‘elegy’ for wont of a more appropriate term. The Ramsay children repeatedly ask to be taken to the lighthouse, and are repeatedly denied this by their father, while Mrs. Ramsay takes care of the meal and tries to re-live her youth by match-making a couple of young friends. While the first part of the elegy, sub-titled ‘The Window,’ is dominated chiefly by Mrs. Ramsay and her old fashioned view of a world facing imminent change, the third, definitively called ‘The Lighthouse,’ belongs to Lily Briscoe as she finishes her portrait. This section finally sees the gulf between Mr. Ramsay and his adult children narrowed as they set about on their long-awaited journey, while Lily contends with the ghosts and demons in her own mind to complete her work.
This is not a novel that would translate well to film, and I’m surprised to see that this has indeed been attempted. In terms of a script adaptation, the majority of dialogue is secondary to the characters’ thoughts revealed in the narration, and often either contradictory to their true feelings or simply inconsequential and not revealing of very much at all, meaning that without a significant re-write, an authentic film version would need to freeze frame on a character’s troubled expression for five minutes while they provide a voice-over. It’s an interesting observation of the difference between what people say and what people think, and although it all stems from Woolf’s ideas of what men and women are like, the book’s admitted semi-autobiographical basis indicates that she probably has a fair grasp of what she’s doing.
As a major work of modernist literature still read and studied today, Woolf’s novel (or elegy) is an effective analysis of the emergence of women’s rights and independence facilitated by the Great War, and an interesting enough statement of her artistic ideals through Lily, such as her arbitrary rearrangement of scenery into a form that looks more pleasing as opposed to a steadfast reproduction of ‘the truth,’ that it can be enjoyed by readers who aren’t quite so eager to delve into Woolf’s essays. Just like in the earlier ‘Mrs. Dalloway,’ the long, multi-comma’d sentences take some time getting used to, much like those in my reviews that I’m quite aware of, and the focus on middle class characters is sure to annoy some idiots who feel Virginia Woolf should have tried instead to write intimately about a type of people she had less familiarity with. I was surprised how much I enjoyed this book, having struggled through ‘Mrs. Dalloway’ a year earlier, but the creative structure and historical significance lead to me recommending this book to anyone interested in experimental fiction, even eighty years after its original publication.
Advantages: An interesting study of psychology and art.
Disadvantages: Takes some perseverance, and not the most riveting plot.
A very different, but interesting direction for what was originally the final volume in the Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy "trilogy" of four books, So Long and Thanks for All the Fish does not deal so much with adventure, life-threatening situations and hilariously inventive alien species so much as a return home for the series' protagonist, Arthur Dent; the last-but-one human before the confusing events herein, and romance.
Firstly, an apology for writing three reviews in one day, but I wanted to get this sorted while the ending was still clear in my head! Secondly, I would wholeheartedly reccomend that anyone interested in this series of books should start from the beginning- this book makes more sense that way, and the characters have really grown on me by this point! Oh and thirdly, I still like this book a lot despite the title, and have not yet read the fifth and final book written a long time after.
I'm not sure how this book was acclaimed when it was first released in the mid-1980s, but it seems to me to be a deliberate change in the style of storytelling. the major differences are as follows:
- No sign of two-headed, three-armed alien Zaphod Beeblebrox or his girlfriend Trillian, while Betelgeusian Ford Prefect does not feature heavily until the end, and Marvin the Paranoid Android making a small cameo
- No bizarre, sarcastic and inventive technologies, like the ill-at-ease lifts, satisfied doors, personality computers and restaurant powered Somebody Else's Problem drives (if you didn't understand that last reference, join the club- and I read those books!)
- Very few outer-space shenanigans, apart from the very end of the book. It mostly takes place on Earth
My personal favourite in the trilogy, if we're going to call it that, is still the first book, "The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy," and one of the main things I loved about it was the way it could develop insane concepts loosely based on what's been done before in science fiction. As this book features less of these, although there's still more than a sprinkling, I did not like it as much, but there is still enough character humour and clever silliness to make it a 'classic.' Notions such as a man who finds it is literally always raining on him turning out to be a Rain God, 'but nobody knows'- classic stuff! There is also a very big come-back for one of my favourite lines in the whole series, from the third book: the knack to flying is the art of learning to try and hit the ground, but miss. All one needs is a distraction at the critical moment, and for the confused Arthur Dent this is no problem.
Talking about the characters, here's a brief overview:
Arthur Dent is tall and around 40 by the time of this book, originally described as "never quite at ease with himself" and certainly no more at ease following his misadventures through time and space over the years. The return to Earth allows Arthur to finally ditch the dressing gown he's donned throughout the series, and some well earned rest.
Fenchurch is a bit of a mysterious character who Arthur falls in love with, which has something to do with them being some of the only 'real' humans left. Their romance among the clouds is certainly unlike anything that's happened in these books before.
Hoping that I don't spoil anyone's enjoyment, if you were planning to read this, Marvin the Paranoid Android (the character I found the funniest in the first book, but not too much in the others) finally experiences a state of non-annoyance and non-depression as he 'dies', which is a nice end, but I still feel quite disappointed at the omission of Zaphod Beeblebrox. A bit too much of a weirdo in the first book, I'd really started to like the guy in the last two books, but here he is simply said to have had children with trillian. Not too bothered about her exclusion; she wasn't too interesting I didn't find.
Overall, while I did not find it as enjoyable a read as the first book and "Life, the Universe and Everything," my favourites out of the four I've read so far, I can certainly realise how a reader skimming through all the books in several sittings would appreciate some cosy, fireside comedy love story after the Krikkit Wars of the previous book, but I do have some problems with the book. The title refers to the last message left by the dolphins when they left the original Earth just before it was destroyed, (the dolphins were the second most intelligent creatures on Earth, after the mice of course) which led me to believe that this book would deal with them much more than it does. The dolphins do not appear, and the book seems more concerned with Earth's reappearance and God's final message to his creation. Which is quite a nice ending.
I was not disappointed with this book, but it was a little too different for me to enjoy it as much as the others. I have yet to read the final instalment, "Mostly Harmless," and will try to get hold of the radio show as well.
Advantages: Nicely different, Arthur Dent receiving some good luck at last
Disadvantages: Different from what I would have hoped, but possibly better than if Adams had simply re-treaded old ground
The End
***
Written on 27.11.03 [2017 update]
Douglas Adams' Hitch-Hiker's Guide 'trilogy' entertained and inspired me, and I was wary to read this final instalment due to reviews on the internet which suggested it was of poor quality and may hunder my enjoyment of the series. The fifth and final book chronicling the experiences of Arthur Dent and his less human comrades does seem much less original and enjoyable than the previous books, and although this was my opinion of the fourth book "So Long, and Thanks for all the Fish" I could admire the way that book's style was taken in a different direction. This book seems to be a mix between the fast-paced comedy adventures of the first three books and the reflective, stationary nature of the fourth, and it doesn't fit together too well.
"Mostly Harmless," once again taking the title from a memorable concept in the first book, occurs an unspecified several years after the events of the last book and sees the "thirty-ish, tall and never quite at ease with himself" last human survivor Arthur Dent living the simple life of a sandwich maker on a planet not dissimilar to his own Earth which was destroyed by the Vogons surprisingly early in the first book. Similar to the way he last book was handled, a device which I was not fond of in either book, the different characters' experiences are told in seperate chapters before their meeting later on. One of my favourite aspects of the earlier books was the interaction between all of the characters who, despite occasionally having extra heads and arms, being robotic and basically not being human, were all very ordinary and fallible human beings. Arthur's story once again seems to be the main plot, while those of Ford Prefect, Trillian (the forgettable human woman from the earlier books who solved everything but was never too funny), Random an
d Trillian: another one.
Arthur's newfound peace is a welcome relief from the unrewarding search for alternate-dimension equivalents of the planet Earth, during which he would trade in his own semen for trips to what would turn out to be undesirable locations. The spaceship crash which strands him amongst the underdeveloped civilisation seems to be one of the only things to go right for him in a long time, until the arrival of his daughter and his old friend Ford Prefect who is not made particularly welcome.
Ford's story seems a little more loose and irrelevant as he finds the new owners of the Hitch-Hiker's Guide offices are not very nice. He goes to a lot of trouble escaping and eventually arrives at Arthur's planet with a strange device which just gets stolen by Arthur's daughter anyway.
The 'regular' Trillian apparentlly became pregnant some time ago and inevitably, as a large number of pregnant women do, gave birth to a daughter. The father is not Zaphod Beeblebrox, who was supposed to be her husband at the time of the last book, but Arthur. The book leaves the reader to ponder how this could have happened for a while, before revealing that she used his sperm samples; I'm sure my shocking use of the word semen earlier ensured that this was no surprise here. Trillian has not paid due attention to her daughter, who has accidentally aged before her time thanks to temporal day-care, and has decided that she should meet her father.
Random would be the star of the book if she was in the majority of it, but her appearance is quite far in. Suffering from a case of severe curiosity she steals Arthur's package from Ford and heads back to a version of Earth in her rebellious teenage way.
The alternate version of Trillian inhabiting this 'other' Earth has led a very different life, having never taken Zaphod up on his offer to join her in space manyyears ago. She eventually meets with the others when they arrive at her version of Earth at the end.
If the above summaries seem difficult to grasp or appreciate, it is because there are many flaws in this book. Adams' humour, while less prominent, does manage to shine through at regular intervals much more than in the last book, however the number of irrelevant plot features make it difficult and at times uninteresting to follow. The book certainly has a bit of a 'necessity' feel to it, as if Adams simply desired to get another Hitch-Hiker's Guide under his belt rather than writing a true classic. There are still a number of positives however:
- The locations in this book are described in great detail in a way that makes them much easier to envisage than in the previous books. The village, the seedy planets and the desert towards the end are all very well written in a way that shows Adams' writing style has clearly evolved in the fifteen years since he wrote the first book.
- The true and wry observations of humanity's failings are as present as ever, with Arthur's belief that he is from a superior culture and can teach the villagers how to build new technology hampered when he realises he doesn't actually know how to make anything, just how to use stuff.
- The ingenious sci-fi concepts are less ingenious this time round than a Restaurant at the End of the Universe, a computer calculating the answer to the Ultimate Question and an Infinite Improbability Drive, but they stull have their moments. The Perfectly Normal Beasts are a great idea, (that was meant to be 'beasts,' it isn't a mis-type) and the mystics sitting on poles are some of the highlights of the book.
- The continuation of some great ideas, most notably that of Agrajag from the third book. Agrajag was a creature who was aware of his own reincarnations and whose life was always, constantly ended accidentally by Arthur Dent. This was one of my favourite parts of the third book and is continued here, although not completely satisfactorily.
- Arthur's character shows real progress and effects from his experiences, something which was lacking in the earlier books. Unfortunately this does not stem to the other characters.
My major criticisms of the book are the already-mentioned weak plot structure, as well as the way it does not seem to fit into the series very much at all. The style makes it a much different read to the first few, but no reference is made to anything which happened in "Thanks for all the Fish" apart from a brief sentence explaining the death of Arthur's girlfriend Fenchurch. The popular character Marvin the Paranoid Android is admittedly absent after the climax of the last book, however there is still no sign of Zaphod Beeblebrox who was also missing from the previous outing. Ford Prefect never seems as funny any more either.
I'm aware that most of these criticisms don't evaluate the book as a stand-alone novel, but with the tragic death of Douglas Adams in 2001 and nothing amounting to a successful sixth book on his hard drive, this is the final instalment in the inventive, witty and very enjoyable series. The book has not ruined the enjoyment of the others for me, although I was disappointed that it hadn't amounted to more; the endings of every book from number 2 onwards have been left at satisfying conclusions however this one seems to demand a sequel more than the others simply so the series can end on a positive and more understandable note. Another flaw in the book is that it doesn't offer many memorable quotes, whereas the others provided such countless classics as "life, don't talk to me about life," "Zaphod's just this guy you know," "stick this fish in your ear" and the unforgettable and unexplained answer to the Ultimate Question, "forty-two." The actual question to this answer was never discovered.
Fans of light-hearted science fiction will likely enjoy this excursion into space, however it's even more likely that the earlier books in the series will appeal much more, especially the famous first novel which I can't recommend enough. Read it, listen to the original radio show or at least watch the old TV series, there are plenty of crazy and enjoyable ideas to last you a lifetime. Speaking of that, I think I'm off to buy it on the internet.
Advantages: More of Adams' witty and funny style
Disadvantages: Disappointing and anticlimactic ending
A Horse in the Bathroom
Written on 10.06.04 [2017 update]
*****
Dirk Gently’s Holistic Detective Agency is described by the author as “a thumping good detective-ghost-horror-who dunnit-time travel-romantic-musical-comedy-epic” and certainly lives up to all of these claims, improbable as that may seem. A modern detective tale based firmly in the paranormal, Douglas Adams has created another very interesting and detailed universe in this book.
PLOT
Well it’s a little more complicated than that, but I’ll try. The story essentially follows a few days in the life of Richard MacDuff, a promising and skilled computer programmer working for one of the big firms called WayForward technologies, as he is led to the services of the enigmatic Dirk Gently, a man he previously knew as Svlad Cjelli but who changed his name due to past legal mishaps, following a number of very strange occurrences. A horse appeared in his old lecturer’s bathroom, his boss was shot and subsequently leaped at his car in ghost form and he risked his life climbing into his girlfriend’s window without a vital justification.
As Gently’s detective agency is based on the principle of the fundamental interconnectedness of all thing, the man himself is very interested in solving some of these mysteries. Dirk respects the techniques of the fictional Sherlock Holmes, the man who stated “eliminate the impossible. Then whatever remains, however improbable, must be the truth”; Dirk is only different in that he doesn’t eliminate the impossible, finding it the only rational explanation in some cases, and a verdict that can often only be reached by imaginative children uncorrupted by the tedium of the world. Needless to say, the answers to some of the stranger mysteries dwell within the realm of what was previously considered impossible.
DOUGLAS ADAMS
The late, great Douglas Adams is one of my favourite authors, and would have doubtless written many more entertaining books had he not suffered an unexpected fatal heart attack in 2001 at the age of 49. An author, radio presenter and ardent supporter of animal charities, Douglas Adams’ wit and writing talent live on in his published works.
Fans of the Hitch-Hiker’s Guide to the Galaxy series will not necessarily love these books, although at times it’s clear that they are both the product of the same mind. Where the Hitch-Hiker’s Guide was silly, quirky, epic and often hilarious, the humour and ideas in Dirk Gently are more subtle and planned out. The scale is also much more limited, with the majority of the story focusing on events around Cambridgeshire with the protagonists.
Some Hitch-Hiker’s Guide fans found the changes in the author’s lifestyle between books very obvious and revealing in some aspects of the books; for example, the first book featured a local bar and minor stabs at decisions made by local councils, while the later efforts discussed Bistros and flights worldwide. The first Dirk Gently book makes Douglas Adams’ somewhat famous fascination with computers and computer programming, especially with the Macintosh variety of machine, very clear and the many detailed pages on the operations and functions of the computer software in solving complex puzzles gets very dull and feels like my dad or my brother has started going on about Linux again.
VERDICT
I really enjoyed this book, however I did have some problems with it (aside for the afore-mentioned computer jargon). The deliberately muddled and mysterious organisation of the events is sometimes a little distracting and misleading, especially when reading the book over a number of days, as less interesting and important characters take up chapters that could have been better served with the main plot. But in many ways this is the essence of the book. The main characters all have interesting and entertaining traits, even the incredibly regular main character – something that made Arthur Dent in the Hitch-Hiker’s Guide so endearing – and each chapter holds new insights.
It’s clear that Douglas Adams was attempting a different writing style to the one he was more famous for and thankfully it worked, although it’s clear that his experiences and experiments here impacted on the style of the later books in the Hitch-Hiker’s series that were, as a result, less entertaining than the original trilogy. Dirk Gently’s Holistic Detective Agency was first published in 1987 and Adams soon wrote a sequel, ‘The Long Dark Tea Time of the Soul.’ I plan to check this book out, but I’ve heard that it isn’t as entertaining.
This book should please fans of detective stories who enjoy a little absurdity, and would have made a great film.
Advantages: Funny and very clever, An entertaining and compelling story, Great characters
Disadvantages: Difficult to follow sometimes, Needs to be read in a short period of time, lest the reader forget everything
B
Enter Sandman
Written on 03.08.04
****
Even those who pride themselves on having earned their fortunes through an alternative lifestyle choice will inevitably conform to a number of clichés, demonstrated by stand up comedian David Baddiel’s first foray into novel writing in 1996. One of the self-professed overeducated middle class Oxbridge elite who have never done a decent day’s work in their lives [Sad that I accepted and internalised this common joke about writers, even as I spent my teenage years worked on reviews for hours on end], Baddiel’s experiences with presenting speech and enjoying pornography far too much lead to a high quality story of love, obsession and grim reality that is believable, sad and very funny.
THE PLOT
This fairly low-key story concerns Gabriel Jacoby, an unemployed man in his late twenties who lives with his flatmate and cat in London. Gabriel is a long-time insomniac whose refusal to demean himself by getting a regular job is the least of his problems as he is, as he confides very early on, madly in love with his brother’s wife Alice, and this is the driving force of the novel: Alice is perfect in every way, apart from the fact that she is married to Ben Jacoby, and she would literally be the woman of Gabriel’s dreams if he ever had a chance to fall asleep. When Alice’s sister Dina returns from America after serious problems with her fiancée, Gabriel sees it as both an opportunity and a disappointment: she may be open to experimentation in the bedroom, but he may never shake off the comparisons he very consciously makes every time he sees them together.
The domestic quadrangle isn’t the only thing Gabriel has to deal with though, as his flatmate’s sudden deterioration from a lazy, laddish football fan to a mad, naked preacher throws up even more problems at home. Gabriel’s dad has also been shouting creative obscenities at his wife at all times of the day, but this isn’t a recent development and it takes a family tragedy to change him into a caring husband.
THE AUTHOR
Having resorted to watching ‘Baddiel & Skinner Unplanned’ on far, far too many occasions for it to be accurately described as a resort, I noticed more than a few similarities between the comedic author and his protagonist here. Aside from their shared backgrounds as intellectual, unmarried wisecrackers of Jewish background sharing flats in London and never really doing any work, the numerous and detailed references to pornography and the media make it clear that Baddiel follows the ‘write about what you know’ idea, and does so very skilfully. Baddiel & Skinner is probably on now actually. Yes, it is.
There are sections of the book that are noticeably less enjoyable and compelling than others and the plot does get a little tedious at times, but Baddiel’s writing style and use of excellent cheap jokes (as opposed to rubbish ones) kept me interested throughout. I don’t have a great deal of experience in comparing authors’ earlier works with their later offerings but I’d imagine that this shows less signs of being his first work than the book of a lesser writer would be, apart from the fact that he’s chosen to exaggerate and alter his life and stick it in novel form.
The line between events based on reality and fiction is a little too transparent at times, making it very obvious that David Baddiel has, for example, visited old relatives in retirement homes and had trouble sleeping, but has never had to cope with his friend turning into a lunatic or trying to deceive an RAC man. Other events are fictional to the point of relief, as David’s proud, caring parents are a far cry from Gabriel’s unbalanced, mismatched pair in this novel. He probably never had a secret passion for his relative’s wife either, simply because it would be very stupid to write about that.
THE READER
That’s me, or at least it was at the time. When I noticed this book it seemed to be the exact sort of thing I enjoy, and for the most part it was: an ordinary if a little underachieving and pathetic guy with unhealthy obsessions, I can always relate to that kind of thing (draw your own conclusions, although I think I just did it for you). Aside from these character traits, I can also relate to many aspects of the book, although the parts I can’t relate to I’m not going to tell you. The titular concern of the book, that of insomnia, is something I enjoyed reading about as I suffer from this quite a lot myself, although thankfully not as seriously as the character here. The line from the very first page of the book that “a world-class insomniac doesn’t call it a bad night until at least, at least, half five, and then only if it’s accompanied by anxiety, bone-ache and two hundred visits to the toilet” has stuck with me: the same is true for the note that you don’t really have to go, but that you could probably urinate if you tried. So you have to go and do it.
I could also relate perfectly to Gabriel’s frustration with his cat Jezebel, refusing to sit on his lap adamantly and bringing in unwanted frogs and mice as loving gifts. There are a number of genuine laugh-out-loud moments in this book, even if they aren’t consistent throughout, my favourite being the embarrassingly true observation of forced pet affection: “I’ve tried squashing her on the bed, holding her underneath the duvet, putting Go-Cat on the pillow, but nothing will convince her to sleep with me.”
THE VERDICT
I really enjoyed this book, but the enjoyment did slip considerably after the half-way point when the deliberately dull story stops being funny in its mundanity and humdrumity and simply becomes a little annoying, however some well-timed (if a little obvious) plot twists at least bring up some more excitement. While it’s clearly not a classic book I found it a very fun read and I’d recommend it to anyone, principally, if they see any chance of relating to the material. The dialogue stretches credibility a little bit, in the style of American sit-coms where the characters always have a witty retort, but this doesn’t detract from the believability of the story: that’s left to Gabriel’s flatmate Nick, the true B-plot of the book who integrates into the main storyline but is still a bit of a distraction, probably to add some humour to the more serious final chapters.
It’s sad and never really fated to end happily, but as long as you can stomach strangely serious descriptions of pornography and sex, specifically a very descriptive scene involving an alternative entry point, you might really enjoy this book. The fact that some of the current events are a bit dated now only adds to the reading experience, and I’m fairly certain I would enjoy this a lot more than Baddiel’s second and more acclaimed novel. This is funny.
Advantages: Funny and enjoyable, Realistic, interesting characters, If you can relate to it, all the better
Disadvantages: Becomes a little too serious and 'soapy', Drags on in places, Not to everyone's taste
William Blake, Songs of Innocence and Experience
Cruelty Has a Human Heart
Written on 30.06.04 [2018 update]
***
I don't read Romantic-era literature for fun, and if it had not been an essential part of my English Literature course I would have never approached the poetry collections of William Blake, but in some ways I am glad for the opportunity. Although several months of almost clinical analysis by a clearly disinterested teacher extracted most of the enjoyment out of the experience, I was still able to appreciate the messages that Blake was trying to convey in the Songs of Experience. Although the Songs of Innocence are rubbish. Some of Blake's Songs still survive to this day, most notably the 'Jerusalem' anthem that every schoolboy grudgingly sings but secretly quite likes, and although the original 'tunes' of Blake's poems have largely been lost or improvised, his works are still examined and explored in the twenty-first century.
Before I receive any justified comments on spelling and punctuation, please lay all the blame on William Blake: although they could easily be corrected, his original writings are reproduced in this book exactly as he wrote them.
BLAKE & HIS TIME
William Blake's 'Songs Of Innocence and Of Experience' were created and published at the end of the eighteenth century to express the poet's views on the changing society of his time. Anyone who watched Adam Hart-Davies' 'What the Tudors Did For Us,' or simply has a Hart-Davies obsessed brother who watches it repeatedly on history channels, will know that astrological breakthroughs, the industrial revolution, overpopulation leading to poverty and the relocation of many people from the countryside to developing cities all resulted in drastic lifestyle changes for most people living in Britain during that time.
Blake was in essence one of the pioneers of what was later called 'the Romantic movement'; the Romantic poets and authors such as Wordsworth, Keats and Blake aimed to celebrate the beauty and splendour of the natural world using simplistic language to communicate with the general public, partly as a rebellion against the earlier intellectual literature that clouded everything in incomprehensible and generally pretentious metaphors.
As printing methods had not yet been invented, Blake employed a technique of embossing and carving his poems and illustrations into copper plates and producing individual prints as demanded. This technique was supposedly an instruction from the ghost of Blake’s brother, an entity that also had an impact on many of his poems; despite contemporary criticism that Blake was mad, and his own belief that his pen was guided by angels, his Songs and his later, more expansive works are impressive and understandable.
SONGS OF INNOCENCE
Produced in 1789, Blake's innocent Songs were largely a celebration of the joy and beauty of the world and were based largely on existing rhyme schemes and writing styles, some even reflecting traditional hymns in communicating Blake's messages. The poem 'Introduction' sets the goal of the innocent Songs, with a child (most of the innocent poems are spoken though children) asking a piper to "pipe a song about a Lamb," and to write his songs down "in a book that all may read." There are exceptions to the rule, but on the whole the innocent Songs are pastoral and pleasant in their portrayal of life's simplicity.
Some poems, such as the famous 'The Lamb,' show how a firm belief in religion and teaching can comfort children, as the child speaker asks a lamb:
"Little Lamb who made thee
Dost thou know who made thee
Little Lamb I'll tell thee"
God appears throughout the Songs of Innocence, but only as a protecting benefactor as the Songs are never committed specifically to a certain religion. In 'The Divine Image,' Blake even goes so far as to associate man with God through his virtues:
"Where Mercy, Love & Pity dwell,
There God is dwelling too."
Although the innocent Songs may appear to portray a perfect world, it's clear from reading them all that Blake still felt the need to show the inadequacies of his society. Blake himself stated, "active evil is better than passive good," and there are indications of evil throughout the Songs (for example, the simple poem 'The Shepherd' describes a shepherd watching over his flock, but leaves the reader wondering what dangers could exist if he was not so watchful). In 'The Chimney Sweeper,' Blake describes the plight of a chimney-sweeping boy in a fairly objective tone, but the description certainly produces pity in the reader:
"When my mother died I was very young,
And my father sold me while yet my tongue,
Could scarcely cry weep weep weep weep.
So your chimneys I sweep and in soot I sleep."
On the whole, the innocent Songs are very simplistic and potentially not worth deep exploration on their own, however it was the production of Blake's experienced Songs six years later that provide a contrary or supplementary stance to all of the poems here.
SONGS OF EXPERIENCE
Blake never published the Songs of Experience alone, always combining them with the Songs of Innocence to "shew the two contrary states of the human soul." Where the innocent Songs could get very tedious in their optimism and rhyme schemes, the experienced Songs have a negative tone throughout and even apply techniques such as irony and sarcasm that surprised me a little.
The most striking thing about Blake's changing opinions is that some of his earlier poems are completely contradicted in Experience: the innocent poem 'Infant Joy' was a brief conversation between a new mother and her imaginary responses from her child, stating that it knew nothing but joy at that tender age. In Experience, Blake offers 'Infant Sorrow,' a poem spoken from the viewpoint of a newborn child who is terrified and knowledgeable of the constraints of society, ineffectively trying to escape imprisonment by society but ultimately failing. I'll provide the whole poem as it's probably my favourite in the whole book, partly because of the over-the-top symbolism and the very different (and biologically inaccurate; babies don't know these things) nature of the poem:
"My mother groand! my father wept.
Into the dangerous world I leapt:
Helpless, naked, piping loud:
Like a fiend hid in a cloud.
Struggling in my father's hands:
Striving against my swaddling bands:
Bound and weary I thought best
To sulk upon my mother's breast."
Some ideas, such as the life of the unfortunate chimney sweep, is elaborated on in the poem 'The Chimney Sweeper' (Blake often used the same or similar titles to show direct relationships between poems). Where the innocent poem aroused sympathy for the child and a little contempt for his cruel father, the experienced poem is more dogmatic in attacking the institutions responsible for such actions: namely the church, which Blake saw as corrupt and hypocritical. When asked where his parents are, the freezing Chimney Sweeper says: "they are both gone up to the church to pray."
"Gone to praise God & his Priest & King
Who make up a heaven of our misery."
The poem 'The Lamb' is referenced in another of Blake's most famous poems, 'The Tyger.' In Innocence, the child speaker's faith in God and his powers of creation was unshakable, but the speaker in 'The Tyger' asks how the same divine entity could have created such a benign and peaceful creature as the Lamb (also a common symbol for Jesus Christ) as well as a powerful and destructive tiger:
"Tyger Tyger, burning bright,
In the forests of the night;
What immortal hand or eye,
Could frame thy fearful symmetry?"
Reading that last one aloud also shows Blake's somewhat irregular idea of rhyme.
OXFORD PAPERBACKS EDITION
This edition of Blake's Songs was my source of reference while studying his poetry, and is surely the definitive edition. Every poem is typed in an aesthetically pleasing brown font across a page, while Blake's original plate including the accompanying illustrations and borders is reproduced in full colour overleaf. An introduction and commentary by Geoffrey Keynes that briefly examine the messages in the poems and artwork also add to the usefulness of this book for anyone studying the poems for school, college or pleasure, although I would not say it is essential: the poems are widely available on the internet and in a more compressed form in many poetry collections, and these could be printed or photocopied into more manageable sizes. Still, you don't get the nice colourful artwork with that.
VERDICT
I enjoy reading classical literature, especially that concerned with ideas of religion, so some of the ideas in Blake's Songs of Experience that reflect his own unique mix of doctrines interested me, however I would certainly not have purchased this collection for my own enjoyment; the Songs of Innocence are basically very boring and occasionally childishly-simple poems that I don't feel deserve to be examined in the same way as the more interesting experienced Songs, but they do offer another perspective on Blake's views; he is never specifically committed to either 'state' himself, and mainly writes from the perspective of characters.
Blake's later works were longer and focused less on his contemporary society and more on his unorthodox views of religion, and as such I feel I would enjoy them a lot more. The Songs Of Innocence and Of Experience are only really for people who have a specific interest in industrial revolution-era Britain or poetry of the Romantic movement, but it was a lot more enjoyable to study than the more modern poetry of Philip Larkin. There's pessimistic, and then there's just being a miserable old curmudgeon with no more right to inhabit this green and pleasant land that Blake so admired than a fly. But then again, Blake did like his flies.
EPILOGUE: THE FLY
"Everything that lives is Holy" - William Blake
Little Fly
Thy summers play,
My thoughtless hand
Has brush'd away.
Am not I
A fly like thee?
Or art not thou
A man like me?
For I dance
And drink & sing:
Till some blind hand
Shall brush my wing.
If thought is life
And strength & breath:
And the want
Of thought is death;
Then am I
A happy fly,
If I live,
Or if I die.
He'd obviously never had a fly be sick on his beans.
Vera Brittain, Testament of Youth [I'm very sceptical that he actually read this]
Lament of the Lost Generation
Written on 26.05.04
***
Vera Brittain's autobiography is still seen as one of the most influential anti-war publications of the twentieth century, its revealing and honest presentation of the reluctant impotence of women to do anything about the political situation forming part of the foundation for the continuing work of the feminist movement.
THE LOST GENERATION
First published in 1933, put on hold a number of times due to its critical view of the Government, Brittain's book covers her experiences at home during the First World War in which she is subjected to relentless bereavement, as well as her campaigns thereafter to prevent future conflict. Brittain's letters and diary entries are included amidst her prose, which help the reader in empathising with her feelings of helplessness as her young lover, her brother and two of her close male friends die at the Front.
Reading isolated extracts from Brittain's book [There we go] as part of my English Literature course I found it difficult to understand the impact of 'Testament of Youth,' which seemed to be the over-passionate account of a woman with little understanding of the war. After reading more extracts I developed a larger perspective, and it's clear that Brittain did all she could, within the limitations imposed on her by the gender laws of the time, to bring back her loved ones; she joined the Red Cross as a field nurse and wrote letters to Generals, but in the end none of it proved effective.
WOMEN
The First World War was a difficult and influential time for the women of Britain. Many were forced to seek out factory work, often manufacturing ammunitions to keep money coming into the family, and the increasingly dominant numbers of women led to women being awarded the vote for the first time in 1919. During the war, often viewed as the last time men were allowed to be the 'dominant' gender, many soldiers criticised what they saw as the naivety of women.
In his poem 'Glory of Women,' Siegfried Sassoon claims, "You love us when we?re heroes, home on leave, or wounded in a mentionable place," sharing the view that women still held the misguided beliefs of an honourable war fought for the glory of Britain's green and pleasant land. It is clear from 'Testament of Youth' that this stereotype is largely untrue, it was simply that women were unable to bring about an immediate change.
STYLE
'Testament of Youth' is divided into several clearly separate sections covering different topics. The first describes Brittain's life up to the outbreak of the war, and her initial losses from the conflict, the second sees her first-hand view of casualties and death on the Front, and the third follows her pacifistic efforts with the League of Nations in attempting to create a more secure Europe; something that, we now know, was subject to another devastating World War despite such efforts.
Brittain writes in a grand style throughout, a trait of Georgian literature that was often replaced with the less formal trench poetry and subsequent novels. This makes the book seem slightly more dated than other literature of the period, but the messages are still clear throughout.
VERDICT
Possibly too sympathetic or tragic for all readers, 'Testament of Youth' is also a hefty read, but fans of deeply personal autobiographies or war literature should find it very moving and something of a large step for British women of the period. Brittain offers a different perspective on the conflict than the more popular novels by male authors such as Remarque and Graves, but will never be as effective due to its inherently "ineffective" presentation of the situation described.
Vera Brittain's later work was more politically motivated and as such not as insightful or personal, but 'Testament of Youth' explores a dark and important area of British history that left its mark. In a letter to her doomed brother, Brittain informs him, "Your battle wounds are scars upon my heart." Her subsequent problems with trauma in the 1920s prior to the release of this book show how deeply Brittain and her fellow British women were affected by the war, despite being in the safety of home, as they faced the daily problem of having to survive survival.
Advantages: Honest and moving account of a dark time from a different perspective, Historically accurate for research purposes, Feminists should love it
Disadvantages: Overly sentimental and depressing at times, Very long-winded, Writing style is often difficult to read
Steven Brust, To Reign in Hell
History is Written by the Victors
Written on 20.10.07
****
When he set out to expand upon the Christian Creation myth by incorporating apocryphal accounts of the war in heaven and the nature of hell, John Milton believed with unwavering arrogance that his ‘Paradise Lost’ would take a significant place in the literary canon, and the blind poet could have been confident that his epic would still inspire writers over three centuries later. Like many modern fantasies concerning the events that transpired before the Earth or humanity were created, Steven Brust’s novel ‘To Reign in Hell’ borrows heavily from Milton in terms of its premise (the war in Heaven, and its aftermath) and controversial sympathy for the traditionally ‘evil’ rebels, but differs significantly in its stripped-down, secularised take on the story.
Brust’s novel is classed as a fantasy and for the most part it is just that; the angels are a race birthed from the chaos surrounding Heaven, the Firstborn of which each possesses a striking ability more akin to a super-hero than a traditional deity. There is no omnipotent God who created all things, but rather Yaweh, who merely happened to be first born of the seven Firstborn, and who admits that while creation of Heaven and the angels almost certainly had something to do with him, his early memories are only vague and concern instinct more than rational thought or any form of plan. William Blake accused Milton of being ‘of the Devil’s party without knowing it’ due to the alleged sympathy he shows for the cause and suffering of his protagonist Satan in the early books of his poem, but Brust betters this by presenting Satan as an innocent and honourable figure who unwittingly finds himself as a symbol of the growing rebellion through tragic miscommunication and the deception of another. Conversely, while Yaweh is also duped by Abdiel (the novel’s true antagonist), he is shown to be an insecure and reluctant leader who ultimately reasons that self-confessed tyrannical rule is the only suitable method at his disposal, hence setting himself in his now-familiar role as Heaven’s ruler.
By ignoring religion and stripping the story down to its bare bones, Brust frees himself up to tackle a previously very vague story in whatever manner he sees fit, provided that the inevitable end conforms to Milton. This process of simplification extends to the individual angels involved, which Brust imagines as an increasing population numbering well over a thousand that is on the verge of becoming a populace rather than a small local community, something that dawns on Lilith when she articulates some of the previously unspoken problems in this earliest civilisation. Roughly a dozen angels feature prominently throughout, mostly of the prestigious first and second wave rather than the more humble and common third, and as there are no real rules regarding their exact names or characteristics in folklore, Brust writes them as he wishes. Even ones that are pretty well known, such as Lucifer and Mephistopheles, he disregards and changes as he sees fit, or makes into women for the sake of it. To ease matters, the issue of Satan’s numerous names in mythology is dealt with by making Satan and Lucifer different and distinct individuals, albeit ones who ultimately fall along the same path, and although the reader may find it a little hard to suspend their disbelief over the ‘obviously evil’ names of Belial, Beelzebub, Mephistopheles as opposed to the ‘obviously good’ Michael, Raphael and Ariel, it serves as another reminder of Heaven’s supreme and tragic innocence in all matters. Just because it would be insane to call a child Adolf today, doesn’t mean it wasn’t once a perfectly decent name (though still a bit of a silly one).
Brust’s tale is truly tragic as the reader sees an unstable but peaceful civilisation fall into disorder, war and division before their eyes, and just as ‘Paradise Lost’ was published partly in response to the English Revolution (and its ultimate failure), the crisis of ‘To Reign in Hell’ could act as a fitting metaphor for a number of situations at different points throughout history, particularly in regard to its ultimate message that facts and situations can be twisted and malformed to suit any individual’s purpose, as shown in the novel’s finest scenes. It’s certainly a very sad book, and the nefarious, conniving and murderous Abdiel is an interesting adversary in a similar manner to Milton’s Satan during his less prestigious moments in Eden in ‘Paradise Lost,’ acting on his apparently unique ability to think independently of the rest of the angelic host and to question the presumed order of things rather than follow blindly, but in doing so only causing destruction. The characterisation of this morality tale is fairly primitive but not to the point of being a disadvantage, as the cast is so weighty that each manages to achieve little outside a generalised profile to distinguish itself from the others. Some are more extremely diversified, particularly those who were mutated during the third wave into different forms: Belial is an enormous, fire-breathing dragon, Leviathan is now a sea monster, Ariel is an owl and Beelzebub is a dog who speaks in lofty Elizabethan English but still relieves himself on trees. In an interesting decision, most of the traditionally noble angels are presented as somewhat blind and easily led, but the character of those such as Michael is seen to change rather enjoyably as events unfold and awareness is raised that debate and free will can exist after all.
Even as each major player is profiled through the early chapters, Brust’s narrative is very light on actual description or in fact any narration at all beyond simple statements of the direction in which characters are walking, and an amusingly repetitive tendency for them to chew their lips while contemplating. The book is so dialogue heavy that it reads much like a play split into countless brief discussions between two or more characters before shifting to the next, and while this is perfect for establishing a sense of the characters without having to explicitly state their feelings (a chewed lip or five will satisfy for that), it does make many sections quite hard to follow if the reader is working through the book over a long period and has forgotten some of the pairings and alliances, as Brust largely avoids stating which character is speaking in each line. Fortunately, it’s very good dialogue and character-specific even outside of the gimmicks like Beelzebub, but the larger lack of description makes visualising any particular scene quite a challenge unless it’s one of the few that are intricately detailed, such as the awakening of Belial. Brust’s Heaven appears to be a large landmass, featuring fields, woods, mountains and seas, though once the reader gets beyond that to the realms of the Flux, things become a lot more complicated.
While Steven Brust’s acclaimed novel doesn’t have the same impact nor artistry as ‘Paradise Lost’ or the other classical works he pays homage to in the brief quotations that open each chapter (including Dante, Goethe and the Book of Job as well as more recent pop songs and poetry), his is a bold and enjoyable take on a story that has never been tackled in the appropriate depth. While some may take issue with his significant changes, particularly the reduction of Yaweh from an all-powerful God to a ‘mere’ Firstborn with powerful abilities, it was very likely the contradictions this omniscience entailed (as well as the foolish fear of being blasphemous to such an obviously made-up story and characters) that has caused lesser writers to veer away from these subjects over the centuries. It may not be exactly the same story, but Brust’s version makes a lot more sense and is ultimately more readable for it, though I did find that it became too much like a traditional swords and sorcery fantasy novel at some points, with the first battle in particular harking right back to genre staples like ‘Lord of the Rings.’ Nevertheless, the plot unfolds at a very satisfying and convincing rate, escalating gradually and horribly with each turn of the page.
At under 300 pages this isn’t especially heavy-going, though it does lose some of its appeal as it moves toward the conclusion – but I’m sure that these final pre-ordained events will be enough to keep readers flicking through. Some of the characters are a little too generic or theatrical, but others such as Yaweh (who is very much like the insecure God as portrayed throughout the Book of Genesis, at least as I read it), the noble Satan and the romantic Raphael keep it from being a mere allegory. It’s also pretty funny too, with some recurring jokes from the unlikely likes of Mephistopheles, and a regular running commentary from two marginal, unimportant angels Sith and Kyriel, whose pointless, often daft but always meaningful take on events unfolding before them is reminiscent of Tom Stoppard’s take on Rosencrantz and Guildenstern. Either that, or those heckling blokes in the gallery from ‘The Muppet Show,’ take your pick: it doesn’t all have to be literary.
Advantages: An interesting and imaginative take on an old but vague story, driven by entertaining dialogue.
Disadvantages: Lacks descriptiveness, which makes the whole thing a little confusing.
George H. Bushnell, A Handful of Ghosts
The Spectres of St. Andrews
Written on 17.11.07
***
This neat little paperback published by the St. Andrews Preservation Trust is a loving reproduction of George H. Bushnell's original and sole collection of ghost stories, originally published by the University in 1945. Set in and around the area of Scotland's oldest University, these stories, however fanciful or based on alleged truths, were originally told to Bushnell's Celtic Society as entertainment during blackouts in the Second World War. The local basis serves to make it a little unapproachable for the wider readership that it never particularly sought out (and will never attain), but also adds a rather quaint and authentic atmosphere to the five tales, even if it's a little naive to assume anyone outside of his immediate, local, 1940s audience will be aided by directions such as "where Henderson's corner shop now stands."
There's a fair degree of variety across the stories in terms of subject matter, style, length and enjoyment, and it should be enjoyed by readers partial to the old-fashioned sort of ghost stories that insist on grounding themselves in specific facts, locations and dates at great length, perhaps in an effort to balance out the supernatural happenings. This is the book's most annoyingly outdated feature, as some stories such as the brief 'The Shadow Man' read like nothing more than a dull overview of a historical event that manages to be extremely long-winded despite lasting only seven pages. The conveyance of specifics also spoils some of the better stories by trying the reader's patience and thereby dispelling the atmosphere that had been fairly successfully built up by that point, leading to the odd meeting of dull lecture and exciting ghost story of 'The Screaming Horsemen,' which would be the best of the lot if the balance had been shifted towards the latter events rather than the former, unnecessarily long set-up.
As with some of the best ghost stories, the supernatural elements are all toned down into mere apparitions that could, at a stretch and with a considerable degree of scepticism, be put down to natural occurrence or sick tomfoolery. The first story, attractively titled 'The Closing of the Cloisters,' is the most substantial and among the most effective in its tale of an eighteenth-century University professor getting his comeuppance from beyond the grave, in the form of appearances of his erstwhile associate's skeletal corpse clad in academic robes, but is curiously and distractingly divided into two chapters; the second is not entirely related to the professor's story, and rather concerns a far less interesting account of Johnson and Boswell getting a little creeped-out by the skeleton on their famous Tour through Scotland. The second story, 'The Tenement,' is a shorter and wholly less satisfying account of a supposedly haunted house that it turns out, wasn't really haunted at all, but nevertheless allows its sole buyer to get a bargain purchase. It's not so much a ghost story as something a particularly boring relative would repeatedly tell you with a smug look on their face, but Bushnell's descriptions of location remain commendably vivid.
'The Screaming Horsemen,' when it finally gets round to it, has the book's most prominent ghostly appearance as a group of horse-mounted riders gallop into a frozen swamp, taking the body of a crazy old man with them, and it's a shame there’s so much tedious preamble as the encounter itself is Bushnell's writing at its best: genuinely creepy and descriptive, while grounded in realism, though the author's long career as St. Andrews University librarian do lead him to catalogue every detail in irritating depth. 'The Shadow Man' is the only story based entirely in the past and suffers for its lack of relation to (then-) contemporary events, centred around the apparent ghost of a warrior, but thankfully the final offering of the collection makes for a fitting exit. Titled 'I Shall Take Proper Precautions!' for reasons that will only become clear once the whole thing has been digested, this is the apparently true story of one of Bushnell's previous assistant librarians (although everything here most likely stems almost entirely from his imagination, it's nice to imagine that there's a basis for all of the stories), who finds a curiously new book arriving at the library just as she is closing up on Christmas Eve, and she is forced to take it home for a personal delivery to its local owner and author. This story is filled with everything I enjoyed about spooky short stories when I was a child, from the uncanny book itself that suddenly appears to be old, worn and stained when viewed in the dim bedside light, to the librarian's experiences and encounters with its supposed author and the ultimate revelation that the blank pages at the book's conclusion were never blank after all, containing everything she experiences on that fateful, snowy morning. This is the most enjoyable story of the lot, largely unhampered by the burden of far too much detail and making a nice link to the University library itself, from whence this whole thing originated.
As George H. Bushnell's only collection of stories, this noticeably lacks a distinctly characteristic style aside from its tedious insistence on relating all the information possible, but it fits in rather nicely with the tradition of gothic ghost stories and is interesting in its blending of the author's contemporary early twentieth century and the history of his local Scottish region, mostly through the 1700s. It's a little uneven in tone, with some such as the first story quite clearly being written for speaking without much in the way of adaptation for the page (mostly evident through repeated sound effects), but it's a nice gesture that this book was ever considered worth reprinting at all. This paperback is a slim volume of just over sixty pages, and features pretty pencil illustrations from one Mrs. D.H.L. Scott (née Bushnell) relevant to each tale without spoiling its conclusion. If the University of St. Andrews still entertains a Celtic Society, it's nice that they have something to show for their history (in a University steeped in history, as Bushnell's stories prove more than anything else), and I'm sure his own ghost must have been pleasantly surprised to see this new arrival in the Local Fiction section of a library he still watches over to this very day, the silent old man in the old-fashioned clothes...
Advantages: Five quick, traditional spooky stories set in St. Andrews University and the surrounding area.
Disadvantages: Short, outdated and alienating to non-locals.
C
Mike Carey and artists, Lucifer: Devil in the Gateway
I Was God's Lamp-Lighter
Written on 14.11.07
****
Several years after Neil Gaiman’s influential comic series The Sandman ceased publication, its characters, settings and ideas continued to entertain readers as a profitable franchise of DC Comics’ Vertigo imprint. Probably the best conceived and executed of these spin-offs (some of which were pretty appalling) was the long-running ‘Lucifer,’ originally written by the talented Mike Carey to carry on directly from where Gaiman left the fallen angel and ex-ruler of Hell: wearing a snazzy suit and running a classy piano bar in Los Angeles, aided by his ever loyal half-faced assistant Mazikeen.
‘Devil in the Gateway’ is the first paperback anthology of Lucifer, collecting the three issue mini-series ‘The Sandman Presents Lucifer: The Morningstar Option’ from 1999 and the first four issues of the regular comic which began a year later, forming another three-part serial and a final, separate short story. It’s clear even from this first collection that the recognisable Sandman style is being followed diligently, allocating a finite number of issues to a particular story before moving on to the next and filling the spaces with entertaining one-shots focusing on comparatively marginal ideas and characters. As the titular protagonist, Lucifer (or whatever name your culture bestows him) is much more prominent in these plots than Gaiman’s Sandman was in the long run, though like Dream his role is pushed to the background in the short stories, presuming this book is going to be reflective of the series as a whole. In a further, clearly intentional homage to Sandman, the series would conclude after seventy-five issues in 2006, but now we’re getting ahead of ourselves.
The three stories of this volume – ‘The Morningstar Option,’ ‘A Six-Card Spread’ and the final ‘Born with the Dead’ – are all of commendably high quality, particularly considering this is a franchise spin-off targeted primarily at overly loyal comic fans desperate to part with their money for anything that boasts a relation to Sandman on its cover. Mike Carey presents a Lucifer entirely consistent with Gaiman’s arrogant, self-serving and witty angel, and although his turbulent loyalties and concerns keep him somewhat aloof over the course of these tales, his put-downs and charming sarcasm in the first mini-series particularly make him a strong and interesting character for the reader’s allegiance. Each story has a cast of prominent characters, who may or may not return as the series continues, and in the true Sandman spirit of attempted controversy and unwavering belief that progressive social statements are being made, the cast originates in troubled families, sexual deviations, jobs in the sex industry and angsty teenage goth girls with unrealised, repressed powers. Each story expands the Sandman continuity by introducing further figures from mythology, both based on cultural legends and entirely made-up, more often than not to act as an enemy for Lucifer to talk down to and eventually beat.
As the original mini-series, ‘The Morningstar Option’ is pivotal in demonstrating the potential for a larger series, much like a television pilot episode, and it succeeds admirably. The biggest disappointment is seeing Lucifer agree to work for heaven on a one-time assignment, admittedly for the reward it would grant him, but hearing him state “today I’m one of the good guys” only made me yearn for the series to begin in earnest, and for the David Bowie lookalike to start showing his true colours. Lucifer’s task in this first story is to track down the source of unusual luck being experienced by humans across the globe before it inevitably ends in that stupid, infantile species wiping itself out, and playing the role of detective he ends up recruiting Navajo-descended teenager Rachel Begai, who accompanies him and performs the required tasks of her heritage in the hope that Lucifer will be able to revive her mentally handicapped brother Paul, whom she accidentally wished dead. His investigations take him to the exiled Lilim, residing in dilapidated city back-streets and eventually attacking the angel in a sequence reminiscent of ‘Spawn,’ before the final issue crams in an uninspired Native American vision quest type thing in a rather shoddy attempt to wrap up the story in about the half the time it really needed. Like Neil Gaiman, Carey tries to pay respect to the mythologies of these exotic cultures to avoid getting too caught up in an explicitly heaven/hell argument, and like much of the Sandman, it doesn’t really convince. It’s also a little disappointing to see some plot points borrowed explicitly from the Sandman story ‘Brief Lives,’ though that’s likely more due to the personal grievances I have with that particular story.
While the plot may border precariously on being distinctly average, the mini-series is ultimately made a hugely rewarding experience through an abundance of great dialogue, intelligent use of existing characters (particularly in the contrast between the angels Remiel and Duma) and most of all, absolutely fantastic art from Scott Hampton who applies a painterly style throughout the three issues, handling all the pencils, lavish paints and the great covers himself. Hampton’s human characters and backgrounds are completely convincing and brought to life wonderfully through his use of colour, and the whole thing was clearly a labour of love, easily affording Hampton equal (or perhaps even greater) credit to Mike Carey in making this a great starting point. Of course, the task of a mainstream monthly series meant that Hampton’s virtuoso style would prove highly impractical, and although the more standard comic art of Chris Weston, Warren Pleece and Dean Ormston in the other issues initially seems a little disappointing with the unfair comparison, it’s still above average in depicting the earthbound tales with the necessary degree of realism above all else.
‘A Six-Card Spread’ is a little better plot-wise, but loses the fun dialogue along with the art, as Lucifer reverts to a more generic figure with unspecified powers. To its credit, this story takes the franchise back to its origins as a horror comic, with some really quite disturbing scenes of brutal, real-world violence in frequent racist and homophobic assaults (that’s right, Carey couldn’t set his story in Hamburg without including some neo-Nazis). Lucifer’s mission this time is entirely self-serving, as he tracks down former angel Meleos in his library for a tarot reading from his crazy living deck, but for some reason or other the spirits of the cards end up loose in the city, possessing or otherwise interfering with any characters whose lifestyles are alternative enough to be permitted entry into a Sandman cast. The more local tale plays out better across three issues than its lofty predecessor managed, and while it’s an entertaining enough read on its own, there are further scenes towards the beginning and end that weave plot threads for the future. The final tale ‘Born with the Dead’ makes for a very nice stand-alone issue and concerns a twelve-year-old girl’s investigation into her best friend’s murder, fuelled by drugs, aided by supernatural forces. While it presents the second occurrence even in this thin paperback of the author insisting he knows what makes teenage girls tick, it also possibly owes a debt to earlier Sandman spin-off ‘The Dead Boy Detectives.’ Then again, it might not. I haven’t read it.
Although the tone and appearance leap considerably at the half-way point, as is to be expected from a compilation like this, ‘Devil in the Gateway’ is a consistently high quality graphic novel, clearly taking many cues from the Sandman’s success but also starting to stand on its own feet, aided by its strong lead character. The mini-series is well plotted for the first two issues before cramming in too many clichéd details in the third, and even successfully integrates some back-story for newcomers through an early discussion between Lucifer and Amenadiel, for anyone who hasn’t read ‘Season of Mists.’ This is an explicitly adult title, perhaps even more than its predecessor, with frequent swearing and some grisly but never gratuitous violence, but its basis in heaven and hell mythologies taken from literature rather than holy books – particularly Milton’s ‘Paradise Lost’ and Dante’s ‘The Divine Comedy,’ the latter sharing influence with Bosch in the artistic rendering of Hell – keeps it from being blasphemous and offensive to more ignorant, right-wing Christian readers, though those sorts of people will complain about anything.
There are a few problems that threaten to spoil the continuing series, notably Lucifer’s accomplice Mazikeen who does little of interest other than “stand guard” while Lucifer goes about his business, and whose speech is now even more difficult to decipher than it was under Gaiman’s pen, particularly as the earlier author would always have Lucifer conveniently explain what his servant had just said in a manner reminiscent of Matthew Corbett and Sooty. Letterer Ellie DeVille (who I remember from ‘Sonic the Comic,’ quite embarrassingly) also seems to have trouble applying Todd Klein’s decorative style to the speech of otherworldly beings, which is a bit of a problem as this includes the series’ main character. But on the whole, this is an interesting and logical continuation of the fallen angel’s story that really could go anywhere next, but will probably restrict itself to gritty back-streets and various planes of the afterlife.
”A message written in blood. Everyone involved in this drama seems compelled to overact.”
Advantages: Impressive debut with some fantastic art.
Disadvantages: A bit of a copy-cat, falling for some of the Sandman's pitfalls.
Eric Carle, The Very Hungry Caterpillar
Grow Up!
Written on 05.05.04
*****
All quotes taken from The Very Hungry Caterpillar by Eric Carle, published by Penguin Books, 1986. Buy it, it's good.
There are a number of colourful books that are staples of every junior school or playgroup, and 'The Very Hungry Caterpillar' by children's writer and artist Eric Carle is one of the most famous children's books internationally. It is incredibly simple, quite educational and, most of all, very fun for children.
STYLE
Carle wrote and illustrated this book, using very short and understandable sentences and phrases, and a mixture of painting and tissue paper collages for the pictures. This distinctive style sets the book apart and introduces children to an art form at a very early age, as they will appreciate the pictures and possible be inspired to make their own in a similar style.
The book is even more memorable for the simple level of interactivity it provides the child with, in the form of hole-punched circles over several pages. These fall over the pictures of food that the caterpillar gnaws its insatiable way through.
THE STORY [No kidding; for some reason I type up and analyse the entire thing]
Designed for very young children who are learning to read, or are being read to by an adult, the Very Hungry Caterpillar is the short tale of a caterpillar's life cycle, presented in an interesting way.
"In the light of the
moon a little egg
lay on a leaf."
The story begins with the genesis of the caterpillar, reaffirming children's knowledge of birth and life. This first double page spread features a leaf, the egg and a friendly-looking moon in the night sky.
"One Sunday morning the warm sun came up and - pop!
- out of the egg came a tiny and very hungry caterpillar."
This second double page features a large, grinning Sun, watching over the caterpillar, that is drawn very tiny. While older readers might at first mistake this for perspective, more innocent children will have no doubt as to the very simple meaning, and can watch the creature grow as the book progresses.
"He started to look
for some food."
This is where the fun begins, as the next four pages have been hole-punched lengthways, illustrating the caterpillar's eating pattern. The right hand side of the first double-page spread features five 'flaps' of incomplete pages, each getting bigger as more food is shown:
"On Monday
he ate through
one apple.
But he was still
hungry."
"On Tuesday
he ate through
two pears,
but he was still
hungry."
"On Wednesday
he ate through
three plums,
but he was still
hungry."
"On Thursday
he ate through
four strawberries,
but he was still
hungry."
"On Friday
he ate through
five oranges,
but he was still
hungry."
This repetition and the visual aids will have children enjoying, and telling aloud the story, even if they cannot read. If Teletubbies taught parents anything, it's that their children love repetition; Old McDonald's farm springs to mind.
The educational value of this section is also quite impressive, as it can help children to learn their numbers one to five, how to spell the numbers one to five, the days of the 'school week,' and the differences between types of fruit.
"On Saturday
he ate through
one piece of
chocolate cake, one ice-cream cone, one pickle, one slice of Swiss cheese, one slice of salami, one lollipop, one piece of cherry pie, one sausage, one cupcake, and one slice of watermelon.
That night he had a stomachache!"
This long-winded list of food covers the double page with illustrations, and is a chance for some humour after the repetition of the previous section. The strange list of very different food types keeps it interesting for the child, and the line about the stomach ache will likely be their first experience of humour through confounded expectations, as it was not what they expected. Even I can appreciate that one.
"The next day was Sunday again.
The caterpillar ate through
One nice green leaf,
And after that he felt
Much better."
Completing the week cycle, perhaps this could be seen as a message that children should eat their greens. I doubt any children would be stupid enough to try and eat leaves in the same manner.
"Now he wasn?t hungry any more - and he wasn't a little caterpillar any more.
He was a big, fat caterpillar."
Growth and change are highlighted here, especially with the drawing of the overweight minibeast. Use of the phrase "big, fat" marks this out as a book targeted towards the very young.
"He built a small house, called a cocoon, around himself. He stayed inside for
more than two weeks. Then he nibbled a hole in the cocoon, pushed his way out and..."
Limiting the educational value to caterpillars here, the illustration makes it easier for the child to visualise a chrysalis more than if they were simply told about them. Two weeks must seem like a much longer length of time for a child.
"he was a beautiful butterfly!"
The book ends with the caterpillar having achieved beauty and happiness, leaving all children satisfied. But they may well demand that the reader start from the beginning again.
THE AUTHOR
Eric Carle is an American who grew up in Germany and was inspired to illustrate for children's books, and proceeded to create his own highly successful works. Other famous examples of Carle's work include 'The Very Busy Spider' and 'Have You Seen My Cat?,' the focus on the natural world stemming from his own childhood interests and memories.
VERDICT
This is an incredibly popular child's book with good reason; it looks great, has a very interesting style, and the plot is very straightforward and familiar. The educational value should not be dismissed, nor should the fact that children will want to read this in their spare time due to the pictures, the simplicity and the humour. Children may even feel proud of their achievements when they can recite the story simply by looking at the pictures, or by noticing small details such as the picture of the caterpillar on the reverse side of each food 'flap.' Even the young need self-esteem.
I'm also sure that any parents who remember the book from when they were children will get a great deal of pleasure from reading it to their own children, safe in the knowledge that they are also helping their education and development.
Similar books, from my own experience:
Not Now Bernard / There's No Such Thing as Dragons - both of these books use repetition to get a point across, and teach valuable lessons about paying attention and being friendly and open-minded.
Don't Forget the Bacon - similar humour to this book, this also uses some fairly silly and bizarre objects that a child will be familiar with, and has a great ending.
Advantages: Simple and effective, Beautifully illustrated, Educational
Disadvantages: Can be expensive, even for smaller versions, due to the pictures and designer holes in pages, May get annoying!
Mike Carlin and artists, Star Trek: The Next Generation – Beginnings
When the Universe Was Young
Written on 15.09.07
***
Star Trek fan fiction and licensed or unlicensed spin-offs have existed for almost as long as the series, and provide an effective and enjoyable means for die-hard viewers to indulge their fandom and creativity by taking established concepts, characters and details and making their own stories, most of which are absolutely abysmal rip-offs of what has already come before. Advances in technology have made fan productions ever more lucrative, especially notable in the entirely fan-produced, fan-written and fan-starring live action series ‘New Voyages’ and the upcoming ‘Of Gods and Men’ film directed by and starring many authentic cast members. The canonical Star Trek universe is now so vast, expanded by five long-running series and ten feature films, that little mystery remains, and any spin-off media basing itself on the moribund franchise must either stick rigidly to its established frameworks, as most of them do, or branch out boldly into unexplored territory.
While fan fiction is pretty much free to do as it pleases, as long as no attempt is made to make money off the back of Paramount’s franchise, officially licensed publications such as the long-running Pocket Books novel series and the less stable comic book imprint have the benefit of using the real vessels, real characters and real likenesses to tell further adventures of the crews of the Enterprise and all those other ships. Paramount’s lenience is variable, often denying the use of recurring alien races or supporting characters in case this contradicts or upstages a continuing TV series, yet nothing outside the filmed medium has ever been considered part of the official Star Trek canon. Star Trek comics are a particularly popular and interesting feature of this expanded universe, acting as a bridge between the written word and the TV series in approaching something comparable to the latter, allowing fans the authentic experience of watching an un-filmed episode unfold before their eyes. At least, that’s the idea.
That’s why I enjoy naïve earlier publications, such as this six-issue mini-series, produced hurriedly by DC comics to cash in on excitement about the first new Star Trek series in twenty years, ‘Star Trek: The Next Generation.’ Fully licensed by Paramount to create exciting new adventures for the new crew of the U.S.S. Enterprise, it attempts to replicate the look and ‘feel’ of the series to an authentic standard, which is amusing as the writers and artists had, presumably, only seen an early screening of the series’ shaky pilot episode. Dedicated followers of the TV series will know that its look, tone and focus changed substantially in the first couple of years, beginning its third year as a more thoughtful and mature show, and one in which the characters no longer wore skin-tight spandex. Essentially written to occur between the pilot episode ‘Encounter at Farpoint’ and episode two of the series, DC’s enthusiastic ‘Volume 1’ captures all the simplistic, nostalgic charm of the show’s earliest period while also being forced to take hugely speculative leaps in covering areas that the show had understandably failed to address in what had so far amounted to ninety minutes of screen time. More sombre and serious TNG fans will doubtless find some of the content ridiculous and even offensive based on their superior knowledge of the series, but for me this stupid, over-eager innocence makes them far more readable than the dull, repetitive and far more authentic second volume that ran throughout the rest of the TV series.
All six issues, soon collected together in a hardback and paperback publication, are written by Michael Carlin, an established writer for Marvel comics before moving to DC, whose inexperience with Star Trek writing is on display throughout. In Carlin’s favour, no one really knew what to expect from the new Star Trek series, though I don’t recall as much frantic racing about and fist-fighting in the televised version, something that can be equally attributed to the lack of a TV budget hindering the writer’s creativity here. The art is similarly far more suited to traditional superhero comics than the diplomatic world of Trek, though long-time artist Pablo Marcos would oddly never learn that Jean-Luc Picard’s chest, arms and legs don’t bulge with tensed muscle like that, on the TV show. Marcos is a fairly good artist, successful in capturing the likenesses of the actors and only resorting to what are obviously the few available publicity shots on rare occasions, though as with all Trek comics featuring random, previously unseen alien races, he has the freedom to draw whatever he wants in some instances, regardless of whether it would show up on television or not (though the first two years of TNG did feature actors in dog, lizard and fish costumes, so anything is possible). Carlos Garzon and Arne Starr provide the definitive inks, which sees them indulging in their hobby of over-cross-hatching the already inaccurate muscles of each character’s tight outfit, while Carl Gafford screws up some of the ship, technology and costume colours wonderfully, in the true spirit of this volume’s innocence.
These comics, originally released monthly in the first half of 1988, act as a time capsule, preserving a moment of genuine excitement regarding the new series before the over-saturation of the franchise in the nineties. There’s an obvious enthusiasm stemming from every department in expressing the style of the series, from the highly detailed drawings of the sets and over-sized introductory images of main characters to Carlin’s valiant attempts to address issues of character background that were stated from the onset, but often largely ignored in the official canon. Thus, we see Captain Picard reminisce about his childhood in France, years before the series decided to offer the ‘true’ details that unfortunately contradict this, while the old romance between Riker and Troi is perhaps mentioned more than it ever would be again (outside of fan fiction, obviously). Most interesting is the focus granted to security chief Tasha Yar, whose character was killed off towards the end of the first TV season for a number of reasons, and who therefore got little screen time or development compared to the others. Yar is given a prominent role here, obviously due to her action-heroine persona, and her troubled past at a corrupt Federation colony is referred to several times, as it was in the show. Other fun details replicated true to the first season include a beardless Riker, Geordi LaForge wearing red and piloting the ship, and a reduced, confused role for Lieutenant Worf, who really didn’t do very much before Yar was killed off and he took her place. There are a number of entertaining out-of-character incidents from pretty much the entire cast, which is understandable as no one really knew what in-character meant at this point.
The stories themselves are a little far-fetched and not particularly impressive, clearly only serving as a foundation upon which to explore this new ship and crew that Star Trek fans were so eager to learn about. The first issue, titled ‘...Where No One Has Gone Before!’ (which was also used as an early episode title) concerns a hostile situation on a jungle planet, allowing for both an action-packed adventure and a full exploration of the Enterprise command structure, particularly its focus on staff meetings and the Captain’s absence from the away team. Annoying teenager Wesley Crusher is also featured, allowing for an overview of Starfleet’s new families-aboard-starships stance that annoys Picard no end, and characters get to show off their unique attributes that would feature less prominently thereafter, such as Geordi’s enhanced vision. ‘Spirit in the Sky’ and the final issue ‘Here Today’ are both stand-alone stories, while the remaining half of the collection comprises an extended mini-series-within-a-mini-series focusing on the adversary Q, who was introduced in the pilot episode. Q’s return, predicted in the pilot but not yet confirmed by this point, provides some interesting foreshadowing on the writers’ part (both Carlin and the presumed Star Trek writers who informed him of the types of things to include in these stories), as although Q is far more malevolent and childish here than he would ultimately prove to be in the series, his antagonistic relationship with Picard is completely true to form, and even the presence of ‘Q’ in each issue’s title predates that pattern in TNG, though in this instance they aren’t used as puns (unless “Q’s Day” is a really weak pun for ‘Tuesday’). The Q story is far too long, convoluted and ultimately pointless as anything other than a convenient means to explore the psyches, histories and fantasies of all the main characters, but as that was pretty much Carlin’s job, he performs it admirably.
Comics have always had a reputation (at least in the western world) as being a little childish and less literate than written publications – even if we are talking about Star Trek tie-in novels – and although there are many notable exceptions to this rule, it is mostly true. DC’s first volume of Star Trek: The Next Generation is valuable and entertaining as nothing more than a historical artefact of the series in its earliest stages when it was still struggling to find its identity, and each time Picard yells out a French curse, or Beverley strikes a sexy pose for no reason, or a background character crops up wearing some kind of helmet or non-existent green-coloured uniform, I can’t help but raise a delighted smile. These comics are trying so eagerly to reflect the style of the new series (though with a degree of artistic license granted in terms of huge green monsters and old men’s athleticism) that only the most anally retentive Trekkie would condemn them for their silliness... though they are undoubtedly very silly in places. This mini-series would be followed a year later with a long-running publication that lasted for 80 issues, still mostly illustrated by Marcos but written by more experienced Star Trek novelists and comic authors. The second volume reflected the established television series more accurately, but what’s the point in that?
Advantages: Nostalgic and comedic relic from a simpler time.
Disadvantages: Generally weak plots and some distracting art.
Arthur C. Clarke, Rendezvous with Rama
Very Interesting
Written on 03.08.03
****
A sci-fi fan's web page reccomended the Rama series, among many other books, as a classic of science fiction and while looking for anything interesting the local library I noticed this first book and the sequel.
The first thought that came to mind, and the reason why I hired it out, was "very interesting," and that basically sums it up for me. Like many books and films, although certainly not all of them, I preferred the initial discovery and exploration of the enormous craft to the events that followed, which I found became tedious and long-winded sometimes. Once the initial mysteries were out of the way and people started 'flooding in,' the plot lost something I think, but I still found it an engrossing and very interesting (that again) read.
The basic plot is that a huge, cylindrical and unidentified object has entered the solar system in the not-too-distant future of 2130, a time when most of the solar system has been colonised but no intergalactic exploration or alien contact has happened. The thing that most impressed me was the size of the alien object, we are talking doc-off for want of a better term, even though 'huge' summed it up really. Five kilometres in length I think it was, and constantly spinning to keep up gravity inside. When I was selecting a book to read, one of the criteria I thought would be nice would be to deal with something too massive to comprehend initially, and this is the perfect book for that kind of feeling.
Hoping I don't spoil the plot, but it is quite inevitable- rest assured I'm not familiar with the purpose of the whole probe thing however, as this is left to be tied up, I assume, in "Rama Revealed" which is the fourth book of this quadrilogy. I learned that word from a DVD set of the Alien movies. But once the crew of the Endeavour, a spaceship fortunately close enough to land on the Behemoth of a cylinder, become accustomed to the inside of the strange craft I find that much of the interest in it is lost; Commander Norton descending into the darkness, seeing what are believed to be towns down the edges of the craft only when flares are dropped, and the subsequent trek through the darkness, is tension and mystery at its very best.
The characters are not really developed, although we do learn a bit about Commander Norton's two wives living on different planets, each having children- a very usual arrangement by the 22nd century apparently, along with his hobby/obsession regarding Captain Cook's voyages. Other officers crop up regularly, but in action sequences involving 'space bikes' and exploration they do not distinguish themselves from each other in any remarkable way.
The latter half of the book deals with more action and danger, and throughout we are often redirected to a conference between the United Planets members regarding what to do with the craft. While interesting at first in seeing how politics can exist in the 22nd century with the human race spread out, nothing really entertains apart from the idea that 'Hermians' from Mercury are developing into a distinctly different type of human in terms of character and priorities. I'm sure that the political situations may be meant to mirror events happening in the 1970s when Clarke wrote this, but I have never had enough interest in politics to have a clue about this.
I may read the second and subsequent books when I have the time, but basically my enjoyment waned and the book failed to grab my attention quite so much towards the end, especially in the last 50 pages or so. It all seemed to end a little too abruptly in comparison to the slow pace of many of the scenes. Huge things are ace though, and if the book hadn't gone downhill towards the end I would have given it top marks.
Richard Curtis, Ben Elton and Rowan Atkinson, Blackadder: The Whole Damn Dynasty
The Almost Complete Scriptbook
Written on 22.11.03
*****
This book of the collected scripts for all four Blackadder series, titled The Black Adder, Blackadder II, Blackadder the Third and Blackadder Goes Forth respectively, was an inevitable and important release which was handled incredibly well.
For a start, the book is illustrated and themed to suit each relevant series, with interesting introductory designs and production photographs to each episode and small illustrations within the text to keep the pages interesting. The scripts of the Blackadder series were incredibly well written, despite the occasional obvious joke and the poorer quality of the first series before Ben Elton satirically aided the writing process, and reading it allows a long-time fan to remember famous lines, or newer fans to appreciate episodes and series they have yet to come across. This book kept me entertained on a very uninteresting family holiday several years ago.
The four series are preceeded by fully detailed cast lists, and the pleasant 'additions' to the book are the frequent articles inspired by episodes and characters between some episodes. These include double page spreads on topics such as "Medieval Medicine," the options of which are apparently 1. herbs, 2. leeches, 3. saw it off, "Duties of an Underscrogsman" and the hilarious "Baldrick's Family Tree." The book ends with a very useful and entertaining list of "Blackadder's Finest Insults"- usually following the 'stickiest situation since sticky the stick insect got stuck to a sticky bun' formula, and a brief history of the BBC's Comic Relief, to which some of the book's profits go toward.
Aided by a large number of black and white and colour photos, and very impressive covers on the hardback version, this book unfortunately falls short of perfection only due to the Blackadder episodes that it 'misses'; Blackadder and Baldrick's transitions between each series are described in detail, although no mention is made of the Blackadder specials "The Cavalier Years," a fifteen minute civil war Comic Relief special from the late 1980s, or "Blackadder's Christmas Carol." Considering that these special one-offs could conceivable fit into Blackadder's continuity between the third and fourth series, the fact that they receive no mention is something which maybe ought to have been remedied, although the lengthy scripts already contained certainly make the book an essential purchase to anyone who loves to quote great programmes. And there are certainly few modern comedies which even come close to rivalling the whole damn Blackadder dynasty.
It has also been very helpful in providing modern day comedy quips about the Great War for my eventual A-level English Literature exam. I hope to get some Iron Maiden lyrics in there as well. I would also recommend the complete Blackadder series on DVD, one of the finest comedy series of all time.
D
Ladies With Titles Will Go For Your Vitals
Written on 10.11.07
***
One of Roald Dahl’s few substantial works for adults, ‘My Uncle Oswald’ feels like it’s very self-consciously reaching for the higher shelves of ‘adult’ classification, as if the author needed a release from all the repressed sexuality of his increasingly popular children’s fiction, but was still too much of a gentlemen to include much in the way of graphic description or recognised swear words. Although the generous blurb and opening chapter indicate that the reader is in for a no-holds-barred account of raunch and sauce across pre-World War II Europe, the entire narrative is primarily focused on Oswald’s story of how he accrued his substantial wealth, explained in far more detail than is strictly necessary or, at times, palatable. It might give you some idea what to expect from the novel if I reveal that the most graphically descriptive sexual scene involves Oswald and his male associate catching a bull’s ejaculation in a bag, while the human encounters are either glossed over entirely or relegated to vague metaphors of engine pistons and jousts.
The book begins with a confusing and rather pointless chapter of introduction from the author, whether this is intended to be Dahl himself or simply a fictional, otherwise unseen character, and is correctly identified as the third publication of ‘his uncle’s memoirs’ following Dahl’s earlier short stories ‘The Visitor’ and ‘Bitch’ from the ‘Switch Bitch’ collection. Although I haven’t read those, this opening chapter indicates, most likely as a joke, that their raunchiness no doubt represented the most conservative and chaste sections available from his uncle’s diaries, and he promises not to hold anything back in this third offering, an unfulfilled promise that ultimately only makes it more disappointing in the end. The narration switches to Oswald from chapter two and continues through the rest of the two-hundred-plus pages, though it has to be said that it loses the sense of a memoir after a while, reading like just another novel told in the first person. Dahl’s cheery writing style is easy to follow and enjoy, and he has a knack for ending chapters on a comparatively exciting note, but the story’s main problem is that it really does drag by the end and becomes very repetitive, something the narrator even draws attention to, but fails to remedy.
The plot concerns Oswald’s early years as a young entrepreneur before and after the First World War, learning from his father’s well-travelled friend the secret of the Sudanese Blister Beetle and its powerful effect on the human sex drive. Using intelligence, care and cunning, the seventeen-year-old Oswald pays a trip to the Sudan to buy a crate of this legendary aphrodisiac, and applies his scientific knowledge and keen business sense to manufacture it in pill form, ready to sell to the rich and desperate. This first section of the book is largely a prelude and works very well in setting up the situation and character of Oswald, a young man who enjoys the finer things in life and lives by strict, self-imposed moral guidelines: firstly, he is adamant that he must be supremely wealthy to be truly happy, but insists that this wealth can only be accrued through means that he finds enjoyable, and that bring pleasure to his customers. Secondly, more importantly, he must have an enormous amount of sex, and can never sleep with the same girl twice; he compares the very idea to the disappointment of “reading a detective novel twice over.” Oswald really is a sexual connoisseur (though he limits himself to female homo sapiens), learning the intricacies and distinct stylings of women from different nationalities and backgrounds, and even basing his preferred choice of music on the more debauched scenes of operas due to their associations. The rest of the book focuses entirely on Oswald’s plan, based on the breakthroughs of his old University professor in artificial cattle insemination, to obtain and preserve the sperm of famous people for later sale to rich women desperate to have a child by Einstein, Picasso, Proust or King Alfonso of Spain, among many others.
Joining Oswald as a travelling companion and business associate for the second half of the book is the alluring Yasmin Howcomely, who agrees to take part in Oswald’s hare-brained scheme primarily for the enjoyment it would bring, stating that she was looking forward to being ravished by kings and artists. Obviously, this makes the book a little questionable in terms of its attitude towards women, and even an attempt to discredit Sigmund Freud’s famously phallocentric approach during Yasmin’s session with the Austrian doesn’t really work as an apology. It’s easy to treat this novel as harmless fun, though it does tend to ground itself a little too much in believable (and perhaps workable) science that even its slightly more ludicrous or exaggerated moments lack any of the fantastical nature of Dahl’s more famous works. One very strange aspect of the book is its unflattering parade of famous figures from the early twentieth century, some of whom come off better than others (Yasmin is particularly complimentary about the sexual practices and impressive size of writers, composers and artists, but isn’t so fond of intellectuals), but all of whom are presented losing their inhibitions and assaulting a woman, admittedly under the influence of Oswald’s beetle powder sneakily inserted into a chocolate. While this may please or indeed enrage fans of the many famous persons involved, the issues of libel make the whole thing pretty dodgy for being so grounded in reality.
‘My Uncle Oswald’ sticks out like a beetle-bitten pizzle in the bibliography of one of the country’s favourite children’s authors, and while it’s a fairly enjoyable read for the most part, it does unfortunately serve to demonstrate that Dahl didn’t really have the knack for making realistic adult stories as entertaining as his children’s fiction. The scheme is suitably zany to maintain interest for a while, but it drags on for far too long and becomes overly repetitive, and the author even makes a very disappointing decision by off-handedly spoiling the ending about half-way through with a mention that there are a number of Proust-descended children currently growing up across Europe as he writes this, thereby removing the doubt that this risky scheme would eventually succeed. The slight twist that does transpire at the end is minor by comparison, and not really worth wading through the long string of vague sexual encounters to reach.
If you enjoyed Roald Dahl’s children’s books in your youth and are interested in reading something similar now you’re grown up – well, don’t really bother with this, just dig out your battered copy of ‘The Witches’ and read it again, you’ve probably forgotten what happens. There are a few creatures that should never have been permitted into Roald Dahl’s literary menagerie, and spermatozoa are one of them. At least they don’t talk.
Advantages: Whimsical and unexpectedly adult romp (or rather, series of romps) from the beloved author.
Disadvantages: Overlong, over-repetitive and overall a fairly disappointing change of pace.
Roald Dahl, The Witches
Never Trust a Woman
Written on 20.04.04
*****
Out of all the popular children's authors I read, or was told to read at school, only Roald Dahl seemed to earn his popularity. His stories were imaginative, engaging, strange and often a little scary. Not being his best known work, although a 1990 film ensured it gained more recognition, 'The Witches' is often regarded as his most sinister tale. Naturally it was also my favourite.
INTRODUCTION
The book opens with a section entitled 'A Note About Witches.' An introduction rather than an opening chapter, this is an objective viewpoint on how to spot the terror of the book, the witch. In a departure from the easily recognisable pointed hats and cloaks, Dahl instructs the reader that witches do indeed exist, but are easily able to disguise themselves as regular women. The fear of a beast in the reader's midst is amplified when Dahl voices their concerns, stating a number of possible familiar faces that may not be who they seem. There are several ways of telling whether someone is a witch, (they wear gloves, wigs and have blue teeth) but unfortunately these require the observer to be in close proximity and as such may be too late. The Witches' targets are, naturally, all children. All witches are evil.
PLOT
The story opens in the house of a boy's grandmother in Oslo, Norway. She is telling her son what would appear to be a ghost story, if not for her clear sincerity. Echoing the introduction's notes about witches, she relates the story of a girl who fell victim to a witch and became trapped in a painting. She would move position each day until she eventually vanished, unnoticed by her parents.
On her trip to England, the grandmother and her grandson stay in a seaside Hotel, but the boy soon discovers the truth about a group of women, under the guise of RSPCC representatives. They are a group of witches led by the Grand High Witch herself, and are in England to gather children. The Grand High Witch demonstrates a new sweet she has invented and a young boy, Bruno, arrives as per her instructions. On consuming the sweet he is changed into a mouse; the boy knows that his only hope is his grandmother, and they have to stop the Witches' plans as no one else will believe them.
CHARACTERS
The main character is an impressionable but confident and active child, as in most of Dahl's books, and he narrates the story from that perspective. The grandmother represents safety in a world where no one else can really be trusted, or no women at least, and the Witches come across as very evil indeed. Another staple of Dahl's books is modern-day, unimaginative adults whose humdrum lives have made them criticise everything. The boy's parents do not even begin to listen to his claims of Witches.
A CHILDREN'S BOOK?
The Witches is a book for children, but not for all children. I have read accounts of children crying or being terrified and although I was less sensitive to such things as a child (and really loved having nightmares; I wish I still had them), I remember fearing for the boy's safety throughout the book. The main passage that had an impact on me came near the start, with the child trapped in the painting; I remember finding this genuinely terrifying, being locked motionless in a painting and not being noticed by anyone until you simply cease to be. I tried reading it aloud to my younger brother at the time, but had to stop when I couldn't force some of the words out!
Terror in children's stories is nothing new or controversial. Ancient fairy stories and nursery rhymes are full of death and suffering, mostly used as lessons about what not to do, and the Witches is the child's equivalent of horror films. I would not hesitate in recommending this to any child, teacher or parent as there is a real incentive to read through the book and find out what happens. And it's not all pretty.
THE FILM
There was indeed a popular British film version of this book, released in 1990. I saw it once as a child, before I read the book, and found it to be a very good adaptation. The same scenes were scary and although the ending was less tragic (I'm not going to explain the differences here as it would spoil the enjoyment of any potential readers) it captured the essence of Dahl's story very well.
OVERALL
If I had a Frankingstein Junior I would make sure it was approaching bedtime and read him/her chapters from this book. Children love to be scared, at least everyone that I knew did, and this book does that very tastefully. I would have enjoyed some feminist backlash against this book which essentially states that no women can really be trusted, but the whole reason for this is that mother figures represent safety and trust to children: if you can't trust Mrs Miggins at the corner shop, who can you trust? One of the best children's books around, and certainly one of the undisputed best children's authors.
Advantages: Excellent for children, Compelling and frightening, Great writing style
Disadvantages: Probably won't be enjoyed so much by adults, Could be too scary for sensitive children
Who Wants to Be a Millionaire?
Written on 05.12.07
***
Bill Dare's first novel considers itself to be above the simple romantic comedy, and approaches the tediously popular genre from a self-consciously, slightly-different angle. Bearing in mind this desperation to avoid the clichés, it can't be argued that the plot still proceeds along the basic line of boy meets girl / boy falls desperately in love with girl, who is uninterested and/or afraid of spoiling the friendship / boy and girl begin relationship, ahh, and throws the customary potential threat of an potential impossibly charismatic and handsome male rival, balanced out by the safely asexual, funny, clinically depressed mate. The main difference is made clear right at the onset: although James is now living in apparent bliss with the girl of his dreams, he intentionally contrives an encounter between his beloved Victoria and his charming friend, seemingly for the noble and selfless reason that she would be much happier with Stefan than she would stuck with an unsuccessful dreamer such as himself. What a man.
However much this is based on the author's own character or experiences, the most effective aspect of this book is James' convincing exploration of his own psychology, as he writes this lengthy account of his past and present with Victoria in order to come to terms with his feelings, and to overcome the fears and lies he may have been telling himself. There's a little license granted for absurdity, mainly in the form of James' career decision to strike it rich as a game show designer with his slightly mad co-writer Gerard, but even this is grounded firmly in realism, clearly thanks to the author's experience with television production. Bill Dare has had a long and impressive career as a BBC producer and programme creator, responsible for respected comedy series including 'The Mary Whitehouse Experience' and 'Dead Ringers,' as well as producing Lee and Herring's controversial Sunday lunchtime show 'This Morning With Richard Not Judy' which just happens to be my favourite programme of all time, and this is the side of the novel I found the most entertaining and insightful, even if some of the game show analogies that creep into the text and dialogue become a little forced.
I always wanted to be a penniless, struggling writer when I grew up, so it's always interesting to read about people living the dream, and the story manages to be both inspiring and tragic as James and Gerard forsake the dully reliable option of proper employment in favour of making a quick million by selling their irresistibly simple gameshow idea to TV executives. Just as soon as they come up with one during their increasingly desperate brainstorming sessions that isn't implausibly reckless ('Shark Survivor'), stupid ('Climb Christopher Biggins') or conceptually impossible ('Whose Lung is it Anyway?') The relationship between these two works as both light comic relief from the more serious relationship anxiety, but is successfully turned on its head as the book approaches its conclusion.
James' book is written in the first person from his own perspective, apparently at a point towards the end of the narrative: the final chapters are evidently written at a slightly later date, which the (fictional) author uses as an excuse for going back on some of the promises he made at the start, and the whole account shifts between two time frames: the more substantial 'half' chronicling the events that have unfolded in the past few weeks as James and Victoria's relationship is put through its paces, and sections set at various points in their past, jumping forwards from their first encounter at University to key events in the strong friendship they developed over the next decade, before they finally got it together. Clearly deciding not to begin each 'past' section with an irritating date or other sign that the narrative has once again shifted to past events, Dare makes the slightly odd choice of typing these sections in italics - italicising entire chapters just to make them stand out from the 'present.' As well as being a little irritating on the eyes, this also seems a slightly amateurish way out of properly addressing the change of focus, which would otherwise be a little confusing and could have easily been remedied with some exposition in the chapter's opening sentence than through a gimmick of fonts, something that also comes into play through jarring use of his word processor's 'bold' and 'underline' options at other points. In terms of the actual balancing of events, the past is gradually brought very nicely up to speed with the present (or rather the start of the book, which is now itself in the past), and there's a very nice parallel of events between the two eras, the last fifty or so pages being the most dramatic and impressive, even if the very, very end left me feeling a little disappointed and slightly cheated.
The characters are all excellent, proving the writer's talent for creating notable and believable individuals (or at the very least, successfully stealing them from real life and translating them to the page), and although I found it difficult to agree or even relate to some of the apparently universal truths about blokes - probably because I'm not exactly the target audience of books like this, which are more for the Nick Hornby crowd - there were enough familiar events, thoughts and arguments to make this a successfully amusing and painful read. James is a good choice of main character partly because of his significant flaws, by which I don't mean the 'flawed' characters of Hollywood romance who have money, their dream job in the media, loads of friends, and get to sleep with Charlize Theron, but are maybe a bit miserable with envy because the fellow millionaires living next door have just bought a new yacht. James repeatedly explains and demonstrates his own dullness and lack of success, particularly with reference to the idolised Stefan, and he even expresses guilt at not making Stefan the central character in what would have been a far more interesting book. James seems unable to relax with the concept of writing a novel, particularly towards the beginning, and this ends up getting a little irritating; I couldn't say whether this was genuine anxiety on the part of the true author or just a character trait, but it was particularly annoying to be told what I was presumably thinking.
'Natural Selection' is a fairly average romantic comedy, but holds true to its slightly-different approach just enough to make it appealing to people who would normally be quite literally unable to stomach the genre, and would have to vomit before they reached the half-way point. It isn't soppy or idealistic, and feels very grounded in the real world, only stretching credibility a little when the author strives for something slightly more literary in his use of repeated metaphors of game shows and biology (particularly animal mating practices compared to that of humans), but the book is all the better for it; all the same, poncy English graduates such as myself will perhaps find his use of weather to parallel emotional moods a little too simplistic and obvious (and then there's the issue of inconsistent punctuation regarding full stops either inside or outside of brackets, but that would be too pedantic a point.).
Following on from this novel, Bill Dare most recently wrote the hour-long play 'Touch' for this year's Edinburgh festival, another romantic comedy of sorts that was also slightly-different, and quite enjoyable. It's actually to the writer's credit that his works fail to be tear-jerkers, having a greater basis in the exploration of particular human feelings, moods and aspects of character, and it's guaranteed that any future works that benefit from these earlier experiences will be a even better. He may never be as famous as his older, space-adventuring brother Dan,* but Bill Dare has played vital roles in bringing fairly mediocre, slightly-innovative comedy to the BBC, and is now extending his repertoire into further areas of entertainment. At least until he comes up with that elusive game show premise and can move abroad, leaving behind those hard days of desperately publicising his own Fringe show to queues. I found it quite cute, and it obviously worked.
* An excellent joke from me. Actually, his dad was Peter Jones who voiced The Book in Douglas Adams' legendary radio series 'The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy.'
Advantages: An enjoyable romantic comedy that forsakes soppy idealism for painful and amusing realism.
Disadvantages: First-time author's lack of experience is a bit obvious, and some creative decisions are a bit odd.
Philip K. Dick, Do Androids Dream of Electric Sheep?
Empathy Towards Androids?
Written on 23.08.03
*****
The basic plot of this novel is "in the future a bit, following a big war, a legal bounty hunter is after six androids who are really hard to kill. Will he make it?" However, that is by no means all there is to it. Philip K. Dick's book manages to explore the real feelings that one would feel pursuing such a job, and also incorporates much deceit and mystery throughout.
I always love to see or read about the future, provided it's not in some cheesy adventure film or kid's cartoon, and the post-apocalyptic early 21st century world of "Androids," a necessary shorthand for the great title of this book that is not to be confused with Kryten's favourite soap opera on Red Dwarf, is both believable and incredibly well devised. Some of the more necessary concepts are explained along the way, such as the development of ever more intelligent androids and the desire to own an animal, but many others are inserted so subliminally that they are simply accepted.
On my second reading of this novel I noticed that many people remaining on the almost deserted Earth use mild narcotics such as snuff, but still have entertainment in the form of televisons. Necessary ideas such as laser weapons and flying cars are among the more basic notions, but the idea of a mood organ that can be calibrated to enhance or produce feelings such as "desire to watch TV" and "pleased acknowledgment of husband's superiority in all matters" and the 'Mercerism machine' (explained later) are truly original science fiction concepts.
A famous quote attached to this novel from Brian W. Aldiss, presumably a renowned writer, is that "Dick's novel is simply written but leaving all kinds of resonance in the mind." It is obvious that much of the science is far from possible, especially for modern times, and many of the characters seem purposefully retained at a single dimension. For instance, the protagonist' wife is a depressed but concerned woman who finds his job heartless, while John Isidore's boss is a token 'hate slip-ups, like money' character, but the descriptions in the novel are so perfect and easy to imagine that no one could ever describe this as badly written. The novel does not make many real attempts to surprise or shock, and leaves many obvious clues whenever there is a revelation in the works.
The main character of the novel is Rick Deckard, a bounty hunter who makes money only if he 'retires' an android with his laser pistol. The character is not made particularly likeable, often portrayed as a miserable man who is somewhat arrogant when in conversations. His huge desire to own another real animal, following the death of his sheep which he had to replace with a robotic replica to keep his status, seems to verge on obsession as it occupies the character's thoughts at many points of the novel. He even seems to value owning an animal more than keeping his wife, although he was in a very tense situation and bad mood when he thought, "I should have got rid of her two years ago."
But for all this, Deckard is certainly a character with whom the reader can relate, thanks to his inner turmoil. He originally forced himself to consider androids 'it' rather than 'he' and 'she,' but finds now that this is "no longer necessary." It does become more of an issue however when Deckard finds himself attracted to some of the advanced Nexus 6 androids, and begins to feel empathy towards them once he 'retires' one posing as an opera singer. "She was a wonderful singer. The planet could have used her. This is insane." His ambivalence culimnates with his seduction by Rachael Rosen, an android sent to make him feel those exact feelings so he cannot continue with his current assignment.
There are a number of other concepts in the book away from this storyline, but all tie together at the end. A second major character is John Isidore, a human who was refused permission to emigrate from Earth due to his status as a 'chickenhead,' one below what it considered average intelligence due to the radioactive dust. The character is much more sympathetic towards androids than anyone else in the novel, including the androids themselves; their lack of empathy for others is the only way they can be distinguished through the Voigt-Kampff scale. The idea of the religion/passtime 'Mercerism' also becomes increasingly important; participants grip handles of a machine within their homes and are linked with all othwer people throughout the solar system on their machines, feeling the pain and triumph of an old man climbing a mountain, being assaulted by rocks.
I won't divulge any more to keep the plot entertaining and hopefully surprising, but it is a very good book. This is the only Philip K. Dick book I have currently read, and often considered his best, although predictably not so by many hardcore fans, but it is always recommended as an introduction to Dick's novels. I may read more from the same author, however some of the major themes of his books don't appeal to me quite so much as the idea of this book: a bounty hunter in the future a bit, who kills androids that get back to Earth because we don't want them here.
However, saying that, I didn't think at first that I would enjoy this book; a far cry from the usual "space opera" of TV and film that I love so much. I was surprised at how much I enjoyed this book after I bought it for £1 off a market stall. I'd been interested to see the film "Blade Runner," which is based on this book and apparently does it justice but which also opts to miss several key ideas out, for several years and since my copy was emblazoned with nice artwork of a futuristic, post-apocalyptic city, flying cars, Han Solo- I mean Harrison Ford, I'm always doing that, and some woman, as well as the title "Blade Runner," I decided to purchase. My mental query of whether this was some form of 'film is based on' book or novelisation was also solved when I saw "Do Androids Dream of Electric Sheep? filmed as" in humorously small print above the huge logo "BLADE RUNNER." My copy was clearly trying to benefit as much as possible from the success of the film, which I still have not seen but would like to.
Overall, I wouldn't have likely ever read this book if I hadn't seen it so cheap in perfect condition. It certainly helped to expand my acceptance of science fiction, and thanks to reading this a couple of months ago I've now managed to read Arthur C. Clarke, Utopian novels [Specific] and even Richard Matheson's sci-fi/vampire novel "I am Legend."
Kevin L. Donihe and Carlton Mellick III, Ocean of Lard
Choose Your Own Mind-F*** Fest
Written on 07.07.07
***
This enjoyable pet project of authors Kevin L. Donihe and Carlton Mellick III, the latter of whom is known for writing less successful and more twisted versions of the type of thing Chuck Palahniuk makes a lot of money writing about, is a direct parody of the memorable 'Choose Your Own Adventure' books published by Bantam Books in the 1980s. Like those innovative books, and the legions of rip-offs and copies they produced (the first one I remember reading was licensed from the Children's ITV game show 'Knightmare'), the reading experience is turned into a game that the reader/player will struggle through based on their own personality. These are the books that describe a situation to the player in anonymous second person, finally presenting a number of choices at the bottom of the page that lead elsewhere in the book. To take an example from this book:
"Piratebeard selects a long, sticky specimen from the box. 'I don't feel generous very often, but I like ye. Kinda look like me son, god rest 'em.'
'Please, oh god no! Keep it!'
'But I insist.' The captain walks towards you, the painted turd cupped in his outstretched hand. 'Take it. I got plenty of treasure; it bothers me none.'
'Just stay back! I don't want your treasure!' You pause. 'My god, it stinks!'
'No need to be humble, me boy. And of course it stinks; it's fresh.'
If you tell the captain his treasure is sh**, turn to page 116.
If you take the treasure, turn to page 39."
Taking almost any example at random, it's very obvious what has happened here. Two grown men who lived part of their formative childhood through Bantam's adventure books have now grown into sad and depraved men, who wish to re-enter that fantasy realm for different pursuits. This book is both respectful homage and outright mockery, but it leans more towards the former, and despite the crudity of its juvenile toilet humour and disturbing no-holds-barred attitude towards sexuality, some effort has certainly been made to produce a genuine authentic adventure gamebook experience. I say "some effort," because the split authorship reveals a disappointingly uneven balance between the two scenarios offered by the story/game.
Carlton Mellick acknowledges in his introduction that the scenario of the vessel called 'The Eye World' is his, while Kevin L. Donihe wrote that of 'The Rotten Sore.' As the sole writer of the revealing introduction, Mellick admits that the concept was originally his idea, indicating that he had a certain passion for the adventure books, and Mellick's credit appears first in the copyright details for the two separate scenarios. I presume that Donihe is credited first on the cover out of alphabetical fairness that belies his true stance as secondary writer. Although both write roughly the same amount (something it's hard to discern as the book jumps all over the place with every page), Mellick's 'The Eye World' is more full of multiple choices and plot tangents than Donihe's 'The Rotten Sore,' which repeatedly ends sections with a singular "choice" in the style of 'Turn to page 72.' When a genuine choice is offered after three or four unchangeable sections that equate to simple linear prose, it's most often a case of choosing the "correct" path, or reaching the horror of the bold 'THE END' very soon after turning to the "wrong" page. This isn't true for the entire section, but on the whole, 'The Eye World' is a far more satisfying adventure than 'The Rotten Sore' in terms of freedom of choice, even if, as the authors acknowledge in the fake critical quotes at the beginning, "This series should be called: 'Make An Attempt To Choose Your Own Path In An Adventure F****d To The Extreme, But Realise That Your Choice Has No Effect On The Story. Jerk Off And Cry Yourself To Sleep Feeling Useless, Alone, And Empty."' There's an inevitable and necessary limitation to the number of paths that can be travelled in a 172 page book that makes excessive use of page breaks to separate the sections, but the fact remains that Mellick has crafted a far more authentic and worthwhile playing experience than Donihe, who seems more intent on mockery.
I should probably explain a little about the scenario of this book, as the strange things I've been saying might start to make more sense, though perhaps not. The first section informs us, whether we like it or not, that "You shouldn't have molested all those children," and that the unnamed protagonist we are controlling is now on the run from the cops in the wastelands of Wyoming, when he comes across a strange expanse of white, slimy sea, smelling like bacon and housing a fantastical Pirate Town. Deciding to take a job on board one of the hiring ships, or not (this latter option isn't exactly an unhappy ending, but it does end the game significantly sooner than you would probably have hoped), we are then exposed to the nautical eccentricities and weird, bestial eroticism of this alternate place. Through your adventure (or Mind-F*** Fest if you will), there will be encounters with alluring Sirens, twisted robots, stew, poo, and raving homosexuals. Your ultimate fate will be your own doing, making the least uncharacteristic choices possible from the admittedly single-minded options. And then, once you've done that, it's time to play again and embrace the perversity in all forms, until the game has been conquered (just make sure you don't leave your cowardly finger in the previous page just in case danger is approaching. It's like taking your hand off in Chess. Choose Your Own Adventure is a sport like any other, and we must play sportsmanly).
It's said that a book should never be judged by its cover, but in this instance, comprised of Terrasa Ulm's illustrations taken from within the narrative itself, the front of the book gives a very reasonable indication of what can be found within. The small image used by Dooyoo is thankfully too small to see all the glorious details, but clockwise from the top left the images are: a female cyborg pirate captain in a skin-tight bunny outfit; our unfortunate hero being assaulted and his orifices invaded, Anime-style, by tentacles; greasy heavy petting with a mermaid on the lard tide; and two nude women enjoying each other's company while the male protagonist enjoys their enjoyment and shows it all over their thighs. The central image in the magnifying glass sees our hero confronted with the spectacle of the Ocean of Lard for the first time, unaware of the perils and adventures that await him.
The design of the outer cover is authentic to the books its parodies, the branded 'Choose Your Own Adventure' banner replaced with a more accurate 'Choose Your Own Mind-F*** Fest.' There are some nice little details too, such as the reproduction of what I assume to be the original font of the publications for the bold title, the artificial yellowing of the cover towards the edges to imply it's an eighties relic, and even the inclusion of an irrelevant and thankfully misleading number '17' on the spine. I don't think I could handle a world in which sixteen more Mind-F*** Fests are allowed to roam free. The rear cover features a blurb that also seems to parody the CYOA format, introducing the scenario in typically exciting Hollywood terms, and then featuring an italicised extract of the first decision. Most amusing of all, there is a small disclaimer at the very bottom in which the authors legally inform readers that the book is not authorised or licensed by, or otherwise affiliated with Bantam Books Inc., or the original books.
The writing style of this book is a little clumsy and certainly isn't something you could really delve into for anything more than a bit of cheap, lewd entertainment. It's a book you can read and honestly think you could have done better, or at least equally, only perhaps not quite so foul. It's all about the nostalgic and naughty perversion of a genre written by people with a real appreciation for the source material, at least in Mellick's case. This product was probably rather hastily put together without much attempt to re-draft after the original choices had been made, and this is only made into a greater problem with the dual authors, though it's hardly striving to be literary. Perhaps I'm not the specific target audience, but I found most of the antics to be a little too much like something I might have written at school to make my friends laugh when I was about fourteen, more than something adult readers would find humorous and entertaining.
It's not that treasured poo and sex with a half-man/half-walrus aren't amusing, they're potentially hilarious concepts, but they tend to be dealt with in an unsatisfying schoolboy's-imagination kind of way. By contrast, some of the encounters on The Eye World are unashamedly pornographic in their strange descriptions, particularly with the long-tongued Frog Girl in the ship's dungeon, and illustrator Terrasa Ulm is keen on drawing the character's manhood in various stages of priapic excitement, climax and disgrace with far more detail than is given to characters' faces, so it's a little confusing just who this is aimed at. I think it's aimed at the fourteen-year-old me, most of all. Maybe I just wish this had been out then.
'Ocean of Lard' is great as a one-off idea, and certainly fulfils a very specific niche market that I can understand, having enjoyed the type of books it parodies as a child. I've come across adult-oriented 'Choose Your Own Adventures' before while searching on the internet, but most of them are extremely amateurish and incomplete to the point that only one route has been written all the way through (a particularly memorable one began "It's 9am and you wake up with a hard-on", and proceeded to be far, far more detailed and expansive than expected). This is perhaps the only one that has been completed and published to such a definitive degree, and as such can work as a present if you know someone who fills the criteria of: a) being familiar with the adventure gamebook concept, and b) is a fairly sick and twisted individual. Fortunately, I knew just the person. No, only joking, I think she enjoyed it.
Advantages: An amusing, accurate and fond parody of Choose Your Own Adventure books.
Disadvantages: Inconsistency between the two writers, and a little excessive.
Sir Arthur Conan Doyle, The Adventures of Sherlock Holmes
Lemon Entry, My Dear Watson
Written on 19.02.07
****
I don’t know if anyone knows the rest of that joke. I have a feeling that perhaps no one does.
The crime-busting duo created by Sir Arthur Conan Doyle (though he wasn’t a sir in those days) set the template for every one thereafter, and ‘The Adventures of Sherlock Holmes’ is the original collection of the first twelve Holmes short stories published between 1891 and 1892.
Some of these adventures are among the most famous (‘The Blue Carbuncle,’ ‘The Speckled Band’) and the cases range from trivial to imperative; deadly to comfortable; legendary to pointless. As the stories are presented in their original order, as the fictional scribe Watson allegedly publishes them, the action shifts around as Doyle intended from the ultra-modern world of the early 1890s, in which Watson is married and successful, to his early days sharing Holmes’ bachelor pad… there’s nothing funny about it, they are professionals. As the stories were originally published in the Strand magazine in their complete form, minor attempts appear to have been made to give a more serialised feel to them in order to keep readers buying, such as Watson bringing up earlier cases in the narrative, down to simple games the reader can play such as spotting the number of instances Holmes triumphs with his hunting crop and Watson never uses his revolver. There’s really no need to read the book in the presented order, as the collected short stories make for excellent dip-reading, especially alongside the further collections issued over the years.
Lying somewhere between the height of the realist novel and literary Modernism, these stories catch the tail-end of Victorian fiction but utilise a noticeably modern approach. Rather than an all-seeing narrator, the events are relayed through Watson, the presumed ‘everyman’ who never fails to be baffled by Holmes’ deductions and methods, and encourages this wow-factor in readers. The cases are all fairly formulaic, which could become irritating if ploughing one’s way through the whole Holmes canon, but doesn’t fare too badly through these twelve tales. Stories usually begin with Holmes and Watson hanging out together in Holmes’ study and being visited by a client, who proceeds to describe the details of the case for roughly half the story. After he or she is bid farewell, the second half of the story sees the duo visiting the scene of the crime and working the whole thing out, usually (but not always) succeeding in catching the criminal red-handed, or red-headed. There’s arguably a certain level of comfort in formulaic structure, especially when dealing with a proto-superhero like Holmes in whom the reader can place their trust, but Doyle makes enough minor changes to this style throughout to keep things interesting. In ‘The Speckled Band,’ for example, the villain follows the client right into Holmes’ Baker Street residence, and the disappointing conclusion of ‘The Engineer’s Thumb’ doesn’t involve any action from Holmes or Watson whatsoever; the whole thing just sort of ends itself.
There’s no real sense of archaism in the narrative aside from the expected somewhat lofty style, although Watson is a posh doctor and these are intended to be his own words, and the frequent references to ‘modern’ (i.e. late nineteenth-century) technology and culture date it in a very satisfying way. The only real issues may come in the slightly xenophobic perspective that every country outside England is a source of corruption and danger, and readers may be shocked by Holmes’ recreational use of cocaine and opium, which Watson strongly disapproves of, and which are bad.
As a balanced collection of classic and rubbish Holmes stories, this is the perfect introduction to the detective and his methods, and has made me want to read something more substantial. The characters are excellently written, even if it’s difficult to imagine some of Holmes’ more dynamic actions from the description. I consider it fortunate that I’ve never watched a TV or film adaptation of Holmes so I could come to these stories with almost no preconceived notions of what the detective looked like, although to be honest the illustrations did try to force one on me. I ended up imagining him looking like Tom Baker’s Doctor Who without the scarf, and without the stereotypical hat (he wouldn’t wear that thing in the city, surely. He may be an eccentric junkie, but he’s not mad). His deductions of Watson’s bedroom layout based on his shaving, and the tunnelling activities of a dirty-kneed scoundrel are initially quite awe-inspiring, but that’s no doubt partly enhanced by Watson’s gaping astonishment in these instances.
The adventures collected here are: ‘A Scandal in Bohemia,’ ‘The Red-Headed League,’ ‘A Case of Identity,’ ‘The Boscombe Valley Mystery,’ ‘The Five Orange Pips,’ ‘The Man with the Twisted Lip,’ ‘The Adventure of the Blue Carbuncle,’ ‘The Adventure of the Speckled Band,’ ‘The Adventure of the Engineer's Thumb,’ ‘The Adventure of the Noble Bachelor,’ ‘The Adventure of the Beryl Coronet’ and ‘The Adventure of the Copper Beeches.’ Holmes travels to the countryside in two of them, allowing for the stereotypical scene of the detective bending over to examine bootprints, and explores the seedy East End elsewhere. There’s a festive Christmas adventure in ‘The Blue Carbuncle,’ while the detective faces his toughest adversary aside from Moriarty – a woman of all things – in the first story. Many of these are really great, and in general the quality seems to drop in the latter quarter of the book. ‘The Noble Bachelor’ is especially weak, and was even viewed as an embarrassment by Doyle, who was presumably rushed to meet that month’s deadline. Nevertheless, this is the perfect, correct and authentic way to read the Holmes stories, rather than in some out-of-context ‘greatest hits’ anthology.
Penguin Popular Classics sell this for £1.99, without the illustrations, which is a great cheap way to enjoy this book, and works out at less than 17p per story. In an age when genre fiction was beginning to emerge in a big way, this pioneering detective fiction is still highly entertaining over a century later. It’s still enjoyable to read about a detective and his sidekick disregarding the rules back when there weren’t that many rules, breaking and entering, whipping transgressors and hanging in opium dens in the name of confoundingly elaborate turn-of-the-century justice.
Advantages: Many of the classic cases in the original collection; pioneering detective fiction.
Disadvantages: Some weaker adventures; overly formulaic structures.
E
Garth Ennis and Carlos Ezquerra, Adventures in the Rifle Brigade
Raiders of the Lost Left Testicle
Written on 07.11.07
****
One of the more obscure entries in the canon of acclaimed Irish comic writer Garth Ennis (most famous for his epic ‘Preacher,’ currently being developed as a television series), ‘Adventures in the Rifle Brigade’ consists of two three-part stories released between 2000 and 2002, and collected together in paperback format in 2004. These brief escapades of a crack unit of British soldiers during pivotal moments of the Second World War play out along the lines of similar satires, from Michael Palin and Terry Jones’ ‘Ripping Yarns’ to the similar and presumably influential treatment of the previous war in ‘Blackadder Goes Forth,’ presenting the higher ranks of the British Army at its most absurdly jovial and patriotic, with first class degrees in rugby and buggery and an endlessly ridiculous vocabulary of upper-class nonsense at its disposal.
The Rifle Brigade comprises six memorable individuals, only two of which get to speak in any meaningful manner (if you can call it that). The rest mainly fill in as handy and highly efficient support each time conflict arises, from the awesome might of the gargantuan Yorkshireman Sergeant Crumb to the menacing pipe-playing of the mysterious, silent mascot figure known only as The Piper, whose squealing tunes cause anyone within earshot to dispatch themselves in the most immediately convenient manner possible before they bleed from every pore. Captain Hugo Darcy is the leader and by far the most entertaining character from the onset, simply for having such fantastic lines and an inspiring faith in his country and his team’s abilities that fortunately proves justified on numerous occasions. Second Lieutenant Cecil Milk (also known as Doubtful) has the most interesting psychology, dropping hints regarding his lack of interest in women and displaying an obvious fondness for his Captain that goes beyond loyalty or friendship: a running joke through both series sees Doubtful at the receiving end of some kind of tragedy and apparently slipping away to his death, each time asking for a final favour that his commander cannot possibly refuse, beginning with a simple kiss and progressing to increasingly extreme heights, though each time the Captain is saved from granting his boon once it becomes clear that Doubtful’s injuries aren’t nearly as severe as he apparently believed. There’s also a cockney and an American who do nothing of interest outside of repeating their catch-phrases (“yer aht of ordah” and “gawd dammit” respectively), while a number of notable enemies and allies are introduced as each story progresses.
It would be easy for a series like this to fall flat on its face or simply prove pointless and unoriginal when compared to the other, numerous parodies of stiff-upper-lippedness out there, but Ennis keeps the dialogue so refreshingly and hilariously stupid, it doesn’t even matter that the plots themselves lack any real interest. The first series introduces the Rifle Brigade flying into German-occupied Germany in June 1944, getting into some scrapes that they inevitably solve through firepower, and having to escape back to Blighty in time for D-Day. The second has a clearer objective of the search for Hitler’s missing ball (of course, the Albert Hall was the first place they checked), which will purportedly grant its finders limitless power to triumph over their enemies in a knowing parody of Indiana Jones, complete with Arabian setting. The plots feature a couple of twists and turns over their relatively short spans, but it’s the cheeky and often downright obscene dialogue that holds it all together – many of the minor characters’ joke names don’t even go to the effort of being double entendres, effectively making this a less intellectual publication than ‘Viz’ magazine, but I still couldn’t help myself from guffawing like a twelve-year-old each time the Captain reminisced about an old service chum, from Bell-End Brisco to Clitters.
There’s even something of a nod to the British sitcom and comedy film tradition, particularly the ‘Carry On’ series with the emphasis on the German interrogator’s hulking bosom and her father’s rather unfortunate fate under the heels of a stampeding elephant as he recreated with some foreign pornography in an outhouse, while the twisted, dark humour of an unrelated elephant (that just happens to be the Sultan’s irreplaceable pride and joy) mating with the Rifle Brigade’s getaway van and accidentally dying in the process, brings to mind similar uncomfortable pet-based tragedies in ‘The League of Gentlemen’ among other comedy series of the dark side. Despite making me laugh consistently, even the more feeble jokes having a certain charm about their poorness, I was worried that the format would become stale and repetitive after the first issue, but for the most part the material stays fresh; the only issue I didn’t really enjoy was the finale of the first series, which focuses almost exclusively on action as the Rifle Brigade attempt to escape back to England and is forced to contend with an attacking squad of Jerries, succeeding in dispatching them in fairly creative ways that nevertheless failed to tickle me as much as the simple delight of Captain Darcy using an outmoded turn of phrase. I can be quite ruthlessly critical most of the time on this site, but when it comes down to it, I am very easily pleased.
The art by Ennis’ familiar collaborator Carlos Ezquerra obviously adds a whole new level to the reading experience, realising the characters perfectly and helping to establish a firm voice for each of them in my head along with the dialogue, from the more obvious Yorkshire “ey-oop” regularly spewed forth from Sergeant Crumb to the typical nasal tone of the officer class, represented most strongly by the overdue appearance of Colonel Frigpipe in the second story, a distinctly Melchett-like character with a fondness for sherry and tendency to foul himself when over-excited. The more colourful and exotic characters introduced in the second series also break from the rather tired Nazi stereotypes of the first, featuring a self-serving yank and a Sultan whose invocations of Allah’s holiest of holes prove that Garth Ennis is creative as well as brave. This is the first of his work I’ve read, and while it works perfectly as a bit of frivolous, light-hearted relief between more sombre comic series with believable characters and realistically proportioned breasts, I’m eager to get embroiled into one of his more substantial works in the near future.
Advantages: Hilarious archaic dialogue from the defenders of Blighty.
Disadvantages: Humour won't be to everyone's taste, particularly those who are easily offended or too sensible.
F
Sebastian Faulks, Birdsong [I gave it a good go to supplement the WWI literature module, but didn't finish it]
This Letter will Probably Never Find You...
Written on 12.06.04
***
The legacy of the First World War continues to inspire literature and the arts after eighty years, with its powerful messages of unnecessary slaughter, ineffective leaders and the relevance of women in society among other things. Sebastian Faulks’ interest in the conflict and its effects is clear from his bibliography and 1993’s ‘Birdsong’ has been awarded various accolades for its impact and relevance even to modern society, even coming in at lucky thirteenth place in the BBC’s Big Read, surely the most important literary prize as it’s on the telly.
Birdsong’s presentation of what is remembered infamously as a futile battle in the trenches of France is very compelling and his description of its effects upon the individual, while hardly original, makes for a very enjoyable read that is much more up to date than some similar titles.
PLOT
Stephen Wraysford fell in love in France in 1910 but was unable to pursue the relationship. When war breaks out and he is eventually sent to France, Stephen dwells increasingly on the woman he loves while learning to survive and lead soldiers in the appalling trench conditions.
In the seventies, Stephen’s granddaughter undertakes a task to discover what kind of man her grandfather was from his cryptic war memoirs, and how his experiences in and out of the trenches affected and changed him.
STYLE
There are two noticeable aspects of Faulks’ novel. First is the incredible and believable presentation of life on the front line, making effective use of graphic descriptions of violence and exploration of the main character’s feelings of isolation and despair. The other noticeable thing is the slightly disjointed, cross-generational style of the book: the novel begins in Amiens, 1910 and after this the story alternates between Stephen’s life during wartime and the actions of his granddaughter in the 1970s. While this does serve to better illustrate the detrimental effects of war and commemoration it does break up the narrative a little too much and ultimately makes the book less interesting in places. Personally I was reading almost exclusively for the war description and found the rest, while moving and well-written, largely unimpressive.
“Stephen saw his head open up bright red under the machine gun fire.”
Faulks shies away from nothing in Birdsong, presenting the war in a way that is easy to relate to but at the same time very shocking. Only a soldier, or a school pupil with a History CD-ROM of the Kennedy Zapruder film, will be able to fully envisage some of the events Faulks’ protagonist describes.
VERDICT
Birdsong is a good book, but I feel it is a little overrated. As a modern view on the First World War it will likely be the leading book of the genre for some time, however Erich Remarque’s ‘All Quiet on the Western Front’ published in 1929 has the benefit of real-life experiences behind its author; it is also widely regarded as a better book due to its focus specifically on what made the war so devastating. Remarque examined the personal tragedy of the war from his own experiences, although Birdsong’s dramatic romance angle sets it far apart from Remarque and the real-life memoirs of other officers and soldiers, including Robert Graves and Siegfried Sassoon.
The historical angle aside, the characters in Birdsong are all very well executed. Stephen’s feelings of desperation and isolation are painful but effective, while the attitudes and personalities of those around him can be judged very quickly. This makes it more readable than some ‘genuine’ war accounts that often describe people who the author did not fully know in private.
Birdsong is a much-loved book that appeals to a great many people, but I found it confusing to pin down in terms of a specific genre. Examining it as an aid to my study of First World War literature I was primarily interested in the ‘France, 1916’ chapters and didn’t find the rest of the book up to the same standard. I would recommend Faulks’ Birdsong as a modern view of the loyal sacrifices made for an ultimately dubious cause, however I would also say that there’s nothing inherently groundbreaking about this book. It is simply a more accessible and well-written addition to the chronicles of what Remarque called “a generation of men who, even though they may have escaped its shells, were destroyed by the war.”
Advantages: Realistic and very well-written, Detailed characters and event descriptions, True to the spirit of war literature
Disadvantages: Unclear focus and meandering plot makes it frustrating to read, Doesn't cover all the necessary issues, A little overlong in places
G
Neil Gaiman and artists, The Sandman, Volume One: Preludes and Nocturnes
It was a Dark and Stormy Nightmare...
Written on 29.08.07
****
‘Preludes & Nocturnes’ is the name assigned to the first paperback graphic novel of DC Comics’ popular series ‘The Sandman,’ collecting together the first eight issues of the comic originally released between 1988 and 89. Written by Neil Gaiman at the height of the graphic novel format’s popularity and acceptance as a serious art form (Alan Moore’s ‘Watchmen’ had just won a Hugo Award), this series seemed aimed at an audience tired of predictable tales of patriotic caped crusaders, and far more interested in adult themes, seedy low-lifes and leather-clad anti-heroes, as well as the occasional glimpse of breasts.
The first double-length issue introduces the titular character and the proposed fantasy-horror style of the series, similar in purpose to a feature-length TV pilot. The series concerns the Endless, a group of (as their name implies) eternal god-like creatures who bear the responsibility of administrating the living world of humans and animals. A wealthy early-twentieth-century occultist hatches a plot to capture Death, but his spell goes awry and his cage instead serves as a prison to Dream (known by many names to different cultures and individuals, ‘Sandman’ among them). Refusing to communicate or acknowledge his presence, Dream is imprisoned long past his original captor’s lifetime into the late 1980s, when he finally seizes the opportunity to escape thanks to the sleeping guards, whose dreams he is able to inhabit and manipulate. Now free, the naked goth quickly magicks himself up a leather jacket (yes, I know), indulges in some brief exposition and “do-you-know-what-you’ve-done!” moralising with his elderly captor, and shoots off to repair the damage. Each of the Endless performs a vital task, and without the comfort of dreams, the twentieth century has seen an outbreak of hysteria and sleep disorders, demonstrated throughout the story with a diverse and tragic cast of characters. As Dream points out, it’s a good job they didn’t succeed in capturing his sibling Death.
This first tale is well executed, maintaining an air of mystery throughout, but perhaps revealing a little too much at the end in order to launch the series with no further delay. Dream himself plays a comparatively minor role until his inevitable escape, which presents a great opportunity to explore the individual occultists over an extended period of time, as well as the selected humans with sleep disorders whose lives are followed on the fringes in a manner very reminiscent of Alan Moore’s work. Sam Kieth’s artwork is very distinctive, but also quite unusual, and it took some time get used to. His penchant for unusual and exaggerated viewpoints is entirely suited to the more surreal, dreamy elements of the story, but tends to counteract the realism of the more mundane conversational scenes in a way that his successor Mike Dringenberg would remedy. As a self-consciously ‘adult’ comic, there is some gratuitous violence, Kieth getting a little excessive with the flying eyeballs in issue one, but nothing along the lines of sex or language designed simply for shock value as it would be in a lesser publication. Although ‘The Sandman’ isn’t up to the literary standards of ‘Watchmen,’ there are a few attempts at cleverness with the recurring sand imagery that are interesting and relevant rather than attempts to show off.
After this ‘pilot,’ the series begins in earnest, and starts to find its feet. The extended story that spans issues two to seven is a great overview of the Sandman concept, moving between bizarre dream realms and the afterlife, before coming back to downtown Earth again. The plot is based around a fairly straightforward quest, which sees Dream travelling to three distinct areas to recover rejuvenating artefacts that have been stolen from him, and involves what must be, for fans, extremely rewarding cameo appearances from other DC Comics characters that largely go over my head. Sam Kieth’s surreal art becomes a little distractingly excessive in the dream realm, the warped frames often making it difficult to follow the panels, but is thankfully toned down when the action becomes more terrestrial. Former inker Dringenberg takes over from issue six, maintaining the look of continuing characters to avoid making the shift too obvious, and his more traditional, ultra-realistic style is a lot easier to digest (if prone to repetition), even if I can’t help seeing his interpretation of Dream as Rob Newman in a Robert Smith wig. That said, Kieth does an excellent job rendering Gaiman’s Hell in issue four, taken straight from Dante, and clearly has a lot of fun in a double page spread depicting a phalanx of weird demons. As a complete and deliberate contrast, the final story in this collection is the entirely self-contained ‘The Sound of Her Wings,’ a low-key terrestrial affair that I quite enjoy as a thoughtful epilogue, which sees Dream slightly depressed after his ordeal, and hanging out with his older sister Death (also a goth, who would probably be attractive if she was real. But I don’t find pencilled comic characters attractive, obviously. And even if I did (which I don’t) they’re presumably based on real people in the first place, so it’s allowed, but I still don’t).
I won’t pretend to be an expert on graphic novels (or comics as they are more commonly known, by people who aren’t worried about being branded as childish), but I was so impressed reading Alan Moore’s works a couple of months ago that I was soon desperate to find something comparable, and starting from such a high point I was bound to be somewhat disappointed. Gaiman’s ‘The Sandman’ is quite a different beast, a long-running franchise of sorts that lacks the clear direction and concise depth of Moore’s filmic mini-series, but shares similarities of style and target audience. Dream and his Endless brethren (who I expect to show up one by one as the series progresses) are not traditional heroes, but their motives are honourable and just; as he muses in the final tale of this collection when witnessing his sister Death carrying out her task, people don’t appreciate the almost parental care they provide, and fail to love her for it. Of course, the urban gothic look is going to appeal to anyone who liked ‘The Crow,’ although for me it’s a little too fashion-conscious, and stretches credibility at times (for some reason I’m able to accept that Dream can travel through our subconscious on buses, and battle demons in a game of wits, but find it a bit strange that he would emerge from eighty years of imprisonment and immediately don biker gear).
There are some really interesting ideas in Gaiman’s series, making me eager to read more. I was impressed by the lack of exploitative gore and nudity that can sometimes come with an adult title like this, being less excessive than ‘V for Vendetta’ for example, and it’s clear that Gaiman (whose other work I have previously enjoyed) is capable of extending the interesting and imaginative universe that is somewhat skimmed over here, however borrowed and bastardised it may be. The self-proclaimed weirdness of some sections put me off the more eccentric characters a little, though the humour quotient usually balances out these parts nicely, such as the Cain and Abel shenanigans in issue two, but the series perhaps excels the most when dealing with the intimate or hidden lives of characters, whose inhibitions and thoughts Gaiman is given license to explore thanks to the Sandman concept. This is especially present in ’24 Hours,’ the sixth issue, when the crazed Doctor Destiny takes the occupants of a coffee shop hostage and slowly turns them into murderous savages over the course of a day. The dialogue is excellent, although once again the more elaborate proclamations of otherworldly characters can make them more difficult to relate to: this is why it’s so important that Dream is given the conscience that he is.
Gaiman’s inclusion of Gotham City, the Justice League of America and other existing alumni firmly integrates his series within the established DC ‘universe,’ which is something I found a little hard to accept at first, not being accustomed to these fan-pleasing crossover things. While the use of obscure villains and heroes carrying out humdrum tasks have been quite enjoyable so far, I’m not sure I could stomach a full cooperative effort between Dream and Batman, but my faith in the writer’s subversive nature makes me confident that ‘The Sandman’ would attempt nothing so mundane. This impressive collection closes definitively, but there are enough plot threads and unknowns hanging in the ether that it’s going to be interesting to see what happens next.
Advantages: Good introduction and interesting extended plot as the series learns where it wants to go.
Disadvantages: Art goes through some problems, and writing is a little too derivative of Alan Moore at the beginning.
Neil Gaiman and artists, The Sandman, Volume Two: The Doll's House
There Is No Sanity Clause
Written on 05.09.07
*****
The second collection of Neil Gaiman’s ‘The Sandman,’ originally the first to be released, is once again dominated by a large and intricate plot spread over a number of issues, with a couple of issues taking time out to explore other areas. With the general introductions now out of the way, ‘The Doll’s House’ aims to expand the scope of Gaiman’s story, both for its own self-contained uses and for the future of the series, while also developing a slightly obsessive preoccupation with self-reference, tying up loose threads from earlier in the continuity and elsewhere in the extensive DC universe that readers likely were never aware were dangling in the first place, particularly evident in the writer’s grand effort to link together the various, vastly different DC publications that have borne the ‘Sandman’ title.
Gaiman’s clever but estranging method of linking his dark fantasy series with a short-lived children’s series from the 1970s is a commendable achievement, but is the prime example of a divide between writing ‘for the fans’ and for a wider audience, one that affects this book to a degree. If I had read this story when first released in pre-Wikipedia 1989 (actually I was only four years old, but I had some cool ‘Transformers’ comics so I probably would have liked it at least a bit) the references would have gone completely over my head, and although extensive DC literacy is not necessary for enjoying these comics, Gaiman’s borrowed characters are uncanny enough that it’s obvious something is going on, hence my need to research in the first place when it became clear something was awry. In the end, Gaiman adopts these characters and uses them to suit his own ends, and the results are rather interesting. And at least he’s got it out of his system now... right?
The self-consciously epic story is granted an entire issue’s worth of ‘Prelude,’ which takes the form of an oral narrative from a tribal culture and is the most interesting experiment in the series thus far. Gaiman’s fictional tribe is convincing enough, and the tale of an ancient glass kingdom and its lovelorn Queen believable as a folk myth, except that the inclusion of the series’ star Morpheus (or Kai’ckul as he is known to them) confirms its in-universe authenticity. It’s a nice idea that seemingly primitive tribal legends are actually closer to the truth, seemingly knowing all about Morpheus’ family of the Endless – ‘who are not gods, and will not die like gods’ – and even providing some new information to the reader, but primarily the prologue excels in exposing the Endless’ human failings. Morpheus is shown to be, at least in ancient times, an extremely proud and selfish figure, who pursues the Queen even after her prediction that their love would destroy her city proves true. He’s also really into deep love, the archetypal gothic figure, and the prologue serves to whet readers’ appetites to see how a more contemporary, post-incarceration Morpheus would deal with a similar situation.
Unusually, Morpheus is largely treated in an entirely reverse manner for the main ‘Doll’s House’ story, flying ethereal and omnipotent through his own realm of the Dreaming and cackling down to his foes, and elsewhere dealing coldly with administrative tasks, such as a thorough census and the emerging threat of a ‘vortex.’ The contrast is doubtless completely intentional, demonstrating the conflict between the hero’s necessarily detached professional side and the emotional side he’s learned from interacting with humanity through the millennia, and sampling its ‘The Cure’ albums. Morpheus’ dissatisfaction with his outcast status, presumably a small desire to be human, seems to be the sole reason for the radical detour that comes with issue thirteen, one that serves to distract completely from the developing plot of the surrounding issues, but one that I thoroughly enjoyed. This isolated tale returns to the past, but this time England of 1389, where Morpheus and his sister Death pass through a tavern and observe the patrons. Taking interest in a patron’s statement that death is an illusion that shall never happen to him, Morpheus asks the man to meet him at the same spot in one hundred years, a task he ultimately accomplishes without ageing a day. Their centennial meetings predictably last right up to the modern day of the story, and even more predictably feature several famous historical figures along the way such as Chaucer and Shakespeare, the moral being that humanity never changes. Offended by his companion’s suggestion that he only granted him immortality so he could have a friend, the twentieth-century-goth Morpheus finally comes to terms with this. It’s an enjoyable little story, even if it has absolutely no right to be considered ‘The Doll’s House part four.’
‘The Doll’s House’ itself is mostly centred around a new character, the young woman Rose Walker, who it turns out is the granddaughter of a character featured in the very first issue in a plot too absurdly complex to get into here. Rose finds a lead on her younger brother Jed, missing for seven years and evidently the star of the old ‘Sandman’ comics from the 70s that are very nicely pastiched in his dream sequences. Her search brings her into contact with some surreal human and non-human characters that you just know are going to crop up again, while Jed’s own plot eventually coincides with that of serial killer ‘The Corinthian,’ an eye-mouthed arcana with a taste for eyeballs which he eats with his eye-mouths. As well as tying together these erratic concurrent plot arcs, the extended fifth part of the story beats the first collection’s ’24 Hours’ in providing my favourite Sandman story yet, ‘The Collectors.’ Gaiman succeeds in making a convention of famous fetishist serial killers (meeting in a hotel under the humorous disguise of a ‘cereal’ convention) both terrifying and darkly hilarious, before the final issues struggle a little too hard to justify all the excess and weave even larger tapestries for the future. I enjoy the series most when its focus is more concise than in its more elaborate, multi-faceted moments that simply serve to make me end each serialised issue with a craving to read the next one out of something closer to irritation than enjoyment.
With a series like ‘The Sandman,’ it soon becomes obvious that very little exists in the comic panels out of sheer chance. If a stray comment implies that a passing background character is slightly unusual, they will inevitably show up at some point, probably clutching a bunch of similarly random story threads and offering them to the King of Dreams to tie together. Part one of ‘The Doll’s House,’ like ‘Preludes & Nocturnes’ before it, thankfully provides a ‘Mission: Impossible’ style introductory overview of Morpheus’ objectives, meaning that characters like Brute and Glob can be spotted by attentive readers when they appear, but the afore-mentioned interaction with other DC creations will probably start annoying me very soon, especially if it serves to make me feel dumb for not ‘getting’ the reference. Some self-contained plot points are often too oblique or passed over to seemingly bear any real significance, such as the opening and closing scenes with Morpheus’ androgynous, Bowie-like sibling Desire who he knows is hatching some sort of plot, and other mentions of the estranged Endless nuclear family whose names and predicaments readers are presumably expected to remember in anticipation of later appearances. I suppose this isn’t really asking too much of a reader, especially in a medium such as comics which would be released separately and allow readers the necessary time to re-read before each new issue, but collected together in a colourful paperback volume that it’s just too tempting to speed through, some of the smaller details tend to get lost on me. Fortunately I have these reviews to help refresh my memory.
Gaiman’s literary flair comes to the fore in the better issues collected here, adding some very nice touches that more poncy readers, such as myself, will enjoy. Some are merely nice touches, such as Shakespeare’s everyday speech being presented in perfect iambic pentameter (despite claims that he is a poor playwright, before some unseen meddling took place on the part of Morpheus) and the numerous puns of ‘The Collectors,’ where the apparently just-like-everyone-else serial killers unconsciously conduct casual gossip in terms of murder (‘the journey was a killer’/’wouldn’t be seen dead here’/’just to die for,’ etc.) It’s satisfying that Gaiman doesn’t talk down to readers, allowing the more attentive ones to enjoy the wordplay without drawing enough attention to it to alienate the casual superhero fan, but it does serve to make seemingly unconnected scenes relevant in a new context, particularly Gilbert’s foreshadowing of an attack by a man named Fun Land by telling Rose the original, unedited story of Red Riding Hood, something the wolf-shirted, wolf-hatted man unknowingly references in his own assault. Adding to the enjoyment of the text is an area of comics rarely singled out for special mention, the speech bubble lettering handled in each issue by Todd Klein. Primarily responsible for developing Morpheus’ own distinctive speech, written in white on a uniquely black speech bubble, Klein also takes some nice liberties with the speech of other non-humans to further express their general disposition or, in the case of Matthew the crow (looking to become my favourite recurring character of the series, if only for his name), the screeching sound of his voice.
The pencil art continues to be handled primarily by Mike Dringenberg, though he is sorely missed in issues twelve and thirteen when Chris Bachalo and Michael Zulli take his place, respectively. These newcomers’ styles lack the skilled realism of Dringenberg’s characters and backgrounds, and would be suited to a more ‘traditional’ comic publication than this, best expressed in Bachalo’s enthusiastic depictions of the muscular, costumed ‘false Sandman,’ which he seems far more at home drawing than the more fantastical dream imagery. Zulli’s take also lacks the realism that would have benefited the ‘Men of Good Fortune’ historical detour, and it doesn’t help that the faces of Morpheus and Death don’t even resemble their established features. Dringenberg’s return is greatly appreciated, his most memorable achievement here being the first-person perspective offered of the Corinthian, serving to associate the reader directly in his murders and eyeball crunching. It actually made me feel a little queasy, especially as the chosen sound effect was so perfectly articulated on the page that I had to do it justice by reading it aloud, only worsening the effect. As a slightly subversive comic, it also takes a few liberties at times to demonstrate its credentials, such as rotating the panels and text by ninety degrees for the dream sequence of issue ten.
‘The Doll’s House’ is a much stronger story than the earlier ‘Preludes & Nocturnes,’ but does tend to lose itself in its own lofty ideals. Once again, the ending is fairly disappointing and melodramatic, and it’s a little irritating seeing Morpheus continuously provide a good moral telling off to naughty arcana before punishing them, extending to a well-intentioned but predictable musing on the barbarism of the slave trade, when conversing with Hob Galding in the eighteenth century. He’s far more interesting when he’s emotionally unstable, like in the prologue, or confusingly creepy, such as his unexplained statement to Hippolyta that her unborn child will belong to him. Gaiman’s writing continues to be inspired by Alan Moore in places, particularly in its sardonic observation of the seventies costumed hero trend and the similarity of Hippolyta with Watchmen’s Laurie Juspeczyk, while the eerie doll’s house complete with miniature apparition Morpheus couldn’t help but remind me of ‘Beetlejuice.’ Still, his own style is clear enough, and despite some fundamental problems I have with it, I’m eager to see how the story develops... after another interesting set of detours provided by the unconnected tales of ‘Dream Country.’
Advantages: A complex, multi-faceted extended plot that demonstrates Neil Gaiman at his most creative.
Disadvantages: Overreaches on occasion, and takes some distracting time-out.
Neil Gaiman and artists, The Sandman, Volume Three: Dream Country
Lord, What Fools These Mortals Be
Written on 12.09.07
*****
In contrast to the first two collected volumes of Neil Gaiman’s ‘The Sandman,’ ‘Dream Country’ is comprised entirely of individual, one-off stories rather than an extended serial. This interval takes some time out from the developing plot of the series, heading back in time or focusing on the margins, above all being unexpectedly and creatively divergent.
This happened to be the first Sandman paperback I read a couple of months back, and although it’s more satisfying to read in the intended order, as a relief from the epic and complex ‘The Doll’s House’ plot that spanned the previous eight issues, Gaiman’s stand-alone tales can just as easily be enjoyed in isolation on their own merits, even by readers with no prior knowledge of the Sandman concept. The writer’s penchant for introspection is still present, leading to the involvement of characters from elsewhere in the DC canon, but such indulgence is surprisingly limited here, and far less irritating than in the previous volume. Uniquely for the series at this point, prominent characters are introduced for a singular and satisfying purpose rather than as a further piece of an ever-developing jigsaw puzzle, and praise was rightfully awarded to Gaiman for making such ambitious use of this temporary freedom from restrictive story arcs; the third story, ‘A Midsummer Night’s Dream,’ won the World Fantasy Award for short fiction in 1991, a first for a comic publication.
Although veteran Sandman readers will have already been exposed to the wilder ambitions of Neil Gaiman’s mind, there is little that could prepare them for the eccentricity of ‘Dream Country.’ Most noticeable is the lack of focus on the series’ protagonist Dream, who features prominently in only one of the four stories and is entirely absent from the fourth. Instead, each of these stories focuses on an individual plight or scenario linked in some manner to the mythology of the series, such as the realm of the Dreaming or, in the case of the final story, the long-awaited return of Dream’s sister Death. The lack of continuity between each story only adds to the enjoyment, as Gaiman seems to push himself to veer in ever more elaborate directions; thus, we move from a horror fantasy set in contemporary London, along the lines of the first issue of the series, to a prophetic and thoughtful tale (tail?) all about cats. The third is the popular jovial Shakespeare story, the second appearance of the playwright in this series, while the last returns to the present-day for a bleak tour behind-the-scenes of a deformed ex-superhero. Each story is strong and enjoyable in its own right, and for vastly different reasons.
The first story, ‘Calliope,’ provides service to fans of the series’ gothic horror origins that were largely abandoned as the fantasy plot took over, and has the same combination of believable everyday life and uncanny mythical elements that makes the series so successful. The central character is struggling writer Ric Madoc, an irritable and desperate English author who makes a deal with a dying old writer that sees him acquire a captive muse, one of the nine mythical creatures used by the Ancient Greek poets for inspiration, and another legend that the Sandman universe verifies as genuine. The series’ dark, adult nature leads it to reveal the method of this divine inspiration, as Madoc rapes Calliope, reluctantly at first, before beginning to enjoy their ‘two and a half minutes of squelching noises’ as his second novel is rattled off in the space of a few short weeks. This comic’s plot is dastardly and sinister, but also really funny as the series always manages at its best, and the rise and fall of Ric Madoc forms one of my favourite issues of the series so far. Dream appears in a significant role towards the end, and although his administering of justice is entertaining, replacing the customary primary school moralising with a vengeful and creative punishment, his presence and relevance is more concerned with setting up what can only be future developments in the series, notably the revelation that he and Calliope once had a son. The focus on a struggling writer allows Gaiman to vent his own frustrations and experiences in the profession, which keeps this feeling authentic (including frequent use of the clichéd question: ‘where do you writers get your kerrrazy ideas from?’ which is, of course, answered), and as usual there are enough subtle references and curious contradictions in the speech and art to keep the story in the reader’s mind after they’ve moved on. (Just how did Erasmus Fry poison himself when he had hoarded so many charms of poison immunity?)
‘A Dream of a Thousand Cats’ is instantly memorable for its strange slant on the notion of the Dreaming, revealing conclusively that animal species have their own place in the sleeping realm and are similarly catered for by Dream, who here appears in a more relevant cat form. The horror elements are replaced with a compelling and emotive oral narrative, as a wise cat addresses a gathered feline throng in an overgrown graveyard, telling them of its sleeping encounter with the King of Dreams and the apparent revelation that humans were once subservient to the dominant cat race. This cat’s noble lot is to travel the world and spread his tale, in the hope that one night, one thousand cats will dream of the way things used to be, and make it happen. The power of dreams is all but confirmed by Dream, and will doubtless play a large role in the rest of the series, and its modest introduction in a story focused on cats is inspired.
‘A Midsummer Night’s Dream,’ like Blackadder, grants credit for additional material to William Shakespeare, whose early play forms the basis for this amusing historical performance. The premise is that Dream, whose deal with Shakespeare follows on from a brief scene in issue thirteen, has commissioned this play and a unique outdoors performance on ancient land for the pleasure of an audience from the faerie realm. Shakespeare’s tale of ‘boggarts and trolls and nixies’ is a dramatisation of events that genuinely transpired, with some necessary artistic indulgence, when Auberon and Titania ruled the land. The assorted creatures watch with amusement and occasionally offence as their own stories are enacted before them, as Dream contemplates his experiences with waking humanity, and the value of entertaining fantasy over dry facts.
The final story, ‘Facade,’ is the weakest of the four, but its sombre nature is a nice contrast to the general merriment of the previous offering. Featuring deformed newcomer Rainie, evidently an existing DC heroine previously known as ‘Element Girl’ due to the credit given to creators Bob Haney and Ramona Fradon, this is another Alan Moore-inspired look at the human cost to the superhero lifestyle, particularly in the hero’s redundant autumn years. Rainie lives alone in a flat that she keeps dark, her exuberant multi-coloured body giving way to deformity in her facial features, requiring her to wear artificial silicate masks on the rare occasions she ventures outside. It’s touching and convincingly depressing, especially as she reveals how her near-invincibility renders suicide an impossibility, and the verification of another strand of mythology, namely the Egyptian Gods, links nicely to the return of Death, who is herself identified by the Egyptian ankh worn around her neck. Nevertheless, the dry terrestrial plot makes this a less riveting and memorable tale, perhaps one for the DC fans more than the casual reader, and is similarly down-to-earth as Death’s first appearance in ‘The Sound of Her Wings,’ the realism aided by the excellent art of Colleen Doran.
Sandman’s high quality art continues to provide a talking point, as the complete absence in these issues of previous regular Mike Dringenberg enhances the individual flair of each story. Both ‘Calliope’ and ‘A Dream of a Thousand Cats’ are pencilled by Kelley Jones, whose grasp of dramatic realism equals that of Dringenberg, and makes very interesting use of shadows to define characters’ facial features in the gloomy first story. Jones’ cats in the second story look excellent, realistic and in the case of the kitten, extremely cute (if you’re into that sort of thing), even if their range of expressions is necessary limited. The overgrown churchyard of the cat’s speech is an excellently realised setting, complete with symbolic angel statue acting as a podium, and whatever the future of the series’ art may be beyond this point, Jones’ return would be very welcome.
Charles Vess handles the Shakespeare story and rises to the commendable task of rendering late-sixteenth century men and boys along with their faerie audience, but the most striking feature of the art in these latter issues is the vivid colouring by Steve Oliff, replacing veteran Robbie Busch whose customarily understated work proves particularly disappointing in ‘Calliope,’ which is otherwise saved by the prevalence of shadows and highlights that almost make it black-and-white. Oliff’s colour jobs are the complete opposite, bright and multi-coloured and clearly rendered with the aid of a computer, revealed in the enthusiastic over-use of gradient effects. It’s quite a shock after the previous style, but works particularly well in this elaborate tale, although Busch would perhaps have been preferable in better capturing the despair of ‘Facade.’ Doran’s pencils on this issue hark back to the series’ original artist Sam Kieth, adding another impressive contributor to the franchise.
I enjoyed this collection equally on my first reading as a Sandman virgin, and more recently after two books’ worth of deflowering. ‘Calliope’ is my personal favourite for its macabre sense of humour and reminder of the series’ initial roots in English gothic eccentricity, although ‘A Dream of a Thousand Cats’ receives near equal billing for its sheer individuality. The Shakespeare story is a nice idea, but not being too familiar with Shakespeare (having avoided studying him at length in University after a bad experience with Renaissance drama the previous year), I feel that some of Gaiman’s clever references and tricks pass over my head, and if there’s any foreshadowing of future events it passed me by completely. Like the earlier historical story ‘Men of Good Fortune,’ these glimpses into points earlier in Dream’s existence continue to build up an interesting character profile, particularly when paired with the present-day character’s changed attitudes in tales such as ‘Calliope,’ reminding readers that seventy years of solitary imprisonment with his own thoughts have left their mark. And of course, it’s been revealed that Dream has/had a son, something that is clearly going to enter the main plot sooner or later.
The focus on his sister Death in ‘Facade’ also lays to rest some questions about her own functions and abilities, particularly the statement that she exists in multiple places across the entire universe at once in order to carry out her task efficiently. It unfortunately destroys my previous belief that if one were to see two teenage goths hanging around near a cathedral or museum steps, it’s just some of her helpers. Any readers feeling cheated by the deviation from the present-day happenings of Dream and his Endless brethren are really missing the point of this collection, which comes along at just the right time in the Sandman timeline, and will likely be followed by a similar collection of assorted oddities in the future – in case it’s not apparent, I’m enjoying working my way through this series book by book for the first time, and pretending it’s the early nineties, so I don’t know what’s in store. It makes a change from pretending it’s 1982 like I usually do.
Perhaps to compensate for the thinner volume (four issues as opposed to the customary eight, one of which is usually extended to double length), ‘Dream Country’ features Neil Gaiman’s annotated script for ‘Calliope,’ which will be of interest to all readers as a glimpse behind-the-scenes of comic production, and furthers the comparison to filmmaking. As well as allowing subtle glimpses into Gaiman’s own take on the series, it also offers some nice points of criticism, such as a complaint that Kelley Jones’ memorable full page introductory pencilling of Calliope looked too emaciated and dishevelled, something that was able to be remedied slightly by regular inker Malcolm Jones III. Also included are reproductions of the original comic covers by the excellent Dave McKean, as in all of these paperbacks, and although a slightly reduced RRP of £9.99 in comparison to the usual £12.99 doesn’t really make up for the drastically shorter volume (inversely high in quality though it is), Amazon.co.uk currently offers it for a more fair near-half-price tag of £5.99 as opposed to £9.09 for the others.
These stories stand strong on their own, and are thus more enticing to read again than some of the more exhausting epics of the other books. Quality over quantity is the key, but it would have been nice to have both. I want the moon on a stick.
Advantages: Individual stories that can be enjoyed in isolation, and aren't spoiled by trying to be too clever.
Disadvantages: Half the size of the previous publications, but this is reflected in the price.
Neil Gaiman and artists, The Sandman, Volume Four: Season of Mists
You Can Choose Your Friends...
Written on 19.09.07
***
After the stand-alone tales of the third Sandman collection, Neil Gaiman is back to writing a large scale story spread across a number of issues that seeks to address some long pressing questions as well as introduce a host of new characters, realms and possible directions for the series hereafter. ‘Season of Mists’ is the most singularly focused effort in the series yet, taking the customary time-out for a single issue in the middle but otherwise retaining an almost exclusive focus on the series’ protagonist the King of Dreams, rather than, as the series had done previously, pursue an assortment of seemingly unrelated plot threads tied up neatly by the conclusion. In this sense, and especially after reading the individual short stories that made up the previous ‘Dream Country,’ ‘Season of Mists’ felt to me much like “the Sandman movie,” a self-conscious expansion of a popular series striving to give something back to long-time fans as well as seek a new audience, but I can’t say it was too successful either way.
There are several reasons why this was my least favourite Sandman story so far, though collected together in this manner, some of the problems are less pressing that if viewed in its original format, as a monthly release from DC comics. From the prologue to the epilogue, both of which could be more rightfully considered the first and final parts due to their direct participation in the story, rather than the somewhat bizarre and sidetracked introduction to earlier tales, the events of this story move at a disappointingly slow pace, and it’s surprising that Gaiman takes eight issues to tell a story that could be summarised in a couple of paragraphs. Of course, there’s a reason people read books rather than simply browsing Wikipedia, and as usual Gaiman fills each issue with vital character development, interesting takes on mythology, humour, horror and excellent dialogue. As a graphical publication, it’s also a pleasure to see the writer’s extravagant ideas for the more twisted realms and figures interpreted by the usual revolving door of artists, some of whom are naturally more suitable than others. With a strong focus on Dream that has been deliberately lacking in the preceding issues, ‘Season of Mists’ is an important part of the Sandman mythology that would be suited to newcomers, especially as characters frequently indulge in the explanation of previous events that they already know, but it unfortunately spends too much of its time expanding and explaining the series’ unique universe, setting events in motion for future serials at a cost to the enjoyment of this one.
The prologue to ‘Season of Mists’ (unlike the other stories which carry individual episode titles, this is tellingly divided into simple parts) is one of its better and most memorable sections for finally bringing together and detailing all of Dream’s brethren, the Endless... with the exception of the mysterious ‘prodigal’ brother whose existence is still used to taunt readers. This issue takes place in the highly metaphorical domain of Destiny, the first of a great many realms to be introduced over the course of this collection, as the hooded figure is told that it’s time for a family meeting. The gathering of Dream, the female Death, the androgynous Desire, the putrid Despair (all of whom have been seen before, to varying degrees), the confused Delirium and Destiny himself, humorously proceeds much like any forced gathering of estranged family, though here the differences are emphasised by each individual’s anthropomorphic nature. From here, the story soon begins in earnest as Dream is convinced by his trusted sister Death that he should never have condemned his former lover to hell for rejecting him, and despite being a whopping ten thousand years too late, the reformed King of Dreams elects to visit Lucifer in his domain, in spite of the danger that represents. Bizarrely, Lucifer seems only too happy to welcome his former enemy to a suspiciously empty underworld, and after explaining to a confounded Dream that he is sick of the responsibility, he dupes him into taking the Key to Hell, a much valued possession that the leading deities from a number of mythologies would do much to acquire.
By returning to some of the seeds planted in earlier Sandman stories, particularly the domain of Hell and Dream’s former lover Nada, Gaimain takes the opportunity to elucidate on the Sandman universe in an unprecedented manner. Previous stories have confirmed the existence of ancient mythologies one-by-one, but the gathering at Dream’s castle aims to check them all off definitively. Most prominent are the Viking gods of Asgard led by Odin, whose background is introduced (and patronisingly over-explained) in issue twenty-four, while representatives of Faerie and Ancient Egyptian mythology make a not-very-long-awaited return after the previous paperback. Confusing but entertaining manifestations of Delirium’s opposing realms Order and Chaos also feature to a small degree, as does the Shinto sea god in a role seemingly designed only to show off Gaiman’s multicultural knowledge. Fortunately, Allah and Muhammad are nowhere in sight and thus are not presented in any sort of subjective or potentially offensive light; Neil Gaiman may be a show-off, but he’s not stupid. This overcrowded cast, along with regular characters from both Hell and the Dreaming, serves to slow things down immensely, and amusing though the banquet scene may be – seeing a ludicrously muscular Thor get drunk and letch over a cat-headed woman before falling into his own sick keeps the humour quotient suitably high – the glacial progression of the plot in the last half of the story particularly must have provided a great source of annoyance to fans who had to wait a month to discover the next part of this tedious diplomatic tale.
Even in terms of characterisation, something this story seems intent to develop meaningfully through an increased focus on Dream, there seemed a certain lack of realism after the earlier issues, though this was perhaps due to the scarcity of truly human character featured this time around; fallen angels and godlike beings obviously behave a little differently to you and I. Lucifer is quite enjoyable, though his maniacal screaming and evil demeanour seem to disappear completely between issues, and although I couldn’t help but love Destiny for his Reaper-like appearance, the new introductions to the Endless family disappoint in comparison to the established pairing of Dream and Death, and the devious Desire. Strangest of all are the humans exiled from Hell, who describe their decades, centuries or millennia of constant torment in fairly emotionless terms and have no trouble readjusting to human concerns immediately. With a writer as skilled as Gaiman, I’m tempted to think that such decisions were deliberate, but it would have been more impressive to see some truly tortured souls who resembled very little of the person they once were. My final problem is one that’s admittedly blown unreasonably out of proportion, but I wasn’t amused by Lucifer’s mundane office, complete with potted plant and early 90s PC, as this silly joke detracts from the otherwise fantastic architecture and appearance of his domain.
Now I’ve got those issues off my chest, I can applaud the better aspects of this new direction for The Sandman. For starters, nearly all ties seem to have been severed from the external DC comics universe that featured so heavily in previous stories, which is perhaps some of the reason that Gaiman goes to so many lengths to expand his own mythology (there are a couple of instances, one of which I think involves the 1930s Sandman character, but they are minor). Not being DC-literate, many of the previous links and cameos of ‘Preludes & Nocturnes’ and ‘The Doll’s House’ passed me by completely, also managing to leave a lingering nagging feeling that I was missing out on something as they did so, so I’m happy that these crossovers have been toned down – of course, when the action switches once again to Earth, Dream may start hanging around with Batman and Swamp Thing, I couldn’t say. It’s also nice to see some coherence between the Endless’ formal attire, which has been in something of an unexplained flux previously but now makes some sort of sense, and however minimal the participation of the Delirium character, she’s intrigued me enough that I look forward to future appearances in a larger role, particularly as her fall from grace as previous persona Delight has been left unexplained. As a heavy metal fan I was obviously quite pleased at the introduction of the Viking gods, and the trio of Odin, Loki and Thor was entertaining enough that a return is probably on the cards at some point, though I’m more ambivalent about future appearances of Lucifer and the angels.
This story is so singular and concentrated that it’s difficult to incorporate the oddball twenty-fifth issue into its discussion, only linked as it is through the notion that the dead from Hell have been returned to life by Lucifer’s departure. This self-contained story features a brief appearance from Death, but is otherwise concerned solely with a small-scale horror focused on two children – a lonely schoolboy and a dead schoolboy – who decide not to become slaves to the fates and to the hellish school. As a fan of the last collection of individual tales, and of the series’ origins in horror, it’s no surprise that this was my favourite of the eight issues (perhaps alongside the prologue). The narrative plays out perfectly, and some of the ideas therein are really quite ghastly, enhanced by Matt Wagner’s memorable depictions of Charles Rowland sitting amongst a class of dead faces. The prevalence of dark humour is greater than it has been for a while, and the archaic public school scenario reminded me strongly of Terry Jones and Michael Palin’s ‘Ripping Yarns,’ with dashes of ‘The Wall,’ but that’s probably because my education was in a 1990s comprehensive and I can’t relate to this as anything other than fictional. In any case, it’s a valuable story that breaks up the slow main plot at the right moment, and helps keep the series’ human interest alive, even if the humans featured are mostly insane or undead. I like Charles Rowland; this is quite a sad and uplifting story at the same time.
While Wagner’s art suits this stand-alone issue, his slightly cartoonish slant not proving a problem in the isolated context, it continues to be a little distracting when different parts of the main story are pencilled by different artists, especially as the series’ best and, I assumed, primary artist Mike Dringenberg is increasingly absent from the mix. Dringenberg here pencils the introductory tale: a wise move, as his previous depictions of the Endless provided a definitive version for other artists to use, and here he gets to introduce the remaining stragglers. He is also, oddly, offered the rather slow and dull epilogue tale, which primarily acts to demonstrate his superior skill at both realism and creativity and thereby detract from the other artists. That’s not to say that the story’s primary penciller Kelley Jones doesn’t impress, as the revisitation of Hell and the introduction of Asgard and the other realms are all vivid and exciting, it’s just that the story demands an essential replicating of concepts introduced by former artists such as Dringenberg and his predecessor Sam Kieth. That said, Jones is just as capable of rendering twisted demons as those forebears, most memorably a huge figure with mouths for nipples skewering a tortured soul with a fork, and a gruesomely funny image of two demons French kissing, one of whom only has a half a face, allowing for a full view of their tongues inside her skeletal mouth. Nice! Jones’ hellish scenery looks excellent also, reminding me of Wayne Barlowe’s ‘Inferno’ and H. R. Giger in its organic-looking architecture, and as usual the cover art by Dave McKean and experimental lettering from Todd Klein keep the series looking unique and distinctive amongst the competition. I only hope the series can calm down and return to more low-key terrestrial affairs now that Neil Gaiman’s universe has been firmly set in place.
Advantages: Explores the full extent of the Sandman universe, introducing some memorable new characters.
Disadvantages: Tediously slow moving story lacks the excitement of previous tales.
Neil Gaiman and artists, The Sandman, Volume Five: A Game of You
Bimbos of the Night
Written on 26.09.07
*****
After the slow and arduous multi-dimensional grandeur of ‘Season of Mists,’ DC’s adult comic series The Sandman returns to Earth once again, and successfully rekindles its former glory. The problems I had with the preceding story were partly down to my personal tastes regarding the series, now approaching its half-way point, but even leaving aside the shift in focus from the complex fantasy realms of the Dreaming, the afterlife and far too many other domains to list back to more localised terrestrial concerns (at least for the most part), it’s clear that writer Neil Gaiman has got back in touch with his juju after what was a most trying eight-issue task of exposition.
It wasn’t all a waste of time though; having now firmly outlined far more than readers could ever need to know about the series’ complicated, multi-faceted universe and politics, Gaiman and his artists are now free to explore it at their leisure. ‘A Game of You’ addresses all the problems I had with its predecessor, returning focus once again to a human protagonist, one that readers will soon realise they have met before, and featuring a predominantly human cast who stand out for their bold lifestyle choices, mostly in conflict with social norms, rather than a more generalised strangeness that doesn’t really go anywhere. The comparison is illustrated perfectly by the use of a New York apartment block populated by a small recurring cast of characters, as this links back directly to the Floridian guest house of weirdoes in the second Sandman collection ‘The Doll’s House.’
The parallel is clearly intentional, referenced by Barbie herself who was resident at both, and the reader can draw their own conclusion as to Gaiman’s shift of focus. Where Florida offered a plastic Hollywood couple, creepy spider-infatuated lesbians and a plot of land masquerading as a portly gentleman (weird huh?), New York’s clientele consists of a pre-operative transsexual, a shy art history student and some non-creepy lesbians whose relationship is treated with greater care and attention than the previous women couples that Gaiman seems so fond of including in his stories. Alright, so there’s a possessed guy who has birds living inside his ribcage on the top floor, and there’s more to the art student than is at first apparent, but the main cast represents the strongest human presence in the series yet, encouraging Gaiman to partake in some serious social commentary that abandons the series’ usual thinly-veiled metaphors in favour of outright statements on identity and acceptance.
The concerns of the Endless are pushed to the margins in this story, which is primarily split between events in contemporary New York and Barbie’s quest inside her catatonic dream of ‘The Land,’ a lush fantasy world she had visited as an escape since childhood until the events of ‘The Doll’s House’ stole her ability to dream. Although I had a suspicious feeling at the time that all of the seemingly trivial distractions of that earlier story would come back to haunt readers later in the series, I was pleasantly surprised (and a little amused) at the return of Martin Tenbones and his other cuddly animal chums. No longer having to borrow from the extensive DC canon constructed by other writers, Gaiman’s own universe is now so vast and densely populated that he can’t help himself from running every single idea into the ground, and the strength of each Sandman collection is decided by how interesting or tedious this process becomes. Fortunately, the return of The Land is very nicely done, illustrating some of The Sandman’s larger themes of lost innocence and the nature of dreams. While the later issues of the collection may become too fantasy-based for regular readers, this is balanced out more than adequately by the disturbing events unfolding at the same time in the New York apartment, raising the stakes for intelligently twisted gruesomeness and gripping disaster in this series. The whole thing is a bit of a side-step, particularly for something as significant as a six-part story, but I think this audacity contributes to it being my favourite Sandman collection so far, as does the great cast of characters.
Although the series’ primary characters the Endless are largely absent from this story, Dream appearing only in the last couple of issues and his sister Death having a brief walk-on cameo, ‘A Game of You’ excels at sticking to the series’ established themes, more so in some areas than has been seen before. While Barbie’s fantasy Land is denied the childish innocence it once possessed, full of dangers that present themselves in the deaths of her animal friends, the saga of The Land is evidently based in part on existing fantasy templates; the arduous journey across snowy mountains is reminiscent of ‘The Lord of the Rings,’ while the eventual actions of Dream are much like those of Aslan the Lion in C. S. Lewis’ creation and apocalypse segments of his ‘Chronicles of Narnia.’ Readers who feel insulted by such barefaced fantasy are given the comfort of some postmodern exposition when Barbie finally meets up with her nemesis the Cuckoo, but really the significance of the Land only dominates a couple of the later issues of this extended story, which has far more to offer than silver streams and a foul-mouthed rat.
As mentioned earlier, the horror quotient is high in this story, towing an impressive line between excessive gore and intelligent plot device, causing me to admire Gaiman’s writing even more than I did already. Aside from the most obvious instance with the ill-fated George, the series includes some rarely seen nightmare sequences at just the right time to be of principle effectiveness, once the reader has been introduced to the characters enough for their wellbeing to matter to them. Hazel and Foxglove’s nightmares are tied perfectly to their real-life human concerns: most disturbing is the naive Hazel’s dream of finding her aborted child’s body, mutilated by the surgery as Gaiman attempts to trump even ‘Eraserhead’ as a successful advertisement for birth control, but her partner has a telling vision also, one which draws a long-running background plot to a close and finally connects together Gaiman’s convoluted circuit of lesbianism. Wanda meanwhile is confronted with the operation she has long been terrified of undergoing, one of many challenges to her sense of identity present in both the mortal and more spiritual realms.
Basing the bulk of this story on humans as opposed to the archaic mythical deities of the last volume once again allows Gaiman’s excellent grasp of dialogue to come to the fore, and this is mainly carried out through Wanda, presented as the everyman voice of reason who freaks out and vomits when the supernatural happenings get on top of her, and doesn’t understand how the others can take to it so easily. It’s obvious that Wanda (born as Alvin) is being presented as the most likeable and human figure of the story, despite the prominence of the more detached Barbie, and Gaiman is keen to exploit this normalcy in order to illustrate his progressive social points. Not only are Wanda’s sexuality and lifestyle in conflict with the wishes of her conservative parents, but a conversation with the world beyond would seem to make it quite tragically clear that identity is forced on individuals by birth rather than choice, a matter of “chromosomes as much as anything.” It’s intriguing to see Gaiman take such a vicious stab at the higher powers of his universe, evidently not as enlightened as they may appear, and it makes the end of Wanda’s story very satisfying in a soppy, guilty-pleasure sort of way, while the mini soap opera of Hazel and Foxglove’s relationship troubles will doubtless appeal to some readers in a similar way.
The ending itself once again lets the story down a little, this time veering more towards the realm of an epic motion picture finale than the usual contemplative retrospective on what has transpired, but it’s nice that the branching plot threads were restricted to the later developments so as not to distract from the progress of the primary storyline. I was pleased to see the human consequences of extra-dimensional activities receiving the due attention this time around, now that the reader is located in the middle of it all (especially after the confusing lack of attention given to the resurrection of countless billions of dead bodies that must have occurred during ‘Season of Mists,’ yet doesn’t get a mention here), but the apocalyptic weather does add to the slightly cheesy, Hollywood feel of the conclusion, which also relies on ambitious cross-cuts and the cliché of a cackling arch villain. This is the only real issue I have however, and it’s a problem that crops up in most of the long Sandman stories when forced to deliver on the promises of the build-up, and the unique setting and cast of this tale keep it distinctive in the Sandman chronology. It was appropriate to take a break from Dream and the other Endless after the attention they received recently, though there’s still a nice scene part way through in which Dream demonstrates his personal growth, indicating that one day he might not be so socially inept after all.
This is a comic book – did I forget to mention that? Once again the art is up to the usual excellent standard, with newcomer Shawn McManus drawing the bulk of the story and doing an impressive job that stands alongside the very best of the series. McManus’ style is realistic without hammering home too many details, and he is similarly skilled at rendering emotive and convincing faces and the varied backgrounds demanded by the storyline. Bryan Talbot assists on the penultimate issue, which leads to me to guess (perhaps completely wrongly) that he took care of the great-looking weather effects, and the third part was drawn entirely by guest Colleen Doran. Doran’s slightly more abstract and messy style is something of a distracting deviation in an otherwise tightly focused work (the first long Sandman story not to be interrupted by a random plot taking place elsewhere), but Doran’s distinctive style keeps her on rotation as an enjoyable Sandman guest artist – so notable in fact, that the character of Thessaly here was apparently based on her, something that I assume to be a compliment. Daniel Vozzo continues the colouring duties he’s held for some time, a simple block colouring style that isn’t particularly distinctive but at least doesn’t leap off the page with inappropriate luminescence as some previous artists’ work tended to.
There are no muscle-bound superheroes or exaggerated demons here, which should make it easily approachable for readers who are interested in the world of adult comics, but afraid of the embarrassment that interest could bring. Even with jolly animals and talking severed faces, for The Sandman this is practically tame. The all-female leading cast should also help overcome the preconception that comics are purely for males, particularly as the individuals concerned don’t simply get their breasts out or lezz up. Hardly at all.
Advantages: Neil Gaiman's epic horror-fantasy returns to Earth and tackles some serious social issues.
Disadvantages: Long-time readers may find the shift of focus disappointing.
Neil Gaiman and artists, The Sandman, Volume Six: Fables and Reflections
The Mysterious Corpse Has a Magic All of Its Own
Written on 03.10.2007
***
'Fables and Reflections' is an appropriate title to govern this second anthology of stand-alone stories released in DC's series The Sandman, collecting all of Neil Gaiman's canonical Sandman comic releases from 1991 to '93 that didn't fall into the larger story arcs that dominate the majority of these paperbacks. Breaking with the tradition of the earlier independent tales collection 'Dream Country,' this anthology is divided into three uneven sections, some categorised under further collective titles to demonstrate their participation in a smaller story cycle, and others standing very conspicuously alone, arranged alongside the rest of the collection for matters of convenience and completion. This was the first Sandman paperback to break with the series' chronological publication order, collecting as it does the three issues released between the 'Season of Mists' and 'A Game of You' serials, a further three between 'A Game of You' and 'Brief Lives,' and a final instalment from even later, while also incorporating the story from 1991's so-called 'Sandman Special #1' and a very brief tale from a promotional magazine designed to promote comic book series on DC's Vertigo imprint, including The Sandman.
Despite this erratic, unfortunate and confusing mixture of sources, there is no significant break to the series' continuity by publishing or reading this collection in the prescribed order, or indeed at any point in the series, as all of these stories (with the notable exception of the Orpheus special) are specifically designed to exist on the margins of the Sandman's larger, continuous plot. The four stories collected under the banner 'Distant Mirrors' (hence Reflections) achieve this by being set at various points throughout history as the series has done several times before, focusing on new characters but always featuring familiar faces in the form of the Endless or other beings from the realm of the Dreaming, most commonly Dream himself, who is known by many different names and appears in varying guises depending on the observer’s own historical period and cultural beliefs. The issues labelled 'Convergence' take a slightly looser and more chaotic approach, concerning narratives and stories (Fables) or more specifically the blurring between truth and reality, one of the series' prominent themes expressed through the exploration of dreams.
While these nine core tales form the bulk of this large volume, the two one-off stories provide something of a distracting but welcome break, and are shoved at the end where they will do the least damage. Each comic is reproduced in its original publication order with the exception of 'Ramadan,' the highly deviant fourth chapter of 'Distant Mirrors' which, due to its unusual nature, extra length and odd demands, was not completed in time to be published in the intended order, and was shelved for a significantly later date, eventually winding up as issue fifty rather than thirty-two. It makes complete sense to place it fourth in this collection as originally intended, but of course, the more hardcore fans intent on reliving the original publishing experience (but without having to wait the annoying month in-between comics, unless they're really dedicated and strange) are free to stop reading this paperback half-way through, work their way through the next one, write a review of that one, and then return to this. Not that I did that though. Well, maybe a bit.
So, what are the stories in this pick-n-mix assortment about, and more importantly, are they any good? You've probably already noticed the three stars signalling a pretty average product, and this is unfortunately true for around half of these stories (only in my opinion, obviously), while the highs and lows elsewhere serve to balance each other out. This was disappointing in light of the great success of writer Neil Gaiman's previous stand-alone episodes (including 'The Sound of Her Wings,' 'Men of Good Fortune' and the public school interlude in Season of Mists), which were concisely brilliant and often a great source of relief from the long and heavy-going story arcs surrounding them. The stories here are very aware of their forced deviation from the normal order, and for some of them, this strangeness is their downfall. Others are simply quite boring. I don't want to dismiss this tome too easily however, as there are several excellent tales to be found between its multi-coloured pages, and especially as it presents excellent value for money compared to the standard Sandman paperback. In particular, 'Dream Country' contained only four stories of twenty-five pages each, with some special features tagged on to bulk it out ever so slightly, while 'Fables and Reflections' contains six issues of normal length, one of extended length, the huge sixty-page special and the little bonus preview comic.
Broadly speaking, as I will have to with a collection this diverse to avoid a five thousand word review, I found the earlier 'Distant Mirrors' stories more entertaining than their counterparts in 'Convergence,' but both areas have their highs and lows. Gaiman impresses with his historical and multi-cultural knowledge in 'Distant Mirrors,' which charts defining events in the all-too-brief lives of great empires in consecutive months of different years (corresponding to the July, August, September and intended October of the original publication), from violent revolutionary France to mighty Rome and majestic Baghdad, even dropping in on the first and only Emperor of the United States of America. 'August' and 'Ramadan' concern an emperor and a king at the height of their powers, whose concern for the future of their respective empires leads to an encounter with the King of Dreams. 'Thermidor' (July in the short-lived revolutionary calendar) involves itself more directly with the unfolding mystery of the Sandman series, as Lady Johanna Constantine is employed by Dream to rescue the severed head of his son Orpheus, a symbol of the ancient superstitions and magics that the reasoned revolutionaries were intent on wiping out, even to the extent of renaming their calendar to erase the names of pagan gods.
'Three Septembers and a January' is the most charming of the lot, another informal gathering of the Endless brethren as Dream accepts a challenge from his sister Despair in inspiring a depressed, near-suicidal businessman named Joshua A. Norton into becoming something greater. Based almost entirely on the true story of Emperor Norton I, with a little creative license permitted for magical elements, this is the perfect companion to Augustus' message (in 'August') that people need the symbol of an emperor, and a nice mid-nineteenth century conclusion to the entire arc. Gaiman's own stance on the matter is a little unclear, though he demonstrates an obvious contempt for the revisionist atrocities of the French revolutionaries in 'Thermidor,' and like all stories in the expanded Sandman universe, the humans are treated as individuals with mortal abilities and failings, though 'August' does descend far too deeply into trivial and obvious banter for my tastes, however superb Gaiman's grasp of dialogue. However strong these first three issues are, it's 'Ramadan' that stands out as the most distinctive and creative, presented in the style of an Arabian Nights tale told partially in comic form, but mostly in a form of illustrated prose, a combined effort between Gaiman and this issue's artist P. Craig Russell. Although this detachment comes at a cost to its resonance and humanity, it's an enjoyable experiment that, however long delayed, provides a suitable celebration for the fiftieth issue.
The three stories of 'Convergence' rely on narratives from new or marginal characters, and it's in this collection-within-the-collection that the presence of Dream and the Endless is the least pronounced, instead being taken by supporting characters from the Dreaming in expanded roles. 'The Hunt' is a fairly inevitable werewolf tale, though told quite skilfully and subtly from the perspective of an old man in the present day to his irritable, postmodern teenager granddaughter who would rather be watching MTV. Continuing Gaiman's touring of the regions, there are many similarities with Russian folk tales, including an appearance of Baba Yaga, but on the whole this seemed to last far too long, for very little reward. Even less riveting is its successor 'Soft Places,' featuring historic traveller Marco Polo and his chronicler Rustichello, who become caught in a titular 'soft place' where perception, reality and time are unstable, usually manifesting themselves on the Earth as the vast deserts of shifting sand. While the ideas are quite interesting, there does seem to be a little too much technobabble and exposition in this story that keeps it from going anywhere, while the focal character Fiddler's Green, last seen prominently in 'The Doll's House,' lacks the presence and interest required of a protagonist in the same way Lucien disappointed in the previous issue; sometimes relegating background characters to larger roles isn't entirely successful, as would be demonstrated further by the numerous Sandman spin-offs penned by less capable writers.
Fortunately, the final story in this selection raises the standard, the multi-voiced 'Parliament of Rooks.' The sleeping spirit of Daniel, a baby who appeared earlier in the series but whose importance has not yet come into play, wanders independently into the Dreaming, East of Eden. The raven Matthew and gargoyle Gregory take him with them to Cain and Abel's house, where all characters, as well as Eve who had previously been seen only briefly, decide to tell the baby little-known, secret or exaggerated stories to entertain him until his return to the waking world. The interaction of this ensemble is excellent, from Matthew’s pop-culture criticism of Cain's Vincent Price-like voice and confusion over how these apparently true Creation stories "tie into cavemen and dinosaurs and all that sh**?" On a more basic comedic level, it's nice to see the characters having a domestic natter and drinking tea, even the hulking Gregory who holds his tiny cup with care, and the overall relaxed tone and message of this issue succeed in communicating Gaiman's message where their predecessors failed.
Gaiman never shies away from contradiction or questionings of his multi-faceted universe, at times seeming to strive for an all-encompassing mosaic of cultural and historical textualities, and Matthew's questioning, along with the granddaughter's criticism of apparent post-modernity and sexism in the earlier story, develop into a nice argument about the nature of storytelling. Young Daniel's presence encourages the timid Abel to tell his story of the first murder in a weakened and sanitised, child-friendly form, complete with accompanying cartoon illustrations of the brothers being watched by the 'Lil' Endless,' again addressing Gaiman's criticism of revisionist history as has been seen several times in the series thus far. Cain believes that mysteries are exciting and should never be explained, which is proven at the end when Abel reveals the puzzle to the riddle of the parliament of rooks. It is at first plausible, and then immediately disappointing for no longer being a mystery, proving the point perfectly.
The issues tagged onto the end of this collection are both fairly enjoyable, but do disrupt the flow slightly. The Sandman Special, entitled 'The Song of Orpheus,' is the (apparently) long-awaited story of Dream and Calliope's son, based on the Ancient Greek myth of the character. Gaiman's adaptation is quite enjoyable as usual, but does little truly exciting or novel with the established premise, and the gratuitous flaunting of all seven Endless at Orpheus' wedding ceremony smacks of a disappointing publicity stunt, one step away from an action figure advertisement. The Vertigo preview comic is nothing substantial, a genuineattempt at publicity this time but carried out more tastefully, touching very lightly on the general Sandman premise, at least as it was at the beginning and in brief synopses, through the perspective of a random English playwright character. It's only seven pages long, but I enjoyed it.
A chaotic collection of Sandman stories wouldn't be complete without an equally diverse creative team, and this book predictably features the most diverse list of artists yet, the only pencil artist to be credited on more than one story being the reliable Bryan Talbot. Reliable is the main word that comes to mind as his renderings are nothing truly sensational or creative, both in the dialogue-heavy 'August' that requires a great degree of repetition in its limited scope, and in the longer Orpheus special where characters and vast backdrops are drawn with immense detail, but lack any real defining character. The three artists of 'Convergence' are similarly rather uninspired, though they are given more to work with and effectively realise some quite diverse characters, but it's Stan Woch and Shawn McManus (illustrating issues 29 and 31) who appealed to me the most, with odd angles and a nice deviation between gritty realism and the more surreal excesses of the dream realm. I'm fully prepared to admit that this might be due in some small part to their presence earlier on in the book, before the constant shifting of location, characters and artist started to take its toll on my perspective.
The Vertigo preview is illustrated excellently, as would be expected for a promotional tool such as this, but again it's 'Ramadan' that stands out the most, simply for being the most unusual. The drawing veers on simplistic and cartoonish, characters often having simple dots for eyes if they are out of close-up, and the lack of significant background detail contributes to the fairy tale feel of this piece. The colours from guest Digital Chameleon are suitably garish and opaque, relying on excessive gradient colouring whenever the opportunity presents itself, while the preview's pleasant limited palette of reds and browns provided by Sherilyn van Valkenburgh works very nicely. The rest are coloured by series regular Daniel Vozzo, who always does the job adequately but, like the inkers, doesn't really have as many opportunities to stand out - and often only does this through glaring mistakes that only long-time readers will spot - while Todd Klein goes above and beyond as usual in his deceptively simple task of providing all the lettering. As well as the stylised speech of characters such as the Endless, most notable in Dream's trademark black speech bubble with white text, Klein provides some convincing and almost illegible eighteenth-century handwriting for Constantine's diary entries in 'Thermidor,' and handles the extensive prose paragraphs of 'Ramadan' in what must have been a very time-consuming stylised, mock-Arabic font. Though neither he, Gaiman, nor Dream would have any wish to mock anything Arabic, and are very careful to avoid doing so (you'd never see Allah and Muhammad being mocked for debauchery in this series, unlike the safely expired Viking gods).
'Fables and Reflections' is a deliberately non-essential Sandman volume, but at the same time that makes it a necessity for serious collectors, providing extra depth and explanations about the universe and concepts unique to the series while also foreshadowing or teasing about things to come. Some of the stories are disappointing compared to the usual standard, while few are truly exceptional, but all the same it would provide an easily accessible starting point for newcomers who, for the most part, wouldn't be confronted with complex and highly developed character relationships, though much of it would likely go over their heads or perhaps seem even duller than it already is, outside of context. The horror angle continues to be missed, replaced largely with a concentration on fairy stories and present only in a couple of effectively gruesome and horrific scenes from 'Thermidor' and the anticipated ending of 'Song of Orpheus,' a sixty page countdown to an inevitable beheading that actually manages to surprise in its viciousness even when readers knew more or less what was coming. Regular readers are baited along with hints about Dream's current lover, one of many events clearly happening beyond the panels of these more specific tales. What was the final fate of Orpheus? Who is this mysterious, bearded, seventh figure of the Endless, who can shoot fire from his fingertips? Who are the Kindly Ones? How does baby Daniel have access to the heart of the Dreaming, and what does this spell for his future? And what on Earth or elsewhere is the significance of the wolfman's treasured "small bone carved into the shape of a small bone - but a different small bone?" I can't begin to make sense of it, but it made me laugh.
Advantages: Some stories quite good.
Disadvantages: Some stories quite not good.
Neil Gaiman and Jill Thompson, The Sandman, Volume Seven: Brief Lives
Endless Road Trip
Written on 10.10.07
***
After experimenting with some shorter story cycles to varying degrees of success, Neil Gaiman once again plunges Sandman readers into an extended story, this time spanning a whopping nine issues. Despite my notion that Gaiman had left the stretched plotting of his earlier 'Season of Mists' era behind him, 'Brief Lives' instead acts as a rough sequel to some of its events, and puts any and all remaining questions about the Endless to a conclusive rest, with the sole exception of the rather glaring omission: 'what exactly are they, then?' There was some valid criticism that my last Sandman review dumped readers in at the deep end without much explanation of what the series was about, so thankfully the plot of this book allows for a greater overview.
Introduced gradually over the course of the comic series, which had by now been in print for three mostly enjoyable years, the seven Endless are not gods, that much is made clear, but are rather seemingly immortal and powerful beings whose function is to oversee seven vital aspects of the universe. The titular Sandman is Dream, though he is rarely referred to as the Sandman, and is known by a multitude of names by different cultures, as are his brethren. His older sister Death was next to be introduced, and the eldest brother Destiny is the most mysterious and intriguing of all, and thus my favourite (because it's a comic, and however well crafted and suited to adult readers it may be, it's still the sort of thing that encourages readers to pick a bestest). These two older siblings only feature briefly, as this is primarily a story focusing on Dream and his youngest sister Delirium, in her first major role that certainly makes a lasting impression, whatever the reader's feelings about the unique character. The quest that drives their story is the search for their long-lost and oft-mentioned brother, whose name I'm not going to reveal but you can guess that it starts with a 'D.' Conspiratorial non-identical twins Desire and Despair also play a significant part towards the beginning and the end, and the reader is treated to the sight of five of the Endless' individual and highly metaphorical realms over the course of the tale, some of which had not been seen before.
Like 'Season of Mists,' the last story to focus on the dysfunctional Endless family, this is essentially a single story spread over numerous issues, though there a number of minor sub-plots introduced to help break it up that are nevertheless ultimately tied to the main plot. Gaiman returns to a simple numbering of parts to hammer home the 'graphic novel' idea, and as with the last multi-part story 'A Game of You,' there are no issues dedicated to events happening elsewhere; if the story isn't to the reader's liking, which is entirely possible given its significant departure from the series' established style, they're unfortunately stuck with it for nine months of comic deadlines. All of the Sandman stories are necessarily quite different from each other of course, otherwise the series would just end up repeating itself, but this desire to explore new ground unfortunately takes the series further and further away from its roots as a sort of gothic horror with fantastical overtones. Here, epic mysticism gives way to mundane family drama, while the increase in forced comedy (some very funny, but some actually quite poor, in a first for the series) reminds me of the fourth Star Trek film, when daft humour was used as a tool to re-popularise the franchise. The sequence where Delirium drives a car wildly along a freeway and Matthew squawks at her to slow down or she'll get them all killed could easily be substituted for any recycled 'aliens arrive on Earth and don't properly understand our customs, leading to hilarious consequences' Hollywood plot, and didn't serve to endear this story to me.
After a fairly interesting introduction in which the reader really gets to experience the unstable and addled mind of Delirium, the main plot of the search is stretched out for far too long, and will likely leave many readers disinterested as it approaches its inevitable conclusion. As with 'A Game of You,' the heavy focus on contemporary Earth allows for the exploration of some down-to-earth individuals from alternative walks of life, including the series' first genuine goth (who Delirium amusingly mistakes for her sister Death) and a very bland couple of issues focusing on the lives, dreams and values of some topless dancers ("I'm not in the sex industry, I'm in showbiz," "their gaze makes me feel beautiful," blah blah blah). Oddly and very annoyingly, some of the more interesting characters, particularly a druid-type fellow who turns into a bear and bites off his shadow to escape detection, are introduced only for their stories to go nowhere whatsoever, ruining its effectiveness as a suspenseful murder mystery that it tries to be to some extent. As Dream and Delirium chase down their prodigal brother through the only leads they have, those sources are conveniently bumped off one by one just before they can obtain their answers. Fittingly to the Sandman tradition of weak endings, the ultimate explanation is disappointing, particularly in comparison to the red herrings that were thrown at readers to keep them guessing and that would have been far more enjoyable, while also being easier to understand. Nevertheless, there are a couple of interesting plots around the fringes of the main search that keep this readable, particularly concerning Dream's son Orpheus and a new working class view on life in the realm of the Dreaming from one of its workmen, Mervyn Pumpkinhead, who instantly became another favourite of mine.
There's a large but understated focus on Dream's character development in this story, which is interesting and a long time coming, even if it only really comes into play outside of the main plot. Mervyn's deconstruction of his Lord's brooding over the end of a relationship is one of many nicely introspective touches introduced by Gaiman in this story, particularly the pumpkin man's observation that Dream is creating the very downpour that he's standing in, and by consequence making everyone else in the realm suffer for his own melodramatic angst. Dream has always been quite a solemn and moody goth, prone to irrational actions as readers have seen in the past, and it's satisfying to see this finally being addressed to him directly, and by more than a few individuals in a short space of time, perhaps even allowing it to sink in for a change. His overbearing relationship with Delirium is interesting and cute, standing in nice contrast to his camaraderie with Death and antagonism towards Desire and their missing brother, and most of all this story is memorable and significant for Delirium's performance. Her confused, childish demeanour can be irritating at times, but I also feel a little sad for her, and she can make me smile, and Todd Klein's highly distinctive, twisted and multi-coloured take on the appearance of her dialogue is easily the most elaborate thing that's ever been done with speech bubbles in such frequency.
For the first time in the Sandman series, the artists remain consistent throughout, with none of the usual swapping and guest penciller credits interrupting the flow, though looking at the consequences this deals to the quality of the art across this expansive storyline, it becomes clear why the revolving door system was a useful tool. Jill Thompson's drawing style is good, as would be expected for such a high-profile series, but I find it lacks the distinctiveness of some of her illustrious predecessors, particularly those that had handled the majority of a long storyline in the past. Thompson has a flair for backgrounds, which certainly helps with the extensive travelling in this story, and some of her viewpoints and perspectives, particularly in the opening issue, are really nice and cinematic. Unfortunately, her characters lack the realism the series is respected for, veering more towards a simplified cartoon style than anything else, but the most disappointing feature comes when Thompson quite clearly becomes bored, and rushes through repetitive panels so that entire pages become quite a mess (this is particularly evident in the banquet at Dream’s palace, and dialogue-heavy scenes in general). Daniel Vozzo's colours are consistently acceptable, even if they only really stand out in the more elaborate scenes that resemble oil paintings, and for the first time in the series I found it quite puzzling on several occasions to follow the correct order of the speech bubbles, though I'm not sure whether the blame for this lies with the bored Thompson or an error on Klein's part in trying to stick them all onto the panel without obstructing her drawing. It's still far from being amateur, and there are a number of scenes that are really incredible, but these little errors and momentary lapses do stand out in an otherwise skilled publication.
Neil Gaiman deals with some significant and philosophical themes in 'Brief Lives,' but its unnecessary length, littered with pointless distractions, unfortunately makes it the least impressive Sandman volume so far. I can only hope that this is a brief slump that will vanish as the series heads to its conclusion, but considering the recent directions of the series I doubt this will happen. There are a few genuinely insightful and fascinating moments, particularly towards the end, but for the most part this is a bit of a silly adventure, full of what seem to be distracting plot holes and inconsistencies, and tows the line between revealing more interesting facts about the Endless, and robbing them of their intriguing mystery altogether. Gaiman's dialogue is faultless as always, realistic between humans and enjoyably otherworldly between deities, and there were some enjoyable links to the writer's other works that I'm familiar with, particularly in the importance and exchange of personal debt that reminded me of 'Neverwhere,' an enjoyable TV series he produced with Lenny Henry for the BBC in the late nineties, and later adapted into a novel. Unlike previous volumes, most of the new characters introduced here fail to make much of an impression and I couldn't really care less whether they show up again, with the exception of the dog Barnabas and of course the long-overlooked Mervyn Pumpkinhead.
These nine issues are collected in the trade paperback bearing the overall title of the story, which reproduces the art as well as the excellent covers by Dave McKean. Omitted are the letters pages and advertisements that originally featured in the comics, which serves to make them more readable, but also sadly gone is the promised feature advertised on one cover as 'Special insert: Death talks about AIDS and safer sex,' which would have been quite interesting.
Advantages: Draws old plot threads to a close, greater focus on the other Endless.
Disadvantages: Tedious length, pointless distractions, irritating inconsistencies and some bad jokes.
Neil Gaiman and artists, The Sandman, Volume Eight: Worlds' End
The Clerk, the Ambassador, the Sailor, the Politician and the Mortician
Written on 17.10.07
****
After the long and plot-heavy ‘Brief Lives,’ the Sandman series retreats once again to the recesses of Neil Gaiman’s universe, as a group of travellers stranded by a freak storm share ripping yarns in a cosy inn on the edge of realities. The comic book series’ final foray into stand-alone short stories before readers are hurled headlong into its dramatic conclusion with the final publications, ‘Worlds’ End’ (notice the plural) centres on the concerns and exploits of a disparate cast of characters from various realities and time periods, all of which are either brand new, or marginal in the series’ grander scheme of things.
Despite the vast differences in style and subject matter across these individual tales, the collection is far from random, building upon the ideas in the earlier ‘Fables and Reflections’ that saw stories grouped together through a rough common theme. Here, the connections and sequence are kept firmly in check through the presence of an all-encompassing narrative frame, the story of hapless software designers Brant and Charlene, who stumble across the Worlds’ End inn after an accident caused by a freak snowstorm (in the middle of June) and are forced to wait it out. This continuous narrative takes a back-seat to the stories being told in the first five issues before being dramatically concluded in the finale, in a process that reminded me of anthology horror films such as ‘Dr. Terror’s House of Horror’ and the hilarious ‘The Uncanny,’ only handled more skilfully. Even despite the tenuous framework that essentially allowed Gaiman to fit a handful of random stories into The Sandman, or perhaps because of it, this collection holds together much better than the scattered ‘Fables and Reflections,’ and the comparatively short, self-contained storylines avoid the tedium that made its predecessor ‘Brief Lives’ so disappointing in the end. It’s certainly my favourite Sandman paperback for some time.
Furthering the split of each issue between (mostly) brief introductory and concluding sections set in the pub and the dominant character’s tale, the artwork for each of the six issues is divided between separate groups of pencil and ink artists to better distinguish each respective piece. Almost all of the ‘primary’ plot is pencilled by Bryan Talbot and inked by Mark Buckingham, and as well as providing a much-appreciated consistency across the book, the lighter workload of several pages a month as opposed to the full twenty-five means that readers (or more accurately, observers) are treated to an unprecedented amount of excellent detail, from the wood grain of the surroundings to the nice background details and odd characters whose presence adds several minutes to the reading (observing) experience. The use of different artists is a common trait of the Sandman series, particularly in the short stories, and their nature as oral narratives rather than direct observations grants each artist a greater degree of freedom that they evidently relish, many pencil artists stretching to provide all the defining inks also, allowing for the pleasant experience of viewing something of a pet project (though all are coloured quite conservatively by regular Daniel Vozzo). The respective style that each artist aims for is often tied quite cleverly to the nature of the story, from Alec Stevens’ surreal, angular dream world of the first story to John Watkiss’ more traditional heroic fantasy art in Cluracan’s story of fairy politics. Perhaps the only slightly disappointing element is Todd Klein’s lettering, simply for remaining at a consistently high standard but without indulging in his usual creative excess... and for making about one spelling mistake per issue.
The primary, overarching plot once again uses the naive human perspective to introduce an outlandish concept successfully to the readers, and to its credit this larger story doesn’t attempt to properly explain things until the final issue, by which time readers have been comforted by enough cosy fireside tales that revelations can come nice and slow. Readers are primarily led along by Bryan, being privy to his thoughts and feelings in the extended sections and accompanying him as he catches some sleep and spends a penny in the gents, while Charlene is left to reach decisions on her own. The first issue mainly serves to introduce the situation and guide the characters to their destination in order for the stories to begin, but the final comic is devoted entirely to the circumstances leading to their departure, Bryan being as astounded as the readers as the creepy, all-star funeral procession passes by and only too clearly signals a major event afoot in the next paperback. Charlene, meanwhile, gets a very nice outburst scene in which she derides all of the tales we’ve all sat through as worthless, unrealistic and overly masculine clichés, declaring that ‘the world isn’t like that’ and proceeding to deconstruct phantom phallic symbolism in a well-meaning mockery of postmodern feminist criticism. Both characters succeed in providing a larger meaning to this collection through their actions, dialogue and feelings in this final chapter, making the whole experience enjoyable and satisfying, and even worth sitting through the couple of deathly boring issues in-between.
To briefly overview each of the yarns, all of which feature some further aspect of storytelling within them, ‘A Tale of Two Cities’ is a brief, surreal and nightmarish encounter between a dumfounded human and ‘the dreams of a city’ that raises some very interesting questions, while the appropriately-drab titled ‘Cluracan’s Tale’ spends twenty-odd pages telling a rather dull and unnecessarily complex tale of fantasy politics through the voice of a particularly irritating and loathsome character. ‘Hob’s Leviathan’ is a rip-roaring high seas adventure grounded in a realism that works excellently against the more subtle fantastical elements and sees the return of Dream’s immortal friend Hob Gadling from way back in the series, and ‘The Golden Boy’ delves into the obscure recesses of the DC Comics universe to expand on the tale of Prez: First Teen President in a story set in an alternate 1970s United States. The penultimate ‘Cerements’ is a well-crafted but ultimately quite dismal affair concerning a Necropolis populated entirely by skilled morticians and their apprentices, which throws in some references to the Endless to foreshadow their appearance in the present-day finale ‘Worlds’ End,’ where the reality storm is over and speculation by readers is only just beginning (though it’s pretty obvious who’s in that coffin).
It’s arguable that these stories are a clear demonstration that Neil Gaiman is running out of ideas, diversifying so extensively from the series’ usual style and admitting the touring of clichéd genres even through his own character’s dialogue, perhaps due to a sense of guilt. The entire Sandman universe has always been based on the reinterpretation of existing stories, whether classical, mythological or restricted to the more local world of comics, and Gaiman once again shows his flair for adapting a previously stale tale. The resurrection and subsequent killing-off of Prez was a strange move that harks back to his ret-cons of earlier ‘Sandman’ superheroes in the earlier issues, and while I was quite disappointed to learn of the source for Prez and the creepy Boss Smiley being outside of Gaiman’s own imagination, his biblical take on their conflict makes for one of the stand-out issues of this collection. The (literal) fairy story likely fails because it doesn’t try anything new (Cluracan himself calls it ‘a bald and insipid narrative’), and although ‘Cerements’ is packed with quite fascinating and intelligently morbid concepts, it noticeably lacks an actual entertaining plot, justifying its narrator’s anxiety that he has nothing to talk about. Perhaps the finest demonstration of Gaiman’s ability comes with the evolution of ‘Hob’s Leviathan’ from what must have started simply as a weak pun title (based on Thomas Hobbes’ seminal seventeenth-century publication ‘Leviathan,’ but of course we all knew that) and ending up as one of the better parts, as these historical Sandman stories tend to be.
Despite a couple of very weak links, this collection surpasses the previous few publications in all areas but price, retailing at the same price for a six issue volume as for paperbacks containing up to twice that amount, though fortunately the wide printing of Sandman keepts it readily available and subject to discounts, and Amazon.co.uk are currently selling these collections for a reasonable £7.97 as opposed to the RRP of about £12.99. ‘Worlds’ End’ is admittedly unoriginal in places, and may sadly be at its best when following the style of Alan Moore in stories like ‘The Golden Child’ (which even sneaks in a visual reference to ‘Watchmen’), but its departure from the rather trying saga of the Endless allows for a greater degree of creativity and unusual character focus, ‘A Tale of Two Cities’ standing out in particular for its distinctive illustrated prose style rather than the usual comic layout. The conclusion is a little forced, but tied in very nicely to that very same ‘larger scheme of things’ that the stories sought to avoid, and perhaps the greatest achievement of this collection is the excellent atmosphere it creates. Whether venturing to the glory of the waves or the creepy tombs of Litharge, it’s always comforting to return to the friendly haven of the Worlds’ End, a free house with no ties to any of those domineering realities.
Advantages: A well-conceived break from the Endless plot, with a great team of artists.
Disadvantages: Uneven and uninspired in places.
Neil Gaiman and artists, The Sandman, Volume Nine: The Kindly Ones
Better to Be Fortunate Than Wise?
Written on 24.10.07
***
As its opening and closing pages self-consciously testify with the metaphor of old ladies literally spinning a yarn, the final epic story in Neil Gaiman’s Sandman saga is concerned with tying up or rather severing loose threads, some of which have been dangling for over sixty preceding issues. The whole thing is drenched with an impenetrable desire to satisfy old-timers rather than casual readers, and by talking to the fans almost exclusively, this book adopts the reluctant title of Sandman Paperback Least Recommended For Newcomers.
On the positive side, ‘The Kindly Ones’ is a more interesting and entertaining story than some of the series’ more recent predecessors such as ‘Brief Lives’ and the short stories of books six and eight, and feels much like a melding of those more recent, fantasy-oriented tales and the original darker tone the comic started out with, aided through an enormous amount of back-referencing to all the significant plots and characters since the series began. And with its excessive length of thirteen issues, this mammoth story eventually starts referring nostalgically back to itself.
There have been five long Sandman stories prior to this, ranging from six to ten parts in length, and a number of short, hit-and-miss one-shots in-between, but primarily this is a direct continuation of ‘The Doll’s House’ and ‘Season of Mists,’ with a smattering of characters, locations and plot points from the rest. This being Gaiman, there’s also his customary integration of classical mythology and bland attempts to tackle contemporary issues such as AIDS and dementia. The ban on using the F-word also appears to have been lifted for reasons of realism, but he thankfully doesn’t go overboard. The main problem with this story comes in its length, which was foreseeable after the similarly overlong ‘Brief Lives,’ as there’s no denying that this lasts for far too long. There is a consistent plot, unlike the meandering serials of some other franchises that end up completely unrecognisable by Part XIV (I always think of an animated Spiderman story I earnestly watched unfold over an entire summer when I was about ten, which seemed to go through about five entirely different plots), but in the end there’s little to justify this excess. There’s no real ‘time-out’ issue as was the case in the first few books, though the focus does shift from mad mother Lyta Hall to ageless globetrotter Rose Walker rather uncomfortably about half-way through, while the far more interesting events transpiring in the otherworldly realm of The Dreaming will really test readers’ patience.
The most basic plot of ‘The Kindly Ones,’ to leave out non-essential cameos from Lucifer, Hob Gadling and those increasingly boring Faery folk among others, concerns the disappearance of toddler Daniel Hall while his mother Lyta took a rare trip out of the flat. The babysitter, Rose Walker, inexplicably fell asleep during the abduction, and an investigation by a pair of dodgy-looking detectives eventually brings up a photograph of a child’s burnt corpse, apparently verified as Daniel’s, that sends Lyta over the edge into a fantasy world. But being in the universe of The Sandman, this fantasy world is just as legitimate as Lyta’s previous domain, and she soon finds herself conscripted by the Kindly Ones to deliver justice to Dream, ruler of the Dreaming, for spilling family blood the previous year. But Lyta prefers to think of it as revenge, as she is convinced it was Dream who murdered her son.
A number of characters are satisfyingly fleshed out here, and while it’s nice to catch up with Rose, Lyta and other mortals a couple of years down the line of their ordinary lives, it’s also refreshing to see Dream’s brethren the Endless confined to the background after being run into the ground with some previous stories, though new favourite Delirium still steals a little too much of the limelight for no apparent reason other than Todd Klein enjoys scrawling her digressive, brightly-coloured dialogue. Dream himself has a prominent presence here that increases towards the end as the Kindly Ones start to wreak havoc in his realm, and while the end of the story isn’t wholly predictable, his scenes do seem at times like a tedious countdown to an inevitable conclusion that has already been teased in the previous book. To Gaiman’s credit, Dream remains completely true to character throughout, essentially failing to cope well with pressure and allowing his arrogance and selfishness to impede his decisions, and it’s quite telling how stubbornly static he remains even as Rose is shown to have evolved out of her earlier, angsty phase documented by her diaries that she now dismisses as childish. As with ‘The Doll’s House’ and ‘A Game of You,’ the story is significantly female-dominated, from the recurring theme of the three Furies to the focal characters and other important figures, but this represents another slight drawback of the book in that Gaiman’s leading ladies, as becomes evident after reading nine books of The Sandman, are all pretty much exactly the same. It’s only really Lyta’s descent into madness that helps differentiate between the two once Rose is introduced as replacement.
The blending of fantasy and reality has always been one of my favourite aspects of Gaiman’s style, both in earlier Sandman and other works such as ‘Neverwhere,’ and Lyta’s delirious strolls around dirty L.A. streets extrapolated in her mind as a twisted fantasy realm make for one of the highlights of the story, aided by some nice artistic touches from Marc Hempel. Unfortunately, I found the rest of his art fairly unsatisfying; an angular, abstract and ultimately ‘Cartoon Network’ style of drawing that clashes with the realist style of the series’ more fondly remember pencillers, so his dominance of eleven of the thirteen issues detracted from my enjoyment significantly, rendering the Sandman world less tangible and attractive than it has been previously, and proving the deciding factor in my previously ambivalent star rating for this book (with someone like Mike Dringenberg or Kelley Jones it would have just scraped four). There are some nice Easter Eggs hidden in the art to look out for, particularly in the repeated motif of strings/cords/wires/cables in the first picture of each issue, and dominance of threes (and multiples of three) which extends to the layout of the comic panels, but this was presumably more to do with the author so I’m still allowed to slag Hempel off. By contrast, cover artist extraordinaire Dave McKean produces the most stunning cover art in the comic’s history, all of which are reproduced in this book as well as his paperback ‘Dustcovers: The Collected Sandman Covers’ if you’re a die-hard fan of his style.
Other Easter Eggs and references abound in this story outside of the significance of threes, which lends it well to re-reading several years down the line once the reader feels prepared to brave this overlong journey once more. The whole structure is styled on a Greek tragedy, helpfully including many of its mythological elements also, and there’s a great deal more symbolism to look out for than has been the case for some time, as if Gaiman wanted his epic to go out on a high note. References to literature and authors both real and fictitious abound, and this is balanced out with an overflow of pop culture name-dropping. As unappealing as this blending of high and low art may be to more academic individuals, it’s always formed a large part of the series, and the whole idea of critiquing something like a comic book seriously is nicely parodied with Rose’s extensive search for the maiden-mother-crone archetype in sitcoms such as ‘The Golden Girls’ and ‘Roseanne.’ Lucifer’s corruption through terrestrial expressions (“been there, done that, wore the T-shirt, ate the burger, bought the original cast album, choreographed the legions of the damned and orchestrated the screaming”) also makes for a nice scene between himself and the Angel Remiel, though ultimately their contributions to this story afford little more than insubstantial and inconclusive side-tracking. There’s a lot about this story that made me think, “yeah, what was all that about?” a few days later.
This brings up another odd aspect of this seemingly definitive story, which strives to tie up all of the previous issues together into one neat package ready for syndication, as many plot threads are left completely unresolved while others are left more deliberately vague for the reader to figure out themselves. The raven Matthew provides relief on this point, to some extent, as he continues to play the role of down-to-earth human everyman (despite being a talking raven reincarnated from a cockney) whose brief tenure in the Dreaming leaves him as perplexed as the reader on most issues. His questioning of Dream’s ceaseless devotion to “the rules” and tradition exposes the flimsiness of some of the larger plot developments, but this knowing internal commentary can’t excuse the writing of all its faults. Although Matthew’s unlikely pairing with the re-created Corinthian makes for a very enjoyable double-act in the later parts, the whole issue of why the latter character, last seen as an eye-chomping serial killer, was resurrected at all, and the repeated notion that every being that dwells in the Dreaming is itself only a dream and able to be re-birthed quite easily, takes away much of the empathy as key figures are massacred towards the end. The Sandman ran out of steam and novelty a long time before this collection, and although it manages to recapture some of its original energy it’s still not as satisfying as it could or should be here.
‘The Kindly Ones’ is available at the same price as the other, thinner books which is good news for quantity-over-quality fans, though these people wouldn’t tend to buy graphic novels at any rate. Anyone who hasn’t read all sixty-six previous issues and assorted specials should steer clear of this one unless they want to feel really left out, as even some enjoyable double-acts and some charmingly racist old dearies can’t keep this from being a predominantly alienating affair, though one that I found quite a compelling ride. There’s a ‘previously on...’ style section half-way through to fill in those who joined this particular story half-way through, but that’s not much use for those starting from scratch; I just feel sorry for those who bought each issue on its original monthly release and had to wait over a year for this mostly unspectacular and badly illustrated saga to play out. Still, it’s better than ‘Brief Lives.’
Advantages: Neil Gaiman hurls readers headlong into a conclusive epic.
Disadvantages: If you haven't been keeping up, you won't understand. Even if you have, you'll probably be confused.
Neil Gaiman and artists, The Sandman, Volume Ten: The Wake
Waking Dream
Written on 30.10.07
***
It's practically unheard of for a popular, long-running comic series on a major label to be permitted to end when its original creators decide to call it a day, so it's with only a few extraneous issues that Neil Gaiman's saga of The Sandman came to a satisfactory close eight years after its first issue hit the shelves. This final paperback collects the three issues comprising 'The Wake' epilogue and three supplementary, independent stories tying up some of the more obscure loose ends before the series is finally put to rest... you know, aside from the other couple of Sandman books Gaiman has written since, and the numerous spin-off comics continuing the stories of the characters in varying degrees of readability.
The previous book 'The Kindly Ones' was a long and winding road to the Sandman's inevitable death, and 'The Wake' deals with its consequences while also providing a sentimental farewell for the comic series itself. Fortunately, this amounts to more than just a bittersweet parade of favourite characters saying their goodbyes (though it is partly that), with Gaiman and returning artist Michael Zulli working to create something original and distinctive to act as a parting gift for long-time fans. With only three twenty-five-page parts to concentrate on, this story is far more focused and tightly structured than some of its rambling precursors, and visually stands out for its tall, minimal panels and very attractive, painterly style achieved by forsaking the bold inks typically applied to comics, and present in every previous issue. Zulli's art is pretty incredible and vastly different to anything the series has attempted before on such a large scale, working perfectly for the sombre, mournful atmosphere of the first and third issues and surprisingly fitting equally to the merriment of the second. Long-time colour artist Daniel Vozzo also treats each panel with delicate, realistic paints in stark contrast to the often garish work he has previously churned out, making the whole thing seem more like an illustrated book than what would typically be expected of a comic as The Sandman continues to stretch the format in new and intriguing ways.
So it looks fantastic, but can a story about the funeral of a fairly irritating goth with supreme albeit confusing powers really maintain interest for three consecutive issues? Particularly when he has already been reincarnated in a way as the 'new' Dream? As I noted earlier, the Wake is equally about the end of the Sandman series itself, and the background of Dream's wake and subsequent funeral acts as essentially that; a convenient backdrop against which characters can be brought back and explored in various emotional states, and Gaiman can finally try to tackle some of the larger questions of the series concerning the extent of Dream's powers, leading to an influx of, apparently, every living, sleeping being from Earth and elsewhere being gathered for an unforgettable night that they will nevertheless fail to recall in the morning. The plot running concurrently to this gathering is the quieter domestic story of the new Dream's introduction, particularly in the exploration of his significant differences from his predecessor, which provides a nice final and significant role for Matthew, the raven familiar who has trouble accepting his master's death and who still acts as the questioning voice of reason on behalf of more confused readers. There are some quite touching scenes as Dream re-builds some of the Dreaming's deceased, though some such as Gilbert would prefer to stay dead, bringing to mind the old Biblical argument about Lazarus who would surely have to go through the agony of croaking again a few years later.
It's not all neat and pleasant however, as the story suffers from a few predictable problems associated with the funeral theme. Some goodbyes are overlong and overly sentimental, particularly those of Dream's notable lovers who spend two pages each explaining their feelings in far more detail than is strictly necessary, and somewhat gratuitous cameos from Wesley Dodds and Mad Hettie from way back at the beginning, whose presence here feels like Gaiman apologising for letting them slip through all the subsequent plots as the series plodded on. Other faces crop up for brief moments that will mean nothing at all to newcomers, but on the plus side there's an unexpected brief and brilliant cameo from Batman. Most annoying of all is the continuation of plot strands left over from 'The Kindly Ones' such as that of Rose's pregnancy and Cluracan's nemesis, which only feel like they're encroaching unfairly on this story, and as the whole thing draws to a close the dialogue does tend to become a bit too fluffy. This is no major cause for concern though, as the ethereal psychedelic scene of Dream's Viking-style funeral (extended from the original comic) can simply be enjoyed for the fine art it offers, ignoring the one or two captions of twee.
'The Wake' manages, perhaps against expectation, to be a fitting and satisfying finale for the Sandman series which is a wholly commendable feat, but unfortunately, unwisely and confusingly, the story doesn't end here. For reasons known only to Neil Gaiman (and perhaps an insistent publisher who demanded he churn out a little more before he was allowed to walk away, which is probably sadly accurate), the series continues for three comparatively unremarkable issues that end up saying pretty much nothing at all. 'Sunday Mourning' catches up unnecessarily with the immortal Hob Gadling as he accompanies his latest lover to a Renaissance fair and spends his time complaining about its historical inaccuracy that only he would know about. 'Exiles' is another attempt to mimic the folk tales and artistic style of another culture as has been done several times earlier in the series, and this tale of a travelling old man and his cat is the least riveting of the lot, even harking back specifically to an earlier story 'Soft Places' that has the distinction of being the Sandman issue I probably loathed the most. Finally, and most disappointingly of all due to its placing at the end and its companionship with a much earlier classic, 'The Tempest' returns to William Shakespeare living his twilight years in Stratford and writing his second and final play for the Dream King who inspired his creative ability. It's a longer issue at nearly forty pages, but even the return of Charles Vess who illustrated the award-winning 'A Midsummer Night's Dream' can't afford this dull and bland story the same credit as its predecessor.
The deteriorating quality of the Sandman series in general didn't allow me to raise my expectations too high for this final outing, and as such I was both pleasantly surprised and extremely disappointed in equal measure; this can be credited respectively to the first and second halves of the book. While 'The Wake' is very good, and just about the perfect epilogue, Neil Gaiman flogs the dead Dream Lord for a few more mediocre offerings and then it all just sort of ends. 'The Tempest' does attempt to make some relevant points on the nature of creativity, writing and the power of imagination, but applies them unremarkably to the series as a whole, and the return to the past feels more like a chance for a final farewell with the original Dream, who had become progressively more tedious to the point that the hints of his impending demise back in 'Worlds' End' made me excited and eager to see it unfold - a mistake, as I was again disappointed. There's no doubting that The Sandman began strongly, found its feet early and dazzled comic readers for a good few years before sliding down an increasingly tiresome slope in its final years, but to its credit 'The Wake' doesn't attempt to recapture that original spark (as 'The Kindly Ones' tried and failed), but offers a brand new and successful style in its place. Gaiman was right to call it quits before he lost the plot completely, and before the series was taken over by inferior imitators, but I still can't help feeling let down by the way 'The Wake' ended up turning out.
There have been subsequent Sandman publications outside of its original seventy-five issue monthly comic, and numerous spin-offs that are most likely continuing today, but for now I'm happy to let Neil Gaiman's intriguing, endless universe rest for a while. I would recommend earlier instalments of the series wholeheartedly to comic, fantasy or science fiction fans who tend to be turned away by the concept of comics, and each paperback collection manages to be vastly different to the rest. The Sandman concept was well conceived and despite the set-backs the series has suffered, I'm sure there's still a lot more to explore of the Dreaming and its new ruler. But for now, it's time to wake (oh, the title's a pun as well. I get it now).
Advantages: First half is a surprisingly good ending, achieving the impossible task of satisfying the fans.
Disadvantages: Second half of unrelated stories is a disappointing waste of time.
Neil Gaiman and artists, The Sandman: Endless Nights
Written on 23.12.07
****
Neil Gaiman's Sandman series for DC Comics was one of the most celebrated and acclaimed during its seventy-five issue run from 1989 to 1996, and its enduring popularity with both comic aficionados and the sort of people who would otherwise frown upon the comics medium could easily have seen the series continue ad nauseam to this day, as the popularity of its various licensed spin-offs demonstrates. Thankfully, Gaiman placed his artistic principles above a steady income, and was evidently successful in persuading his employers to set him free as soon as his series had reached its natural end point. Well, perhaps a year or so thereafter. In any case, the prolific writer's other projects and film royalties ensure that he remains sufficiently loaded to spend in whichever manner a slightly eccentric fantasy writer chooses, and he is at liberty to choose when to don an old hat.
Published exclusively as a graphic novel in 2003, rather than the usual limited series of comics later collected into a paperback, 'Endless Nights' is technically Gaiman's second Sandman project since the conclusion of the series; the first was the radical departure 'The Dream Hunters,' an illustrated novel in the Oriental folk tale tradition that bears no direct relation to the series outside of a few tangential, obscure parallels. Disregarding the various Sandman spin-offs written by different authors, most notably 'The Dreaming,' is easily accomplished, making this attractive collection of seven stories the first direct continuation of Gaiman's story by his own hand in seven years, and a reasonably successful one at that.
In the tradition of earlier short story cycles within the Sandman series itself (as collected in the paperbacks 'Dream Country,' 'Fables & Reflections' and 'Worlds' End'), there is no necessary link between these incredibly diverse tales, each of which focuses specifically (and in most cases, very abstractly) on one of the seven Endless: the seven personifications/incarnations/something-or-other of Death, Desire, Dream, Despair, Delirium, Destruction and Destiny. The Endless are not gods, the likes of which are far more commonplace in Gaiman's metafictional universe, as gods will expire or retire when they cease to be worshipped by living beings. The Endless will exist for as long as there is life to cater for in each of their respective realms as the caretakers of the cosmos... or something like that. Look, I'm really trying here.
This book faces the natural obstacle of a fan base that was promised and sold a conclusive ending many years previously, and considering the tedious and lengthy plots of the later Sandman issues it's understandable that some will be unwilling to go for a lap of honour, but Gaiman has really done himself a favour by so clearly demonstrating the boundless universe of his creation across seventy-five issues. Coupled with the Endless' timeless nature, this really means that anything goes in these new stories, unrestrained by any bonds to time, space or characters outside of the seven at its foundation. This results, as may have been expected, in a couple of stories being set explicitly after the events of the series, a couple being set in the distant past, and others free of any direct relation, and although this leads to a slightly disappointing lack of continuity across the whole thing, it works far better than a direct mini-series continuation would have, especially as the more dynamic plots here seem to indicate that Gaiman has really run out of ideas as far as continuing the series in a linear fashion.
As a loving return to the classic style, Gaiman naturally hired talented artists to work on each of his separate stories, and free from the rushed deadlines and stylistic restrictions of a monthly comic, the art really gets a chance to stand out and satisfy the author's increasingly expansive horizons. P. Craig Russell is the only Sandman veteran of the bunch, having provided all the art for the oddball fiftieth issue story 'Ramadan,' and along with Preacher's Glenn Fabry, produces the most recognisably "comic book art" of the volume, opting for its customary bold outlines and prominent, natural colours, as opposed to the more extravagant excesses elsewhere. Under direction of Gaiman's script, Russell creates a very effective parallel between the drab "real world" and colourful fantasy realm of the opening story 'Death and Venice' that highlights its main theme of that divide, and this is the first of several stories to employ an effective mystery angle that resolves the confusing events by the end and lends it well to re-reading in the future.
I was particularly pleased that this opening piece offers equal entertainment to Sandman veterans as well as newcomers who may only have approached the book out of curiosity due to its status as a New York Times bestseller (a comic? I ask you, how ridiculously illiterate! I'll stick to Dan Brown, thank you very much). It reveals everything that the reader needs to know to enjoy this independent tale, and it has one of the best opening scenes ever as a wealthy king indulges in his ideal death of being crushed by an elephant while being brought to orgasm by a pair of young virgins. "If I were a rich man," etc. I'm a lot less fond of the second story, 'What I've Tasted of Desire,' which is lavishly illustrated in a romantic fantasy style by Milo Manara, but falls into the author's 'Stardust'-like fairy tale style that I've never really enjoyed. It's a female-centric dark romance set sometime in the age of tribes, rape and pillage, and though it struggles to communicate the meaning of Desire, this has been done more successfully and in a more satisfyingly Sandman style in the series' past.
The Sandman/Dream King's own story is the major selling point for fans as it takes place in the incredibly distant past, before our own solar system supported any life, and when the Endless' family tensions were only just beginning. Painted in a fittingly dreamy style by Miguelanxo Prado with soft outlines enhancing the ethereal atmosphere, the story is another romance of a sort, as the tale of Dream's first of many ill-fated relationships with a mortal being, but it carries off such an intriguing sense of antiquity and mysticism that it's easily the highlight of the collection for me. Further mysteries of the universe are revealed and added to the bursting Sandman mythology in a manner true to the early series, and despite the Onanistic excitement the author is clearly experiencing in finally unveiling some long-hinted-at secrets and characters, he remains sober enough to allow the universe to retain some sense of mystery.
After this point, the collection takes some liberties and goes all arty on us, which makes for some interesting chapters that wouldn't have worked as well (or even been permitted) in a monthly series, but that are great as a deviation. Despair has always been one of the most psychologically interesting of the Endless, and rather than offer up another story about a depressed human turning his life around, Gaiman and cover artist Dave McKean conceived the idea of 'Fifteen Portraits of Despair,' presenting a sequence of single or double-page spreads detailing the sorry situations of selected individuals, as well as more abstract takes on the idea of Despair herself. It's primarily a vehicle for Barron Stoney's abstract art, which bears similarities to McKean's and makes me a little sad that the cover artist didn't handle this himself.
Delirium's tale is similarly artistic, Bill Sienkiewicz really capturing the idea of the character in her most disoriented state yet through a clashing mixture of soft watercolours and stark angles and of course the ever-present fish and butterflies of Delirium's realm, but aside from Gaiman's thoughtful 'portraits' of characters' individual delusions, ranging from upsetting to amusing, the linear plot that arises turns out to be very disappointing and basic. This is the first story to show some of the consequences of the original Sandman climax, with the new incarnation of Dream making a bit of a gratuitously pointless cameo appearance, and is sure to be the most alienating to new readers with its frequent references to characters and events that even the long-time reader may have trouble recalling.
Destruction's tale 'On the Peninsula,' like the opening story, is a comparatively straightforward one with some interesting science fiction themes that doesn't try to be too clever, and the book is rounded off with a worthless wander around Destiny's garden once again that essentially repeats the points we've been told about the enigmatic oldest sibling of the Endless in all of his appearances ever, that abruptly finishes up without bothering to provide an actual story. Gaiman singles out artist Frank Quitely for particular praise here in this mini illustrated tale of very few words, but it really is a very disappointing conclusion and a wasted opportunity to explore a very significant theme (or at least, one of seven).
'Endless Nights' is a nice enough appendix to the Sandman franchise that is content to be just that, without tying up any real loose ends from its predecessor or trying to inaugurate a new era. In this manner, it's about as enjoyable as the Sandman series' later short story cycles (paperback collections six and eight) and succeeds in recapturing that same atmosphere, but as a conclusive or definitive statement on the seven Endless it falls short of the mark. With the exception of 'Fifteen Portraits of Despair,' which is commendably painful to read, none of these tales succeed in summing up Death, Desire, Dream, Delirium, Destruction or Destiny in any meaningful way, or at least pale in comparison to earlier, more successful attempts towards the beginning of the Sandman series when these ideas were fresh and exciting. Gaiman even tries to really, really nail down precisely, definitively the exact nature of the Endless in 'The Heart of a Star,' but it still doesn't make a whole lot of sense no matter how it's worded. That isn't inherently a problem of course, as the mystery is what makes some of these stories so appealing, but it's clear that the idea of writing seven stories based on these seven characters was more of a helpful foundation than a true design plan.
The art is excellent without exception, which is more than can be said for the script, but a few years away and a new audience of sorts leads to some departures from the regular series, most notably in the sex and breast count which is significantly increased even when not entirely necessary, to prove to prospective buyers just how non-childish this really is. Gaiman also gets to write a particularly long and nostalgic introduction and thank you section that's about as insightful as is required, and Dave McKean provides the linking artwork between chapters based on his cover design. While this isn't the essential and mind-blowing Sandman continuation some fans will have been hoping for, it could have been a lot worse: they could have made a film.
Fantasy in a Frock Coat
Written on 03.11.07
****
A rather obscure early horror novel from the French romantic period, Theophile Gautier’s ‘The Jinx’ has been resurrected as part of Hesperus Press’ 100-page series, an endeavour aimed at promoting lost, forgotten, unknown or otherwise ignored ‘classics’ of international literature through new translations and nicely coloured covers. This short novel has always been one of Gautier’s lesser known works, compared to his (slightly) more famous ballets and poetry, but unlike the majority of Hesperus’ obscure classics (surely a contradiction in terms?), it’s actually a really good read and surprisingly modern in its approach and outlook.
Still, the novel remains firmly rooted in its time, and the nineteenth-century literary tradition specifically, by focusing on a small cast of obscenely wealthy characters, whose privileged lives involve little more than travelling, lounging around in holiday mansions for the majority of the year, and seeking each others’ hands in marriage. The story follows the life of Paul d’Aspremont on a visit to Naples, accepting the invitation of his beloved Alicia Ward, an English girl in her late teens who lives with her devoted uncle. Paul’s love is much requited, to the extent that the intruding affections of a local Count with the hots for Alicia don’t appear to pose any kind of threat, until he unveils the apparent and shocking evidence that Paul has the signs of a “jettatore,” bringing the curse of the evil eye on those closest to him. Although Paul is a rational and enlightened nineteenth-century guy who considers himself above such primitive superstitions, it becomes increasingly difficult for him to ignore the evidence, and although his beloved Alicia will never concede that her rapidly deteriorating health is due to his presence, even demanding that he fix his gaze on her to prove his love, Paul begins to contemplate their options.
I never studied the Romantics in any detail, certainly not the French ones, but I gained enough awareness of the period to recognise some of its most significant themes being touched on by Gautier. The characters’ devotion to scientific rationality (albeit, filtered through firm Christian belief) is placed in direct opposition to this superstitious idea from a bygone age – allegedly still practiced by many savage cultures, if we’re to believe the author’s slightly dodgy world view – and the resulting conflict of truth is handled in a very satisfying and yet still slightly cryptic way; even by the end of the novel, there’s no tangible ‘proof’ that the curse existed, only a long line of unfortunate incidents from Paul’s life that are either down to coincidence... or something more sinister.
This interesting analysis would certainly be the novel’s most famous aspect if it had achieved any degree of fame whatsoever (alas, not so much as a bullet point on Gautier’s Wikipedia page, and the first link to be found on Google is for this very review), and its outmoded emphasis on a specifically Protestant form of rationality dates it in an even more interesting way than the author perhaps intended, allowing his characters’ intelligent discussion over the wisdom of the Ancient Greeks, in spite of their primitive beliefs, to develop a new layer of sediment over time (I’m not meaning to offend any Christians or anything. Well, not much). ‘The Jinx’ is surprisingly ahead of its time in some other areas too, notably including Alicia’s enlightening deconstruction of her own disturbing dream imagery, and while it’s something of a stretch to class it as horror (though Edinburgh Central Library doesn’t think so, happily slapping a skull sticker onto its thin spine), the final chapter is quite ghastly and disconcerting.
Despite the term ‘novelist’ coming several steps down on Gautier’s CV, this book proves that he has a talent for extended writing beyond mere pretty description (which overflows in remarkable painterly detail each time a new character or setting is introduced), and some of the more self-consciously literary scenes (i.e. those drenched in natural and emotional symbolism) even seem quite modern, particularly in Paul’s vivid imaginings of the final day of Pompeii as he wanders the city’s ruins before his duel with the Count. At the same time, the novel’s age and agenda all impede its effect slightly, with several dozen too many allusions and references to works of mythology, art and literature used to clarify the author’s points to his contemporary French audience in varying degrees of pointlessness – I ask you, is it really necessary to dredge up an account of Ulysses’ son Telemachus being thrown into the sea by Minerva in the shape of the wise Mentor in Fénelon’s ‘Télémaque’ just because an insignificant background character has fallen out of a boat?
Of course, another significant barrier to this novel’s reception by an English audience is the fact that the whole thing has been translated from the original French, though the process has clearly been a thorough and careful one by Andrew Brown, Gautier fan and expert (someone has to be, I suppose). Brown provides a lengthy, insightful and incredibly dull introduction applying Gautier’s use of ‘the gaze’ to more recent literary studies of the phenomena, following a more generalised and enjoyable foreword by Gilbert Adair. Being someone who enjoys flouting his self-proclaimed abstinence from mainstream culture and opinion, I can relate to Brown’s obvious enthusiasm for the subject matter – even if it is ever so slightly misguided as the strongest enthusiasms tend to be. Brown’s devotion to conveying the author’s words exactly as intended mean that this is a slightly trying read, with some word choices and multi-comma’d sentences being even longer and more convoluted than mine in this review, if you can conceive of such a thing.
Nevertheless, the reader becomes accustomed to this rather quickly, taking it in their stride as the eccentricity of an old book processed through a modern-day translation, but there were still many instances when I felt Brown was pushing the authenticity a little too far, rather than simply editing things together in a slightly tidier way (an example that particularly struck me from one of the first pages describes “that long line of hills which, from Posillipo to Vesuvius, delineates the marvellous gulf at the head of which Naples reposes like a sea nymph drying herself on the shore after her swim, was starting to show more clearly its violet undulations, and stood out more firmly from the dazzling blue of the sky; already a few white spots, piercing the dark landscape of the fields, betrayed the presence of villas scattered through the countryside.” See what I mean?)
These niggles aside, Gautier’s novel would still provide a satisfying and fairly brief read for anyone partial to nineteenth-century fiction, especially that which features dark or mystical overtones. While I thoroughly enjoyed the author’s detailed word-portraits of each character and setting as a nice deviation from the rushed brevity of modern literature, some people will likely find it tedious and perhaps even indicative that he never should have given up his profession as a painter in the first place (a meeting with Victor Hugo was the source of that decision). Additionally, being well over a hundred years old and from a slightly different culture, there are more than a few unintentionally comical moments in which the author voices his opinions on English and Italian customs and habits for the benefit of his French readers, most being well-intended but others of which are downright cheeky.
Despite the plot’s central female acting as the typical young, beautiful virgin at the centre of a male triangle of ownership and conflict, Alicia comes off rather well, presented as incredibly intelligent and thoughtful despite a tragic devotion to her love, a blight that similarly afflicts her male suitors. And it’s comforting to know that there have always been girls out there who are attracted to men for largely based on their “eccentricity.”
Advantages: An intriguing, long-forgotten tragedy of superstitions in an age of reason.
Disadvantages: Plot is straightforward and predictable for the most part, and descriptions a little indulgent.
Budget Biomechanics
Written on 01.09.04
****
The influential Swiss artist H.R. Giger may never escape the Alien albatross hanging from his neck, but even he is able to admit that it was his revolutionary designs for Ridley Scott’s 1979 film that made him something of a household name. Many people who previously had no interest in art suddenly became fascinated by the organic and mysterious surrealism of Giger’s achievements and publications: Taschen’s ‘ARh+’ is an authorised celebration and exploration of Giger’s designs in all forms, interspersed with memories of the artist’s childhood, growth and inspirations.
THE ART
The main selling point of this book is the artwork throughout, all of Giger’s famous pieces and a number of less recognised works of art from his Necronomicon and other works. It’s interesting to see his techniques evolve and improve, from etchings and three-dimensional designs to the sexual imagery that dominates the book. Phallic and vaginal shapes in the most bizarre locations, and in varying degrees of conspicuousness, are combined with scenes of happiness, agony and suffering as well as mechanical imagery. Fans of Giger’s Alien designs will be glad to see this dark biomechanical style extending into much of his best work, although some attempts at diversity work remarkably well.
This book also includes a number of styles from Giger’s early career with which he did not continue: the politically-minded cartoons he produced for a Swiss magazine over atomic danger and some of his models for less timeless films and movies that never made it (the proposed original version of ‘Dune’ for example). Anyone whose experience of Giger is limited would do best to check out his work before purchasing a book like this, as some of these images are not for the faint-hearted. Then again, neither was Alien.
THE BOOK
This product has been designed specifically for those interested in Giger’s influences and a selection of his works, for the casual fan on a budget. The only complaint I have is that it is all quite obviously translated from the original German, making for some strange grammatical choices on occasion, but once Giger’s childhood memories have been read once, it’s primarily the pictures that will get this pulled from the shelf. Some of the passages are very interesting reading though, and all are kept relevant to the pieces of artwork being featured.
Notes on the title, origin, materials and date of each picture are given, either alongside or overleaf if the painting fills a side, which is very helpful to those Giger fans whose desktop background is in need of a change. There are also some helpful index and chronology sections at the end of the book, focussing on Giger’s other achievements.
I DON’T KNOW MUCH ABOUT ART, BUT I KNOW WHAT I LIKE
It’s true, I know very little about art. I call Giger ‘surrealist’ because his work is unusual, clearly my interpretation of what surrealism entails, and more so because I think I heard him described that way once. But I still enjoy his paintings and designs, and these have led me to several other artists such as Beksinski who I predictably enjoy far more than more accessible artists whose books aren’t out-of-print. Art, music, television… I’m sure I have some kind of obscurity-obsessive complex. Good, I can pretend it makes me more artificially interesting.
VERDICT
This obviously isn’t a collection of all of Giger’s work, but an excellent overview of his changing styles. From his wallpaper-on-acid landscapes to terrifyingly vast structures, this is the perfect introduction to Giger with perfect A4 reproductions of his most fascinating paintings and some nice touches that you won’t get in the Necronomicon. A cheap investment that’s flexible in every sense of the word, this was a worthwhile investment of £4.97 worth of Amazon vouchers.
Hardcore Giger or art fans might wish to avoid this book in favour of the artist’s own legacies however. In the same way that a dedicated fan of pornography would wish to invest in videos or adult channels rather than watch documentaries of sex shops on Channel Five, those with a taste for Giger’s stranger eroticism will be more satisfied by one of his big hardbacks.
Advantages: Cheap Giger thrills, Lesser known early work and later classics, Full colour reproductions
Disadvantages: Only a brief overview, Dodgy translation at times, Not to everyone's taste
Dave Gorman and Danny Wallace, Are You Dave Gorman?
Man's Crisis of Identity in the Early 21st Century
Written on 23.11.03
*****
"Are You Dave Gorman?" will already be a familiar tale to those who saw "The Dave Gorman Collection" or indeed the stand up comedian's live show. Not widely appealing, but a real treat for fans of alternative statistical-docu-comedy shows in general, such as the Dave Gorman Collection and... Dave Gorman's other shows. This novel, co-written by both the concerned parties, flatmates Dave Gorman and Danny Wallace, still manages to be very interesting and entertaining even if you've seen the series several times already.
"Are You Dave Gorman?" is the hilariously true story of a drunken bet that becomes an obsessive quest across the world. On Danny's birthday, he bets Dave that there aren't "loads" of Dave Gormans in the world, and the next morning they are on a train to Scotland to meet their first DG- a very necessary and much-used shortening of the famous name. While shuffling cards on the train back to London, Danny bets Dave that he can't find 54 Dave Gormans, that's one for every card in the pack including the jokers, little knowing what effect this will have on the next six months of his life.
The fact that this is a completely true story of obsession is what makes it so compelling, as well as the humorous way it is written. Dave and Danny take turns in narrating the adventure, using a bold typeface for the extravangant Dave and a more plain and straightforward font for the often curmudgeonly, tokenly-sensible Danny. This mixed narrative makes it all very funny, as although their views are slightly exaggerated (I hope), they manage to keep the balance of "we're doing something great" and "what the hell are we doing?" perfectly. There is never any feeling of bias either when you read, as both characters- I hesitate to use that word- talk about the effects on their own lives so much that you can relate to them completely. Um, except Dave a bit.
The duo end up travelling around Britain thanks to tip-offs, a complete collection of local phone book 'G' pages and guesswork before venturing to France and romantic Venice. The effects on Dave's bank account are described in depth, especially when Dave admits that it's alright becuase he was using his credit card all the time "and you don't really have to pay anything if you do that, do you?" The serious toll on Danny's relationship with his girlfriend Hanne is also explored as she cannot understand the "guy thing" of having to go through with a bet. These are the reasons that the book is more enjoyable than the TV show, which was more concerned with images and statistics. The book is much more about people: 57 of them to be exact, and it is certainly not a cheap cash-in of the TV series as this is hardly mentioned at all.
Although classed as a Travel book, something which amuses me no end, this is very much for the comedy fan. There are no cheap gags, but there are plenty of plot twists, especially due to Dave's policy that any news of a Dave Gorman must be followed upon... even if it's in America or Israel. The intervention of the press in Norway and some of Danny's deceitful actions towards the end keep it interesting. Which is surprising really as it's just about going to meet pretty ordinary people and taking a photo of them and a beaming Dave! Oh, the version of the book which I have also includes some photos in the middle including every DG snapshot- in case you needed proof- and some shots of the guys in different parts of the world and in various stages of drunkenness.
If anything, this book serves as an inspiration and a warning. It's made me aware of how expensive an obsession can be, but also how much meaning can be given to someone's life for a while if there is an achievable goal to be sought. Once it is all over, Dave and Danny both desire some point to their lives following the "pointless" quest! It allowed them to meet a great many new friends, none of whom they would have met if not for their link with Dave Gorman: yes, his name.
If you think you may enjoy this, you probably will, and vice-versa if you think it sounds boring. I enjoyed reading every page however, and found myself among very good company.
Dave Gorman, Dave Gorman's Googlewhack Adventure
21st Century Dice Man
Written on 05.06.04
****
Define:GOOGLEWHACK [Not bad Google skills for 2004]
Assuming Dave Gorman's tale of obsession, adventure and camaraderie is unfamiliar with you the reader, a clear understanding of the book's title is vital. I shall take it as read that the term 'Adventure' is understood, and the opening words 'Dave Gorman's' clearly references the author and focus of the book, using the possessive apostrophe for its true function for once, so the only obstacle would appear to be 'Googlewhack.'
Googlewhack is not listed in a dictionary, and is certainly not recognised by Microsoft Word's tedious spell-checker. The website www.googlewhack.com can explain it much clearer than I, although essentially it is a reference to the popular and excellent search engine Google. If a Google user types in a pair of words and they only return a single, legitimate result - according to the Googlewhacking rules - then that website is a 'googlewhack.'
But how could a trivial method of making the office hours pass slightly more enjoyably possibly form the basis for a best-selling book and an internationally acclaimed stand up show? A very good question.
BACKGROUND: FAILING TO LEARN THE LESSON
Dave Gorman became something of a household name with his alternative, stat-reality-lecture-comedy show in 2001 in which he invited viewers to follow his meticulously detailed pursuit of fifty-four people who shared his name. Admittedly he was only a household name to those who appreciated his quirky, obsessive style and who spent their late Sunday nights watching BBC 2, but it introduced me to the hilarious and strangely regular man that is Dave Gorman.
Following his obsessive quest to meet his namesakes, something that his flatmate Danny Wallace inspired in the form of a drunken bet, Dave's life returned to something approaching normal. He and Danny went their separate ways and Dave's TV show increased his existing fame on the stand-up circuit. (N.B.: The adventures of Dave and Danny on their quest for Dave Gormans can be found in the book 'Are You Dave Gorman?' in much more detail than is strictly necessary).
Following the success of his first TV series, Dave was soon back on screens with 'Dave Gorman's Important Astrology Experiment,' in which he based his actions over a number of weeks solely on advice given in his astrology readings, incredibly literally, to see whether it would genuinely improve his lifestyle in comparison to the laid-back family life lived by his twin brother over the weeks. This series was produced especially for television, and would not realistically translate into a novel or stage show format.
On New Year's Eve 2002, Dave Gorman allowed himself to accept a bet (under the influence of alcohol once again) that he could not meet ten owners of Googlewhacking websites in a row, having been introduced to the concept when an e-mail informed Dave that his own site, www.davegorman.com, was a Googlewhack. The book opens with Dave groggily waking in Heathrow Airport, finding a plane ticket to Washington D.C. in his pocket.
STYLE
This book is essentially a comedic account of genuine events, earning a 'Travel' classification for its detailed descriptions of the comedian's global exploits - apart from a missing section on his visit to China, which Dave was not permitted to write about, instead including a frustratingly interesting picture of himself being licked by a Chinese man in the central photos section. I'm sure almost every reader would be able to relate to Dave?s fallible nature and obsessive pursuit of quests in a very irresponsible manner, although hopefully very few would be inspired to attempt their own 'adventures.'
This book, even more so than its predecessor, has the ability to reaffirm the reader's view of humanity in general, as there are examples of kindness, care and enjoyment all based on Dave's rather foolhardy and pointless quest. Occasionally laugh-out-loud humour, but told from a very dedicated and likeable perspective. Dave expresses at a number of points his intention to have written a proper novel, a project for which he was given funds and ultimately disregarded once his Googlewhacking got into full swing, and at many points his attempts at a more profound writing style are very obvious. Don't let this put you off though, as he still writes in a fun style and uses the occasional swear word.
Dave Gorman's travels take him all over America to meet a man with a gun and some happily married couples in Seattle and to a Mini car convention in Wales, even granting a life-long desire to travel to Holland and meet a pair of lesbians, who enjoy writing raunchy fan fiction of TV shows.
VERDICT: BATTLE OF THE FOOLISH DRUNKEN BETS
Having read the previous book I eagerly awaited my signed copy from W.H. Smith mail order, and thoroughly enjoyed the read, although in some ways it did disappoint me a little. For a start, it is very similar to 'Are You Dave Gorman?', only less enjoyable for a number of reasons. The earlier examples of such books as Tony Hawks' 'Round Ireland with a Fridge' also makes this less than original.
One of my favourite aspects of 'AYDG?' was the dual narrative it employed, contrasting the exaggerated perspectives of the sensible and realistic Danny with the eccentric and laid-back Dave, and the loss of this device makes this a little less appealing. The complex nature of the mission, based on a series of flow diagrams and the complicated rules of Googlewhacking, also mean it is less easy to understand than the idea of meeting 54 people who share your name.
This is still a very fun read, and I'm sure that the more mature writing style and the less exaggerated, non-character based narrative makes it more genuine and easy to relate to. The inclusion of photographs in both of these books is a bonus, and they do compliment each other in forming an intrusive psychological profile of the rather strange Dave Gorman.
The Duty to Run Mad
Written on 26.05.04
****
Often considered among the finest of the trench poets in the First World War, Robert von Ranke Graves, unlike some of his equally famous contemporaries and close friends such as Wilfred Owen, survived his ordeals in the conflict and lived a long and prolific life as a prominent writer.
Publishing some 120 books in his career, Graves is most commonly associated with his anti-war poetry and his later novel 'I, Claudius,' the historically fictional account of the life of Emperor Claudius in Ancient Rome. My personal experience of Robert Graves extends only to his war poetry and memoirs: the three anthologies written during his time in the trenches, and the more reflective poetry published during his traumatic experiences afterwards. [Not 'in general' then.]
LIFE AND EXPERIENCES
Robert Graves was born in 1895 and attended Oxford University, jovially joining his classmates in signing up to the war in that fateful summer of 1914. Few soldiers, young or experienced, had any idea of the horrific nature of the war, which duly lasted for a far greater length of time than the six months advertised by the Government's friendly but forceful recruitment propaganda.
Graves fought as an Officer, a prestige he did not have to earn due to his high birth, and his family were informed of his apparent death in the Battle of the Somme, 1916. Graves returned to England with permanently damaged lungs and was unable to rejoin the war effort, despite his attempts. He continued to write his poetry, condemning the violent nature of war and the pompous, distanced nature of the Generals and leaders, an aspect of the war that was very serious but which has been brilliantly mocked by artists in the theatrical production 'Oh What a Lovely War' and, to an even greater extent, the BBC's 'Blackadder Goes Forth.'
Medical advances in the field of trauma and shock were still relatively in their infancy during the war, something that is shown in Pat Barker's modern 'Regeneration' trilogy of novels, and it was some time before Graves was diagnosed as having been affected by his traumatic experiences. He was able to continue with his life at home and abroad, becoming an increasingly well-respected writer throughout his life, described by W.H. Auden as England's "greatest living poet." He died in 1985.
THE CONSEQUENCES OF WAR
Robert Graves had an interest in poetry from an early age, and he found it a great aid in coping with his feelings and desires during the darkest times. Having experienced the effects of war firsthand, Graves' poetry was expectedly negative in its views, and its anti-conflict messages and views of the enemy forces as human beings conflicted with the propaganda of the time. The poem 'A Dead Boche' describes Graves' discovery of a decomposing German soldier in necessarily gory detail, and begins his poem with the claim:
"Today I found in Mametz Wood
A certain cure for lust of blood."
With the end of the war in sight in 1918, Graves reflected back on the conflict and its heavy toll with 'Solomon's Seal,' describing the returning soldiers as "won back" by their partners and friends "against furious tides of error And bitter ironies of the self-damned."
Graves knew that he would never fully recover from his war trauma, but was able to look back with a fairly objective mind with his 1938 poem 'Recalling War.' "[War] now assumes the nature-look of time," he observes, and proceeds to put forward his views on the sacrifice of innocent youth, one of the most dominant themes of First World War literature, disturbingly describing the inexperienced soldiers as children playing with "toy-like" machine guns.
The poem ends with the somewhat pessimistic statement, "When learnedly the future we devote To yet more boastful visions of despair." This could be seen as a generalisation of his views of the Government, although Graves may well have forseen the Second World War, which began the following year and led to his voluntary emigration from Europe.
GOODBYE TO ALL THAT
In 1929 Graves, like many other ex-soldiers, published his war experiences in the form of an autobiography. Over the decades, many literary critics and historians have continued to agree that 'Goodbye to All That' is one of the more reliable, honest and insightful accounts of a poet's life, published for specific reasons but not hindered by its political and social messages.
Incorporating letters written by Graves on the Front, army orders, poems by himself and others and the occasional rambling, 'Goodbye to All That' has a very disjointed style that never leaves the reader at ease; whether this was a deliberate attempt by Graves to mimic his own disordered and scattered mind at the time is not completely clear, although he was still suffering from post-traumatic stress at the time the book was written, and had not lost his contempt for all the war had stood for.
Graves notes that the war claimed the lives of "at least one in three of my generation at school." A revised edition of the autobiography was requested and completed in 1957, and readers have noted a number of differences in content, suggesting Graves' own opinion of his mental state at the time of writing.
One of the most famous war novels is Erich Maria Remarque's 'All Quiet on the Western Front,' the novelisation of a German soldier's trench diaries, and this also presents a reliable and often chillingly similar account of fighting and the effects of returning home on leave. There were many memoirs published shortly after the war that have been deemed unreliable and overtly politically motivated, and although the somewhat biased view of the war as horrific can be seen as the popular and modern view, the sterling honesty in Remarque and Graves' books is difficult to dismiss.
Robert Graves' trench poetry will continue to be among the most definitive sentiments against conflict between nations and humans, and although he was not ultimately killed during his service, something which often makes the poetry of Wilfred Owen more poignant, Graves had valid and necessary arguments to put forward over the way in which the war was conducted, including its after-effects on those who survived what the widowed authoress Vera Brittain dubbed "the lost generation."
H
Celebration of Man and His Manhood
Written on 30.05.04 [And humiliatingly preserved in the "press" archive of Richard's website ever since]
*****
DISCLAIMER
As this book is entirely based on stories about, uses of and views on the spam javelin, I am aware that in many instances in this review I will have to use discreet language; this is made more simple, and hopefully more enjoyable, by the extensive amount of euphemisms Richard provides within his text, including the bald-headed mouse, Jack the Dripper and the Russell the fur-faced chicken. As Dooyoo were quick to honour my product suggestion of this title I will endeavour to provide a review that is light on obscenity, but considering the subject matter (that's penises) I can't make any stiff promises.
THE AUTHOR
Your first impression of a man in his late thirties who writes a show and book about old Spurt Reynolds may be unfavourable, but Richard Herring is a perfectly normal and very funny man whose in-depth research stemmed from an interest in men's feelings about themselves and their place in society in relation to their penises, rather than an interest in looking at loads of willies. (According to the author, many of the disturbing images he subjected himself to will probably scar him for life).
Richard Herring has performed at the Edinburgh Fringe as comedian and playwright for over fifteen years, and his show 'Talking Cock' was performed in a number of venues, and translated into a number of foreign languages, between 2002 and 2004. In the 90s, Richard was best known for his television work as half of the Lee and Herring double act, in which he played the part of Herring, in the shows 'Fist of Fun' and 'This Morning with Richard, Not Judy,' and he was also the primary writer of the sitcom 'Time Gentlemen Please' starring Al Murray.
Talking Cock has been his most successful Edinburgh show, following his earlier instalments such as 2001's 'Christ on a Bike' and 1994's 'Richard Herring is Fat,' and its conversion to book format is his first printed work, something he is unsure whether his parents will be proud of. The comedian/playwright/writer is currently in the process of completing twelve impossible tasks for his new show at Edinburgh in the summer, 'The Twelve Tasks of Hercules Terrace.' He has already run the Marathon and is over halfway through his fifty dates in fifty nights, but his intrusive and very funny daily journal goes into much more detail than I could, over at www.richardherring.com.
A VAGINA MONOLOGUE WITH BALLS
'Talking Cock' is a large format paperback and is the kind of book that it is easy to get the wrong impression of. It's not, as I'm sure many casual browsers in W.H. Smith have mistaken it for, a collection of 'hilarious' knob gags or a load of pictures of naked men, it's much more than that. Although it is that a little bit.
The genesis of the idea, described in the introduction, came when the author was preparing for his performances of 'Christ on a Bike' in 2001, and heard the huge response to the popular anti-masculine show (I hesitate to describe it as 'feminist' although it was really), 'The Vagina Monologues.' One of his female friends told him he should do something similar about the limbless Chihuahua, and once Richard began to think about this, his new show idea was in progress. He felt there was a genuine need to discover, and inform others about, how men genuinely felt about themselves and their manhoods:
"Despite men's constant prick-shtick, we actually say very, very little. And of that very, very little, only a minute proportion of our comments are in any way serious. Can you imagine a man discussing the subject seriously?
'Fellas, can we all just stop singing rugby songs for a moment. I want to talk to you about my ongoing struggle with erectile dysfunction.'
It would make him a laughing stock. Moreover, it would make him a laughing stock, who obviously had a tiny cock."
It's easy to understand the author's motivations in performing and later writing about the issues he chooses to, and the end result is informative, witty, reassuring, disturbing, silly, painful and heartwarming. Although on more than several occasions, Richard Herring has to reiterate that he is not obsessed with cocks.
LAYOUT & STYLE
The 300-page book is divided into twelve sections, all covering different aspects of the sergeant with one blue stripe who loves to stand to attention. All of these are very interesting and written in a very enjoyable way, even the more sombre topics being handled in a positive way. A large part of the Talking Cock stage show was based on results from a questionnaire set up on the show's website, exploring every angle of the dangle that the author considered important to build up a profile. Although the show has been put to rest now, the questionnaire is still open for any interested men and women at www.talkingcock.co.uk.
The results of specific questions provide a foundation for a lot of the chapters, and also lead to a number of side sections littered throughout the book, providing humorous or interesting information that may not have been suited to inclusion in a chapter. This extends to Cock Facts and the occasional Cock Stat at the top or bottom of pages, making for an informal read and a pleasant, temporary diversion.
As mentioned earlier, the humour aspect is fairly continuous throughout the book, but it doesn't make light of the subject matter. The fact that some chapters focus on debatable and sometimes depressing topics such as failure to perform and involuntary circumcision means that people will likely enjoy some chapters more than others - in fact, fans of 'travel humour' authors such as Tony Hawks and Dave Gorman will likely find Richard's detailed tale of his visit to the Iceland Phallological Museum in chapter 8 of particular interest - but it's a great read and a humorous roller coaster ride (probably penis-shaped) from start to finish.
OVERVIEW
The afore-mentioned twelve chapters cover all aspects of the penis story that Richard Herring considers important: [Y... you're not actually going to...]
1. Never Mind the Bol***s: Here's the Sex Pistol! [We now have CHAPTER SUMMARIES, ladies and gentlemen]
This introductory view of the organ in its literal sense (and shape), featuring a definitive update of that insensitive and unimaginative cross section diagram everyone had to learn in school, featuring new names that describe it much more memorably. Results of the website questionnaire also provide some merriment in terms of unusually shaped penises, and Richard draws particular attention to the response that best describes his feelings towards the sex pistol: "I've never seen a usual penis."
2. The History of Mr. Jolly
A historical look at the way different cultures and religions have regarded the penis, saluting the hedonistic and liberal Iron Age Britons for depicting the Cerne Abbas Giant (which you may know as the 'Rude Man' carved into the Dorset hillside, the cover star of this book), and paying special tribute to the Sumerian God Enki who, after spreading his own seed on the ground to create life, proclaimed "let now my penis be praised." A more critical opinion is given to Middle-Age Christianity and its often absurd laws regarding the use of man's manhood, providing a wide sheath of information on the subject.
3. From Tiny Acorns
A very light-hearted chapter concerning men's childhoods, and how this can affect their impressions of what is considered 'right.' Stories of people hiding lego bricks inside their anatomy and parading round in the flesh are given alongside teenage experiences and the author's own (albeit exaggerated) childhoos memories of bathing with his father and being impressed by a noticeable size difference between his member and what appeared to be 'a Cock Ness Monster.'
4. The First Cut is the Deepest
Beginning with a statistic that roughly one in five men (700 million worldwide) undergo a circumcision procedure at some point in their lives, this chapter examines peoples' personal experiences as told in the questionnaire to judge whether such operations are necessary. The general conclusions are that there certainly are advantages and problems on both sides of the toss, and this is handled in a very sensitive and fulfilling manner.
5. Shaking Hands with the Unemployed
In case that euphemism left you wondering, this chapter focuses on what is often called Onanism, or alternatively shaking hands with the Governor of Love. Statistics and some very funny stories are provided, as well as information on how such practices have been viewed over the years by different cultures; there is even an interesting note on the reason Cornflakes were apparently designed to taste so bland when originally introduced, the author suggesting a new advertising slogan of "Kellogg's Corn Flakes. The one thing guaranteed to get you down in the morning." A very enjoyable and harmless practice. I mean chapter.
6. Men Will F*** Mud
One of the killer sections, this has some excellent personal tales from men who have gone to great lengths to get their end away, leaving any female readers who are cautious about their appearance that there is no need to worry; just ask the jelly toilet roll bloke. (Obviously all questionnaire results are anonymous). There are also some statistics on rather unsavoury practices that, try as I might, I could not even mention in this review; you'll have to check them out for yourselves.
7. The Naughty Nazi Salute
Erectile dysfunction, and its opposite, have long been a source of amusement and criticism, despite the fact that such problems are deeply personal and potentially upsetting. As well as judging the equipment and products available to treat such conditions, this chapter also points out that sensitivity and care must always be shown. Very touching.
8. Let Now the Penis Be Praised
Richard takes the readers aside here to discuss his own problems with spending a year researching penises; that would freak anyone out. He needed to find a kindred spirit, and after deciding that Cynthia Plaster-Caster, the woman famous for making plaster casts of rock band members' members, was too motivated by sexual goals (how disappointing), he found himself visiting the Icelandic Phallological Museum to see the largest collection of animal penises in the world, owned and maintained by a man who must at least be a little obsessed with cocks. An infamous womaniser has already donated his penis following his death, so visit at your peril. I'm not going.
9. Prick My Prick: Does it Not Bleed?
"Those of a nervous disposition may like to skip this chapter. Seriously, I mean it." So begins the most psychologically painful chapter, discussing the fragility of the penis and many popular ways for it to be damaged. Special note is given to the famous case of John Wayne Bobbitt (you know, the quite nasty man who some say deserved to have his penis cut off by his wife and thrown from a moving vehicle), as well as the results of the question posed as to whether men would rather lose their eyes or their legs, or their genitals.
10. I Don't Use it as a Rule...
Yes, this is the inevitable chapter and quite a substantial one, concerning that age-old question of whether size is important. Plenty of statistics and personal stories could put even the least secure man at ease, and the ultimate moral is that it's the man attached to it that's the most important - size is certainly no guarantee.
11. Brains in Their Y-Fronts?
This chapter tackles the long-held view by some people that men only think with their John Thomas (or whatever pet name they like to use), and points out that in many cases it is true. Even the author himself admits to situations in which his primal desire to spread his seed as far as possible has overwritten his better judgement, but it also shows that many men can be considerate and caring. Right on, brother.
12. Filling the Unforgiving Minute
A concluding chapter that provides some answers for the questions "how do you feel to be a man?" and "what do you think a man is?" The inclusion of the author's own dream involving penis enlargement is also a very nice addition, as it proves that no matter how satisfied or well-read a man is on statistics and averages, he will always want to be more.
VERDICT
It may be blindingly obvious that I worship at the Church of Richard Herring and have done since his television days, but this is a genuinely enjoyable book that acts as a great gift for any man or woman with a sense of humour, who don't mind reading about willies. There are mixed reviews on sites such as Amazon as to the need for such a book, but most are overwhelmingly positive; after all, most people need to be reassured every once in a while, and combining it with a comedy book makes it a great read that can be easily dipped in and out of at leisure. In any case, I hope this review has provided a clear impression of whether you would really like or loathe this publication.
It would be impossible to hate such an everyman as Richard Herring, even if his tales of desperation and worry during his research for the book do provide you with some inevitable laughs at his expense, but this book takes a completely open perspective on every subject it covers, involving the voices of men and women of varying sexual preferences and races. The warning label on the front stating "Warning: may include knob gags" is a little deceptive, as this is much more than the trashy cash-in it could have been. Funny, interesting and honest, this should surely be taught in schools as opposed to the impersonal perspective given by chapter seven of the science textbook. You know, the chapter it always falls open at.
This book makes men feel proud about their appendage, and while it is obviously geared more towards male readers it never seeks to exclude women in the way 'The Vagina Monologues' ridiculed men. At the end, the author attempts to persuade every male reader to say "I love my cock!", and for their female or male sexual partners to proclaim this when next they encounter it in all its morning glory.
And when I bought it in W.H. Smith, the nice young lady at the till took some time examining the cover and blurb before saying, "interesting book." This one turns heads. [Don't worry, he'll get a girlfriend before the year is out. Somehow.]
Aldous Huxley, Brave New World
Sex and the Nightmare State
Written on 07.04.04
****
The term 'Dystopia' has evolved as a synonym for anti-Utopia; a Utopia referring to a theoretical "perfect society" often portrayed in the science fiction genre. The novels Brave New World, (Aldous Huxley) We (Yevgeny Zamyatin) and Nineteen Eighty-Four (George Orwell) pioneered this sub-genre of a futuristic society that appears Utopian in principle but in which a totalitarian government controls the population, whose freedom and thoughts are inhibited. A Dystopia novel explores the author's nightmare vision of a possible future, in the event of aspects of contemporary society becoming dominant and powerful. The authors' fears and political views can be recognised throughout their novels and related to the author's time and country of origin.
The oppressive and futuristic society of George Orwell's Nineteen Eighty-Four is widely known, with the book becoming one of the most recognised novels of the twentieth century, however Aldous Huxley dealt with similar notions of human oppression, albeit from a different angle, in his 1931 novel Brave New World. This review is admittedly much more an exploration of the issues and devices used to further the plot of Huxley's novel and as such it would serve to spoil the ending for those who are planning to read it. I chose to study this novel, in conjunction with the other two previously noted, for my English Literature comparison of texts, as the idea of a nightmare future has always appealed to me as a form of fiction, however I will certainly rate the book according to its merits also.
A FORDIAN SOCIETY [Oh good, we've reached the point where I break up my reviews into tedious sections. Only a year or two of this to get through]
The society of Brave New World is set in London in the year AF 632, approximately seven hundred years into the future. The World State is a united society that is run by ten World Controllers, while the embryos of the entire population are grown in test tubes in government hatcheries; these predestined embryos are engineered into social classes, ranging from Alpha to Epsilon, and are assigned a lifestyle before they are even born. The community praise 'Ford,' the American businessman famous for the creation of production lines and automobile manufacture which led to the efficient society of the World State, and a clear play on words of 'Lord.' This use of irony shows Huxley's contempt for industrialisation, and his notion of a man believing he is superior to God to the extent that a culture is based around his respect and worship illustrates Huxley's personal disdain for Henry Ford and his ideals.
Children and infants are subjected to conditioning from the repetition of slogans while they sleep and electric shock warnings when expressing an interest in forbidden activities. This ensures that the population have been brought up believing that their lives are perfect, and that they live according to the government's rules. Family, love and imagination have been replaced by efficiency and constant, empty happiness. "Community, Identity, Stability" is the motto of the State, as it has created a world where "everyone belongs to everyone else," ensuring the maximum possible happiness and sexual freedom, while the repeated slogan "everybody's happy now" ensures that the entire population believes this.
The population's entertainment is encouraged through consumer sports such as Obstacle Golf, they are conditioned to love making purchases and to replace broken objects and torn clothing: "ending is better than mending." Their base instincts are also managed by tactile motion pictures known as 'feelies' which always feature a simple plot and a large amount of sexual activity; sexual promiscuity with a number of different partners is also encouraged even from a very young age, long-term relationships being frowned upon due to the danger of family ideas developing. The existence of the drug soma also ensures the happiness of the population as it can provide an escape to a fantasy world for a set amount of time with no health risks; the Director of Hatcheries and Conditioning describes it as "all the advantages of Christianity and alcohol; none of their defects." Soma allows an escape at times when emotions may begin to surface, or when the user is alone and prone to contemplation.
The ultimate goal of the governing body is the creation and maintenance of stability. While Orwell's novel could be seen as a comparison to totalitarian Russia and Nazi Germany leading to forced slavery for a society, Huxley is much more concerned with a society attempting to achieve efficiency at all costs, and the dangers of genetic experimentation to achieve those ends. In his introduction, Huxley explains, "The theme of Brave New World is not the advancement of science as such; it is the advancement of science as it affects human individuals."
While the society created in Brave New World is content to live out the shallow consumer lifestyle created by the government, free of the oppression found in Nineteen Eighty-Four, it is no less a nightmarish vision of the future. Occurring at a later date than Orwell's novel, it depicts a time when the threat of opposition has been all but eliminated by absolute control over the genetics and thought processes of everyone, to the extent that such 'thoughtcrime' as existed in Orwell's novel will never be available to their minds. The government of Brave New World use sex to their advantage in keeping the population in a constant state of happiness in pursuit of hedonism, even encouraging 'erotic play' in children, although conditioning has ensured that love and attachment are no longer associated with the physical act.
ONE-DIMENSIONAL CARICATURES
The protagonist of the novel is John 'the Savage,' a man born outside the Dystopia to residents of the World State; the Director of Hatcheries and Conditioning did not attempt to rescue his then-partner Linda when they were separated in the wilderness. Brought up in a religious society and exposed to such works as Shakespeare, John is appalled by what he sees in London. He feels love for Lenina but is disgusted by her desire to "have" him in emotionless sex, and when crowds of intrigued children are brought in to view his mother's corpse to expose them to death, he loses his patience and attempts to start a revolution. The population are not swayed by this, and see it as another interesting event, eventually tracking John down and forcing him to partake in an orgy. The following day, unable to cope with 'paradise' and his conflicting feelings for Lenina, he hangs himself; Huxley potently illustrates the hopelessness of life in the Brave New World.
The other major character is Bernard Marx, a product of the conditioned society who was subject to a rare human error while being created, leading to his stature and appearance deviating from the norm. As such, he begins to question the lifestyle that he sees around him, confiding in his like-minded friend Helmholtz Watson. Bernard is an Alpha, the most privileged and intelligent social class, and his decision to expose Lenina to the alternate lifestyle experienced by residents of the Reservation is intended to show her that their own lifestyle should be subject to change. However, Bernard's sudden rise to fame and adoration upon returning from the Savage Reservati on with John leads him to forget his original intentions and enjoy the opportunity to have any woman he desires. He is caught off guard when John starts to rebel and eventually exiled to work in Iceland for his part in the disturbance.
Although a less prominent female character, Lenina Crowne is the perfect example of the World State's conditioning. She is an Alpha and adores sexual promiscuity, consumer sports and the feelies, but she is also prone to error and cannot cope with what she sees at the Savage Reservation. Lenina's conditioned child-like mind and manners do not allow her to gain any deeper perceptions of life from her experience, and by the end of the novel she has not shown any progression. Lenina's function seems primarily to demonstrate the extent of the society's control through her inability to advance.
The other characters in Brave New World are not explored with any depth as Huxley writes from a distanced viewpoint. Although John's progression and discovery are detailed, most of the conditioned members of the World State are portrayed as one-dimensional caricatures, reflecting their uncomplicated lives and lack of imaginative thought. Every character is either overtly against, or in favour of, the ideals of the World State. Brave New World takes an objective and distanced view of the events, using scientific terms to explain concepts.
A common theme of Dystopian literature is present in Huxley?s novel. The only threats existing threats towards the 'perfect' society is the protagonist characters attempting to gain their own freedom and salvation for their people, and this is dealt with by the leaders in a way that eliminates the 'X factor' without creating a martyr for their cause.
STYLE
I would recommend Brave New World to anyone who enjoys reading science fiction classics as it is often underrated. It is certainly very dark and overlong in places, but has surprisingly aged very little: the use of personal helicopters, the lack of computers and the overlooking of nuclear power are the only things that date this book, but the themes are still and disturbing today. Since Huxley wrote this novel, the world has been through another World War and the threat of Cold War for decades, although thankfully there do not yet seem to be any serious repercussions of Ford's production methods, apart from a low quality of life for many in poor countries. The book is also very manageable at around 200 pages, and is one that picks up towards the end.
Brave New World is written as a political satire and a view of the future, presented as a distanced account of events. Beginning with a lengthy introduction by one of the characters to the godless, "perfect" society, the main characters and plot are only introduced in the third chapter and are essentially used as Huxley's example of life in his futuristic world.
Advantages: Original and detailed look at a possible future, Has hardly dated, especially in terms of its themes
Disadvantages: Character development is omitted deliberately, which may make this less enjoyable and interesting, Drags on in places
I
White Face / Red Nose
Written on 27.10.07
***
Eric Idle's 1999 sci-fi comedy novel is an odd assortment of psychoanalysis, cyberpunk spy thriller, social satire and clinical essay on the nature of comedy, in which the respected Python gets some things off his chest and postulates the end of the road for his profession: what if a computer could tell a joke as well as a human?
In truth, there's a little too much going on in 'The Road to Mars' in terms of its shifting style and focus, the most interesting aspect being the background plot of the service android Carlton's determined attempts to understand the profession of his owners, a comedy double-act touring the run-down establishments of the outer solar system in the twenty-fourth century. Carlton secretly observes Alex and Lewis (also known as Muscroft & Ashby) as they behave in a generally childish manner both on- and off-stage, and Idle builds a very interesting, if a little clinical analysis over the course of the novel, as Carlton comes ever closer to understanding the shocking truth that comedy is the fundamental force of the universe, though never quite grasping irony.
Carlton's "research" primarily focuses, quite conveniently, on comics of the late twentieth century, which allows Idle to pay respect and criticism to his peers as well as slag himself off specifically by analysing an obscure television programme named 'Monty Python's Flying Circus,' which, as Carlton observes, the studio audience seems to enjoy for reasons he is unable to grasp: surely it's just silly walks, daft cartoons and men in drag? Many of Idle's (or rather, Carlton's) findings are fairly obvious and well-known, such as the age-old dichotomy between the straight man and funny man, here categorised as White Face and Red Nose archetypes, but his extensive findings on apparently universal psychological truths that comedians felt abandoned as children and now seek attention through their profession are really quite interesting, and of course Idle isn't above viciously criticising himself as a historical figure.
The novel is narrated by a twenty-fifth century human researcher Bill Reynolds, who presents the majority in a detached, omniscient style before chipping in with intrusive but entertaining chapters detailing his own marital troubles and his descent down the slippery slope of greed and the desire for fame, despite having vehemently criticised this in the opening section. Nevertheless, this does add a jarring layer on top of an otherwise fairly straightforward and linear story, and it's difficult to reconcile Reynolds' character with the narrator of the larger pieces who seems to know a little too much about the historical specifics, particularly as many characters are completely isolated for substantial chunks.
It really felt like Idle had come up with this funny idea of a robot trying to get its head around humour as a way to explore his own theories of comedy, and planned out a satisfying arc of increasing delirium for the paranoid android, but didn't know quite how to turn it into a novel. Thus, the more 'primary' plot evolves from the very nice, low-key and slightly depressing travels of Alex and Lewis' show to a fairly unsatisfying action thriller with huge explosions, catastrophes, bad physics and recycled sci-fi ideas presented as novel. I was enjoying the book greatly as a simple account of a double-act's life on the road and was disappointed when the character essentially became pointless background participants to a larger plot that didn't really hold my interest or have anything to do with the earlier chapters, and trying to ignore the car chases and uncomfortable sex scenes, the only theme I really enjoyed as it plodded towards a predictable conclusion were those featuring the ridiculously showbiz Brenda Woolley, an untouchable cultural icon who the mindless masses seem to love simply because it's expected, not really realising how terrible she is until it's too late. Sort of like 'Noel's House Party.'
As a Monty Python fan I obviously have some respect for Eric Idle, though I think it's fair to say that out of that group, despite his determination, pretty much everything he has done since then has been pretty awful (though I've never seen 'The Rutles' so I can't comment on that, but I'm talking about those films he makes based on nothing more than a title or one-line synopsis). 'The Road to Mars' has some nice ideas but is really spoiled by its attempts to become a Hollywood motion picture rather than a more domestic and truthful exploration of the life of a comedian, pointlessly shifted a few centuries into the future - I would have enjoyed this far more. The author clearly knows what he's talking about as he dissects comedy beyond breaking point, so it would have been much nicer to have the realism of plot and character, rather than these two protagonists who end up doing very little in the latter two-thirds of the novel, and whose dialogue is always a little too over-the-top to be believable and human. Even Carlton, for all his cute perseverance, never really escapes comparison to Marvin from Douglas Adams' 'Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy,' with some dialogue taken straight from Star Trek's Data. His intentional resemblance to David Bowie adds some quirkiness that unfortunately doesn't extend to the rest of the plot, and as science fiction aimed at several clashing genres, it falls rather flat.
Those interested in getting Eric Idle's breakdown of comedy in far more detail than is strictly necessary would enjoy much of this book, but if you're reading for that purpose, as I suppose I was, the bulk of plot distractions will simply seem like filler. Carlton's analyses are really quite brilliant and entertaining, going way too far on occasion as he attempts to find a linguistic reason for comedy's metaphors of death (dying on stage, knocking 'em dead, etc.) but other times coming up with some truly insightful findings. It's pretty clear that Idle intended this to be the main focus of the work but wasn't able to stretch it out to 300 pages without adding all this adventure and terrorism stuff, but on the whole it's not a bad read. Just don't expect to be laughing by the end.
Advantages: Some revealing, insightful and downright absurd reflections of comedy from a real veteran.
Disadvantages: The main plot seems like filler, and the characters disappointingly lack realism.
L
Philip Larkin, The Whitsun Weddings
Curmudgeon
Written on 25.11.03
*
I am not a great fan of poetry, and even less a fan of depressing, unfunny and tedious commentaries on British life in the 20th century. It's not surprising that I didn't enjoy reading one of Larkin's most famous anthologies, "the Whitsun Weddings."
The only reason I became exposed to this poet and this collection was through my A-level English Literature, and along with my Louis XIV topic in History it was one of the rare occasions when I've felt pushed to succeed at an examination simply so I can forget all about it for alway. However, Larkin certainly appeals to some people, my English teacher at least, and he certainly has a grasp of the poetic device and of the worse aspects of life. On reading this, one may wonder whether the term 'curmudgeon' was invented with this man in mind; it is a very fun word though.
This collection, which is all I have read or will hopefully read, deals with a number of issues, although the main theme is of love and relationships. on examining it in detail, I discovered that that poems "Love Songs in Age," examining how the youthful hopes and promises of true love were false; the eponymous "Whitsun Weddings," a lengthy criticism of the institution of marriage; "Talking in Bed," noting the boredom of a long-married couple; "Afternoons," the young housewife's unhappiness, and "an Arundel Tomb," examining the effect or existence of eternal love after death. This final poem is the only time Larkin distances himself from his curmudgeonly thoughts, and seems to reflect on his last sense of hope and faith. Perhaps the lifelong headache he seemed to suffer from temporarily vanished, or the youths next door started playing some loud volume music that he liked for a change; this change of tone is unclear, but welcome at the end.
A feature of Larkin's poetry is that he rarely uses devices such as similes and metaphors, although the rare occasions that he does use them remain the most memorable. "Toads Revisited" is a continuation of Larkin's famous "Toads" poem, which criticised the strain of work, and comes to the conclusion that if all your friends are dead and you've got nothing to do, work's not that bad. Another of his more standable poems, "Ambulances," deals with death to the extent that he seems to have a problem with the conformity of it all. Is he having a go at the Grim Reaper this time? This is not a poet I would recommend if you wanted to keep your day cheerful. My personal view, although I'm sure that's been quite dominant throughout, is that Larkin's work is very overrated: I'm not an expert on poetry, although I'm sure the next four years of studying English will lead me to a few more, but there must be poets more worthwhile to study. Larkin isn't even a good example of the techniques used in poetry, and his work is all very similar in style.
Background research on Larkin indicated that he had never married, although he did have a history of a few women. He was also very devoted to his job, and despised things like pollution and falseness in people. Thus it's clear that his stance in these poems is not too far from his stance in real life, it's a little unimaginitive. Much like the book's cover. My German teacher claims to have shared a short ride in a lift with Larkin, before he died of course, and his brief exposure lead him to an unsurprising conclusion:
Miserable git.
The Hopi Boy and the Sun
Written on 09.09.04
*****
Stewart Lee’s first novel is complex, entertaining, believable and absurd, following several groups of misfits from very different situations as they search for meaning in their lives, aged members of a sixties acid rock band and the Holy Grail. Ever wondered what would happen when a couple of unsuccessful losers from South London, a former rock legend, a suspected murderess, a Native American Hopi clown and an insane ex-astronaut meet in the arid Arizona plains? You have to read quite far into the book for that bit.
WHAT IS STEWART LEE?
“There is an intellect behind his comedy that only intimidates other comedians, never the audience. He is thoughtful, patient and never goes for easy gags or safe material. He is the cleverest, funniest, most cliché free comedian on the circuit. But he likes jazz” – Ricky Gervais on Stewart Lee
Stewart Lee is humorous and wise, and forms the highest peak of the trinity that is ‘who I will clearly end up being,’ ‘who I would like to be, if I try a bit harder’ and ‘who I could never be.’ He achieved miniscule fame for a limited time as part of the Lee and Herring comedy duo (in which he was Lee opposite Richard Herring’s Herring) responsible for the TV series ‘Fist of Fun’ and ‘This Morning With Richard Not Judy’ and, despite a fifteen year successful career as the self-styled fifth best British stand-up comedian, has earned fame most recently as the director and co-writer of the successful theatrical production ‘Jerry Springer the Opera.’
Lee’s comedy routines often involve drawn-out jokes with punchlines that are brilliant in their predictability, and despite references to wee, poo and farting, which he noted in his most recent Edinburgh run as the funniest thing in the world, his Oxford education and obvious interest in accumulating knowledge always shine through.
It was therefore inevitable that Stewart Lee, who has after all long desired the moon on a stick, would attempt to become a successful author in addition to everything else. Defining success in terms of quality and originality, rather than laying the emphasis on disappointing sales figures, the Perfect Fool is a critically acclaimed and highly enjoyable first novel from the man who accused me of being Norwegian due to my death metal shirts. A second novel is currently in some kind of progress.
STORY
Sid has long regretted his ‘ironic’ decision to join a Dire Straits cover band, along with his friend Danny. Craving a deeper meaning to his existence than reaching their own elastic limit watching illegal bestiality videos and enjoying a sexual relationship with an increasingly dissatisfied girlfriend, Sid decides to track down his acid rock idol Luther Peyote, who reportedly lives in Arizona. Danny, in a Tolkien-style gesture of friendship and reluctance, agrees to accompany him. Meanwhile, the elderly hostel inmate A.R.Y. Lewis doesn’t seem to remember anything about his life, but is somehow convinced that he was an integral part of a shady NASA conspiracy to abandon the Holy Grail in outer space.
Across the ocean, Tracy hastily evacuates her Motel room, leaving yet another male corpse behind her. A sentimental quest to retrieve Catholic comic books published in the seventies proves increasingly difficult now that the police are on her trail; but they have no concept of just how serious her true crime has been…
STYLE
The Perfect Fool is a very funny book, but it isn’t enough to class it as a comedy novel. When SFX magazine reviewed his book, the author seemed delighted that the science fiction elements had finally been recognised. At the risk of sounding offensive, the subject matter of London blokes with an interest in drink, drugs and porn is similar to the books of fellow comedian David Baddiel, but the similarity ends once the more surreal and entertaining elements are introduced. (The first edition publication features Baddiel’s quote “I wish I’d written this book” on the cover. This is beyond that bearded writer).
The book’s events are narrated in the present rather than the past tense, an unusual and interesting decision that nevertheless took me some time to get used to, while the plot twists and revelations are all executed perfectly. The dialogue is believable and easy to relate to, and there are very clear insights into the author’s own world views in the narrative: references to Americans having absolutely no grasp of Irish politics or the geography of the planet Earth (“if you can’t find somewhere on a map, don’t send it free weapons”) will be familiar to fans of Stewart’s stand-up, as will his borderline obsessive love of obscure music that forms the basis of much of this book. Even a couple of Lee and Herring-era riffs permeate the story on occasion, adding further enjoyment when “do you remember the seventies?” and “skellingtons” crop up in dialogue.
The research that has been undertaken with regard to the history of space travel, the legends of the Holy Grail and the ancient culture of the Hop Indians – even to the inclusion of Hopi mythology in-between chapters – add an educational slant to the reading experience that would only be viewed as smug and pretentious by jealous stand-up rivals whose forays into authoring have proved less rewarding.
VERDICT
The Perfect Fool is an excellent and fairly unique book that shows no sign of being second rate or inexperienced. Funny, moving, inspiring and sickening, this is one of the most pleasurable reading experiences I have ever had, and it’s a shame that most casual readers will never have the opportunity to discover this excellent story, unless they are still obsessively devoted to both members of a dissolved nineties comedy duo. The Edinburgh Fringe festival and his dallying with opera production now behind him (for the most part), Stewart Lee will undoubtedly complete his second novel – described thus far only as “the same weird, incomprehensible sh** as the first one” – sometime in the next couple of years.
Advantages: Funny and compelling, Meticulously researched, Great cast of characters
Disadvantages: Not to everyone's taste, Mythology inclusions may put off casual readers, Overlooked
C. S. Lewis, The Chronicles of Narnia
Not a Tame Lion
Written on 29.07.05
****
With a heavy presence in the public consciousness and a new film on the way, C. S. Lewis’ Chronicles of Narnia are proving as timeless as the Christian stories the author wished to elaborate on. There was an animated film, the BBC made four adaptations in the late eighties and it’s even referenced in ‘The Young Ones.’ Enjoyable for adults as well as children, and occasionally for the exact same reasons, these seven books continue to be re-released as each new generation discovers the land of Narnia.
THE CHRONICLES
The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe
Lewis’ first book about Narnia, which he never really intended to expand into a series, but which many are glad he did. The most well-known and widely-adapted of the books it tells the story of four children who enter the magical land of Narnia through their uncle’s wardrobe. There they encounter a frozen forest, the work of an evil witch who entices one of the children to betray his family and prevent the prophecy that will restore the land.
Written in 1950 for an audience of wealthy English Christians, The Lion is an exciting, fantastical and at times violent story that doesn’t talk down to children (as Lewis himself notes in the introduction, there is an age at which adults are allowed to enjoy children’s stories again) but does, at times, feel like it isn’t really going anywhere.
Prince Caspian
Sub-titled ‘The Return to Narnia,’ this is in many ways a simple sequel that sees Narnia a thousand years down the line, secularised and ruled by a dictator. Prince Caspian, real heir to the throne and friend to the old world of Narnia, summons the four children from England through magic, leading to a story that is more violent and cold-hearted than its predecessor, but at times equally captivating.
The Voyage of the Dawn Treader
Edmund and Lucy, the two youngest children to have visitied Narnia, are drawn into a painting of a Narnian sailing vessel along with their bratty cousin Eustance Scrubb. Eustance learns to lighten up along the way, part of which involves being changed into a dragon, while the teenage King Caspian and his crew set sail to the World’s End to find seven lords.
My favourite of the Narnia books when I was a child, it is more a tale of discovery and adventure than battle and honour.
The Silver Chair
Eustance returns to Narnia along with his friend Jill, escaping from bullies at their school and summoned by Aslan with a task. The elderly Caspian’s son has been taken over by a green witch, and the children, along with their Marsh-Wiggle friend Puddleglum, must brave a land of giants and underground caverns to return the Prince before his father’s death.
The Horse and His Boy
The first of the Narnia books not to feature children from England, it is set in the time of ‘Peter the High King’ from the first book and was referred to in The Silver Chair. A tale of returning to the homeland and escaping a dictatorship isn’t too interesting at this point in the Chronicles, but for those hungry for more Narnia this is a nice and fairly enjoyable chronicle.
The Magician’s Nephew
Decades before George Lucas decided it would be neat to show how the events of ‘Star Wars’ came to be, Lewis delves into the history of Narnia. The difference between ‘The Phantom Menace’ and The Magician’s Nephew is that this is a highly entertaining and well thought-out book that ranks among my favourites in the series. (I wonder when those disappointing Star Wars prequels will finally seep out of the public consciousness…)
The Last Battle
We are now presented with the ultimate conclusion: the end of Narnia and the beginning of the next world for its inhabitants. The most vicious and potentially disturbing book of the entire series, it wasn’t received well by some but won the Carnegie prize in 1976. Very much an ending to the series it became a little notorious for its presentation of women and black people, but in truth it’s an enjoyable romp.
A DULL NOTE ON READING SEQUENCE
An endless debate attempts to decide the order in which to read the Chronicles of Narnia, one that would have been settled with Lewis’ own preference of chronological order if not for the fact that this order is a lot less enjoyable. For anyone planning on reading these books either by themselves or to children, I would recommend reading them in the order they were published (the order given above), but some prefer the sort-of chronology that runs:
1. The Magician’s Nephew (1955)
2. The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe (1950)
3. The Horse and His Boy (1954)
4. Price Caspian (1951)
5. The Voyage of the Dawn Treader (1952)
6. The Silver Chair (1953)
7. The Last Battle (1956)
BORN AGAIN
The other endless debate concerns whether Lewis, who converted to Christianity as an adult and wrote extensively on the teachings of the Bible, truly intended these seven books to act as allegories for Biblical events, but despite the author’s own admission that there was no overall plan – as apparently exists in something like J. K. Rowling’s Harry Potter series – most of the books contain recognisable similarities. The same way that Aesop used animals to illustrate morals he believed in, so Lewis uncompromisingly shows his readers the difference between good and evil, the fickle nature of humans and the love and protection that exists for everyone who believes.
In my opinion, the parallels with the Bible are too strong to be ignored: The Magician’s Nephew sees the creation and the entry of evil into the world due to man’s (Diggory’s uncle) search for knowledge, and to top it all there’s even a tree of forbidden fruit. The Last Battle is the other heavily Biblical tale, this time presenting the end of the world and other features of Revelations such as the coming of the antichrist.
Lewis himself has said that Aslan is not Jesus; Jesus was the son of God who took on human form, while Aslan is the son of God in another reality, in the form of a lion. The murder and resurrection of Aslan in the first book continues in Price Caspian, when only the innocent and faithful Lucy can see the lion, and the allegory is pretty much concluded with the presentation of Aslan as a lamb at the climax of Dawn Treader. From then on, he is seen mostly in his own country among the dead, where everything is wonderful and where people are happy forever. ‘The term is over, the holidays have begun.’
Although Prince Caspian seems partly based on Shakespeare’s Hamlet, while Dawn Treader is based on the pagan Ancient Greek tales of adventure, so it can’t all be taken as gospel.
WHICH TO BUY?
There have been many published editions of the Chronicles, but it really doesn’t make much difference which you buy; whichever is easiest on your wallet or looks the best on your shelf. Second-hand bookshops are reliable for these books if you’re looking for a cheap option, although Amazon.co.uk stock several different editions, including ‘adult’ versions: don’t be concerned about this strange new trend, it simply involves the book possessing a different, less interesting cover for adults who are both young and embarrassed at heart.
There have on occasion been boxed sets of all seven books and large volumes containing all seven books in one, but whatever you choose, make sure they include the excellent illustrations by Pauline Baynes.
The BBC released excellent dramatisations of all seven books a few years ago, updating the rather crude and dull audio recordings from the seventies. These are well worth investing in for a different take on the Narnia stories, while the BBC’s low budget but brilliantly memorable adaptations of the first four books are available on collector’s edition DVD.
Advantages: Seven classic children's books, widely available and still enjoyable today
Disadvantages: Anglo-Christian outlook may not be to everyone's taste
C. S. Lewis, The Voyage of the Dawn Treader
The Light at the End of the World
Written on 08.08.06
*****
The third book to take place in C. S. Lewis' mythical realm of Narnia takes readers on a highly enjoyable fantastical seafaring romp to the end of the world. The final book to feature the Pevensie children from 'The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe,' this book introduces their initially-irritable replacement in Eustace Scrubb, and sees the return of King Caspian and the courageous mouse Reepicheep from the previous book.
After the forest battles of the previous two Narnia books, 'The Voyage of the Dawn Treader' provides some excellent relief, and was always my personal favourite of the seven. Beginning fairly abruptly with a brief introduction for Eustace, the three children are sucked into a painting of a ship, and it's all high seas adventure from the onset. Like a seventeenth-century fantasy novel, new lands are discovered with fascinating inhabitants, and the reader is inevitably swept along in the excitement as Caspian and his crew sail headlong where no man has gone before, in search of Caspian's missing father and Aslan's mythical country at the end of the world.
Lewis' imagination at crafting vivid alien vistas and exotic situations is at its best here, and the style would be repeated somewhat in the later 'The Magician's Nephew.' The pace rarely lets up, and every character is featured heavily; a benefit of the marginally reduced cast of children compared to the previous books, a trend that would continue in 'The Silver Chair' and beyond. Eustace's story is perhaps the most prominent in the book, as he evolves from a snobbish atheist to a more accepting and 'enlightened' character in the vein of Edmund and Lucy, with a hint of that difficult transformed-into-a-dragon phase that all children go through. Even the adult Caspian is presented in a positive light, making a first for the series, as he is eternally noble and young at heart. Reepicheep is an easy favourite for children, and it's nice to see how far Edmund has come since the first book (in which he effectively played the role of Judas), in his new role as the eldest of the children.
The Dawn Treader itself is described as a magnificent vessel, and the BBC television series of the early 90s failed to do it justice in the way that the future Disney adaptation inevitably will. The reader really has to use his or her imagination in places to imagine a race of people with mushroom heads, and an entire aquatic civilisation seen from above. As I mentioned in my review of 'The Magician's Nephew,' Lewis wouldn't make a bad science fiction writer; his attention to detail in describing sights of vast scope remind me of Arthur C. Clarke, but the story's tendency to flit from island to island, event to event, is more reminiscent of TV sci-fi.
Lewis' Narnia books are aimed at both entertaining and educating children, both through Christian teachings and secular morals. The plot of 'Dawn Treader' contains no explicit Christian parallel, unlike the lion Aslan's crucifixion and resurrection in the first book, but there is one scene in which Aslan appears in the form of a lamb and refers to "another name" by which the children must learn to know him in their world. Unhindered by overt debts to Christianity, 'Dawn Treader' relies more on depicting heroism, in a far more admirable and less barbaric fashion than the sword battles of other Narnian books, and is perhaps more universal and commendable as a result. The objective of finding the fabled Aslan's country is comparable to the quest for the Holy Grail, or the 'Hero's Journey' narrative style identified by Joseph Campbell.
'The Voyage of the Dawn Treader' can be read independently of the other Narnia books (this was the first one I read as a child), but comes third in the correct reading order, following on a Narnian decade or so after the events of 'Prince Caspian.' Most editions of the book feature a nice illustrated map of the islands encountered on the Dawn Treader's journey, in addition to the usual black-and-white illustrations interspersed in the story, which I find can stifle the imagination after the narrator's eloquent descriptions.
Despite being written in 1952, there isn't anything in the form of a language barrier that should deter modern child readers, although it's clear that Lewis is writing for the privileged classes of his day, perhaps made oblique by the story's starting point in Cambridge. Some expressions and descriptions associated with Eustace smack of archaism, especially in the frequent uses of "bothersome." The travel narrative form is effectively timeless, and the characters act as suitable role models for young readers even today. This will be the best of the films, but I don't suppose I'll ever watch it.
Advantages: Takes the Narnia series in a less violent and more awe-inspiring direction.
Disadvantages: Narrative becomes a little too episodic and pieced together.
Rock the Tashbaan
Written on 03.08.06
***
One of the more overlooked titles in C. S. Lewis' Chronicles of Narnia series, 'The Horse and His Boy' is a somewhat superfluous addition to the popular children' series. The only book to focus on children native to Narnia rather than our own world, its minimal events and simplistic moral plot seem overly stretched out, in contrast to the more eventful books that precede it.
Ostensibly a popular Narnian folk story, the tale of 'the horse and his boy' is mentioned by name twice in Lewis’ previous book 'The Silver Chair.' Rather than provide an intriguing platform from which 'The Horse and His Boy' could be launched, this name-dropping only jeopardises the story's necessity and credibility, making it something of a story-within-a-story, although admittedly the presence of the Narnian Kings and Queens from 'The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe' towards the end of the book at least validates its authenticity within the Narnian universe.
The fourth book to be written, but the fifth published, this story is something of an eccentricity, and this is only exacerbated by the publishers' choice to position it third in the 'recommended reading order,' due to its chronology. Due to its status as something of a myth, unconnected directly to any of the other books, 'The Horse and His Boy' can be comfortably read in any position after 'The Lion...,' although its retrospective view of the past means it works best when read later in the series, as was intended.
Despite its fairy tale premise, this book is written in a style not dissimilar to the rest of Lewis' Narnia books, the historical attitude perhaps a little reminiscent of the prequel 'The Magician's Nephew.' The narrator sticks close by the main character, a poor boy called Shasta, and his escapades are narrated in a linear fashion. Raised by a father who was not his own in the desert land of Calormene, far south of Narnia, Shasta learns that he is to be sold to a new master, until he learns that his loyal horse Bree has the secret ability to speak. Bree reveals that he hails from Narnia, a land where beasts speak and people live in prosperity and happiness, and the two set off on their journey. On the way they meet a girl called Aravis, whose horse is also Narnian, who is fleeing from her oppressive life as a Calormene noble. The four are forced to travel through the capital city Tashbaan on their way, under the threat of capture.
This is a very different story from the norm in the Narnia series, in both setting and character. For once, the protagonists are not English children exploring a faraway world, but natives involved in their own struggle. Similarly, the action takes place within the mythical realm of Narnia, but in a much different region. Lewis' distinctly Arabian culture of Calormenes is not, as could be argued, portrayed in a racist light (although this proves a little more contestable upon their return as a simplistic, devil-worshipping enemy race in the final book). Rather, the exotic locale provides a nice backdrop for a convincing adventure story, and an effective parallel to the frozen and/or lush forests of Narnia and the rocky northern wastes of the giants in the previous books.
Shasta isn't too different from the usual characters of the series, apart from his lack of well-spoken English platitudes and cultural references. His story evolves nicely, and he fulfils the typical heroic role very well in some memorable scenes against the oppressive adult Calormenes. The horse Bree is also an entertaining character, following in the footsteps of Reepicheep as a convincing and sympathetic talking animal character in the saga. Despite some token bossy exchanges with his boy, there's some intelligent moralising over the use of horses by man, and some nice moments of insecurity when Bree fears that his years away from his civilised homeland will result in him embarrassing himself. It's a shame that after the relatively strong female character in 'The Silver Chair,' Lewis can only give us another disappointing female secondary character here, and even her horse (or should that be the other way round?) pales next to Bree. There are some fun scenes where the two horses play hard to get.
Lewis strived to communicate Christian values with all of the Narnia books, making them enlightening and rewarding for adult readers as much as children in some cases, but Biblical parallels are at their most subtle here. I struggled to find any, but later research indicated that Shasta's story is much like that of Moses. The character's actions are commendable and inspiring regardless of the author's influence, and the characters here are some of the best in the series. The Biblical stuff’s fun to spot, but I find it can cheapen the stories sometimes when shoehorned in as an irrelevant moral at the end, as seems to be the case with Aslan's appearance as a lamb in the third book. Foregoing much of the fantastical, assuming you can accept the idea of talkative steeds, this story is about people. Or rather, animals and their people. Good moral people and corrupt officials who happen to have black skin and turbans.
The language of this book, first published in 1954, shouldn’t provide much of a barrier for young readers. It's a case of eloquence and use of difficult vocabulary rather than archaic style. The lack of human (non-Narnian) child protagonists shouldn't present a problem, but may make this less appealing than the other six books, although there can't be too many children who will relate to the upper-class war-time figures of Peter, Lucy and the others. Shasta is generic enough to associate with, his white skin in a foreign land evidently a device to further this connection with Lewis' target audience, and it's a testament to the author's skill that even the horses are likeable.
Previous Narnia books have been alternately more exciting, more compelling, more endearing and more entertaining, and the same can even be said of those that come after. With 'The Horse and His Boy,' C. S. Lewis does an admirable job crafting a strong, courageous tale that lives up to the owl's hype in 'The Silver Chair,' but is otherwise an expendable piece of the myth. The BBC didn't try to adapt this one, I wonder if Disney will give it a try?
Advantages: High adventure, with some good characters.
Disadvantages: More difficult than relate to, and more of a simple moral tale than the other books.
The Deplorable Word
Written on 18.07.06
*****
The penultimate book in C. S. Lewis' Chronicles of Narnia series once again travels back in time to relate a story from Narnia's distant past, this time presenting the world's creation and the role that children from Victorian London played in introducing both good and evil to Narnia. 45 years before George Lucas filled in the back-story to Star Wars, Lewis does the same thing to his popular children's literature series that began with the acclaimed 'The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe.' Nowadays classed as the first Narnia book in the ridiculous 'recommended reading order,' The Magician's Nephew succeeds in tying up loose ends, elaborating on familiar events, and creating yet another exciting and interesting fantasy story for younger readers.
I seem to be refer to the other books in the series quite a lot, so to make things easier, here are Lewis' Chronicles in order of publication:
The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe (1950)
Prince Caspian (1951)
The Voyage of the Dawn Treader (1952)
The Silver Chair (1953)
The Horse and His Boy (1954)
The Magician's Nephew (1955)
The Last Battle (1956)
Continuing his trend from the previous three books, Lewis introduces new principal characters rather than relying on established favourites. The move to a smaller cast of two worked well in 'The Silver Chair' and 'The Horse and His Boy,' and is again the case here. The Magician's Nephew is the story of Diggory and his cockney friend Polly, who are deceived into being guinea pigs for Diggory's mad uncle, after his actual guinea pig vanished without a trace. Donning magic rings, Diggory and Polly find themselves in a vast wood with pools leading to other worlds: one is an ancient, dying place ruled by the evil witch Jadis, and another is a dark, lifeless place, until a roaring, singing lion appears and the children witness the dawn of a new world.
(For anyone worried about that guinea pig, it led a happy and fairly satisfying life in the magic wood).
The Magician's Nephew is a great pseudo-science-fiction adventure story for children, and it's perhaps Lewis' experimentation with that genre here that made this one of my favourites of the Narnia series. Where 'The Lion' was a fantastical story full of unexplained mystery and magic, this prequel attempts to rationalise some of the first book's eccentricities, albeit still in a fantastical way. Narnia is no longer the 'country' described in previous books, but to adopt sci-fi jargon, is more of an alternate dimension or distant planet. Jadis' cold, ancient world is presided over by a scientifically accurate red giant sun, and the excellent Wood Between the Worlds conceit serves much the same function as spaceships travelling between solar systems, only on an infinitely smaller scale and in a far more idyllic and green manner.
The dimension-hopping adventures of Diggory and Polly make for an exciting, fast-paced plot, and their discoveries are truly fascinating. My main criticism of this book in comparison with the others is that, in burdening the reader with so many scene changes and plot points and devoting so much attention to the creation of Narnia in the latter half, the characters themselves aren't given a great amount of attention. In presenting the old man of 'The Lion' as a young boy (as we learn this is Diggory's identity at the end), the character ends up seeming inconsequential apart from his link to that earlier, more well-known book, and although Polly is another fairly strong female character in the series, she nevertheless ends up seeming like an inferior clone of Lucy, Jill and the others who have come before her.
Lewis does devote a surprising amount of attention to 'filling in the blanks' of the established Narnia universe, and although this ultimately proves not to be detrimental to the book's quality, it does seem a little too much at times. Mysterious details from the first book that didn't really need an answer are given answers anyway, including the origin of the lamppost, the wardrobe and the presence of humans in Narnia, almost as if Lewis became embarrassed of these details as the series progressed from one enjoyable book to an entire serial. Re-using the same enemy in the form of the later-to-be White Witch even borders on fan fiction territory, but thankfully it's all done tastefully and will hopefully flatter young readers once they start to notice the connections. This is the reason that the recommended reading order of these books should be ignored in favour of reading the stories in the order in which they were published, otherwise the mystery of the earlier books is diluted before they've even begun.
The Biblical allusions are once again strongly present, this time recognisably from the Book of Genesis. The final book published the following year would move right to the other end, and the Book of Revelation. Taking his cues that it was God the Son who created the Earth, from a New Testament (John) reference and Milton's Paradise Lost of which Lewis is one of the most famous scholars, Lewis presents Aslan singing the light, plants and creatures of the world into creation. Previous books have equated Aslan the lion with Christ with varying degrees of subtlety, culminating in his appearance as a lamb at the end of the third book, in which he tells the children that they must learn to know him by the name he goes by in their (our) world.
Here, the parallels with Genesis are more obvious, and young readers who are familiar with the story of Creation, Eden and Noah's Ark could be expected to recognise the parallels. Following on from Milton in the 17th century, Lewis presents his own revision of humanity's temptation, only this time the genders are reversed, and the crisis is averted: Diggory succeeds in obeying Aslan over the White Witch, even though the forbidden fruit has the ability to save his dying mother, however he and Polly are already partly responsible for the presence of this evil in the new world. Such a religious bias may be off-putting to some readers, especially as Lewis confuses the issues somewhat and potentially introduces some unnecessary sexism, but thankfully the first half of the book is free of religious symbolism.
Children always come off well in the Narnia books, and Diggory's conscience and loyalty are inspiring. It's especially interesting to see his innocent and confused reaction to the 'love spell' effect of the Witch's presence, which has a far greater and more intoxicating effect on his foolish uncle. I also enjoyed how the characters and reader are constantly one step ahead of the adults, especially in the discovery that the magic rings are more complex in their function than the one-dimensional view of the mad scientist. Most of the friendly characters are likeable, and the evil ones fittingly despicable and punished.
The story of Narnia's creation didn't really need to be told, but it's nice that it was, and in truth the act of creation itself doesn't consume that much of the story. A problem I had even as a child was in the simplistic illustrations, which I don't think are necessary for fantasy books like this: I remember envisaging the Wood Between the Worlds and Jadis' Hall in far more grandeur than the disappointing sketches that appeared a couple of pages later. Lewis' language borders on the archaic now, but shouldn't pose much of a problem: some dialogue is intentionally old-fashioned due to the setting.
For those reading the Narnia books in publication order, it is a little confusing and even irritating that both the fifth and sixth books take place earlier in the chronology, but with the Carnegie-winning 'The Last Battle,' Lewis returned to the 'present day' and the end of Narnia, offering a nice, if depressing contrast to this book. More concerned with exploration and the nature of the universe than the battles of the other books, 'The Magician's Nephew' is recommended for all young readers who want to be sci-fi geeks when they grow up. Budding Lord of the Rings fans would be better off looking elsewhere in the series.
Advantages: Excellent fantasy/sci-fi story for children, with vivid descriptions and inspiring characters
Disadvantages: Feels a little burdened by the author's Christian morals, and lacks the innocence of earlier books
M
Christopher Marlowe, Doctor Faustus
Renaissance Man
Written on 15.10.03
***
This review is an attempt by myself to turn to a more classical subject than iron maiden and pot noodles [Let me know if you want to read that one - Ed], and as there were no reviews written for this play I decided to try my hand. You can rest assured that all the observations are not taken straight from websites, as I studied this play for AS-level English Literature and my book is full of scribbled notes. [That you got from your teacher, so why is that better than a website?]
This early 17th century play was written for the stage but not performed widely until after the author Christopher Marlowe's death. Its themes of Heaven, Hell and damnation were common to a lot of the plays of the time, but it was also deemed inappropriate and blasphemous in places by the heavily Protestant Elizabethan audience. Still often regarded as blasphemous even today, the attraction about this play for me is the way the main plot and secondary, seemingly-irrelevant storylines can become linked as they are thought about. I was also surprised that something so old could be so easily understandable, and in structure not too dissimilar to modern books and television shows.
The fairly simple plot follows a tripartite structure: first there is contact with the Devil, travel and conjurings and finally regret and damnation. The protagonist, Doctor John Faustus, is the embodiment of a Renaissance scholar; his unsatisfied and inquisitive nature reflects the feelings of many intellectuals in the 'age of exploration,' however Marlowe makes it clear that it is over-ambition that causes Faustus' downfall.
The play begins with Faustus finishing his studies and conjuring the demon Mephastophilis from Hell. Believing himself to be in full control of the situation, Faustus offers his soul for twenty-four years of superhuman powers and abilities, with dreams of becoming as powerful as a god. Once he is granted this exchange however, Faustus very quickly finds himself manipulated by his constant companion Mephastophilis into attacks against the Church. As the years pass, Faustus does not recognise the truth that he has not achieved anything he set out to do; although his name is now widely known, Faustus has resorted to simple conjuring pranks to keep himself amused. As his death grows near, he is visited by an Old Man who tries to persuade him to beg for forgiveness, and Faustus realises that he has made a huge mistake. Conjuring an image of Helen of Troy, Faustus realises that there is no salvation for him and he waits for Lucifer to collect him.
Interspersed between this plot are a number of comedy scenes which mirror Faustus' actions. One of the most interesting aspects of the play is the relevance of characters Robin and Rafe. At first, these two stable workers seem to offer irrelevant comic relief and little in the way of plot advancement, but as the play progressed I realised [i.e. was informed] that their foolish jokes performed with Faustus' book, and base sexual desires, foreshadowed Faustus' deterioration until he is much like them. Faustus' apprentice Wagner also appears at several points in the play, and his character seems to show the corruptible nature of such 'dark magic' as Faustus is using. Marlowe also uses irony a number of times, most notably when the Seven Deadly Sins are paraded before Faustus by Mephastophilis prior to the start of Faustus' contract; by the end of the play, the character has been guilty of all seven.
While the play is certainly not as relevant to a modern audience, for example the scene in which an invisible Faustus plays havoc with the Pope and his dinner guests which would have been greatly enjoyed by the anti-Catholic Elizabethan audience, Doctor Faustus can provide an enjoyable reading experience. The play is not particularly long, and while some scenes are uninteresting there are many more which can prove borderline-funny. The characters are also surprisingly well-written in most places, considering the essential purpose of such characters in Shakespeare and other contemporary plays was to embody a typical trait of some nationality or occupation.
I hesitate to recommend this book, but it certainly has 'classic' status and is widely known, but most of the appeal does come from the fact that this book was written in a very different time for a very different audience. My study of Doctor Faustus has ensured that I am not put off by Medieval and classical English Literature topics at University, as I now welcome this experience. But remember that I have only read this book because I was required to; old English literature is not usually my preferred reading taste.
Advantages: Understandable, Believable characters
Disadvantages: Possibly blasphemous, although this was not the intention, Many phrases/scenes will doubtless require explanation
All Hell Breaks Loose
Written on 05.06.05
****
John Milton is regarded by many as the last of the classical poets, before the Romantic movement of the late 17th century began the perpetual admiration/rebellion crisis of influence that still exists with the modern obsession with parody and deconstruction. ‘Paradise Lost’ is an epic poem published in ten books in 1667, later amended by the author to a twelve book version in 1674 just prior to his death. It remains one of the most revered and studied poems in the English language, surpassed only by Milton’s immediate precursor William Shakespeare.
Milton was always convinced that he would produce the greatest epic poem of the English language, and despite the attempts of Alfred Lord Tennyson a century later, the lofty and momentous subject matter of ‘Paradise Lost’ – aided by Milton’s rigidly structured blank verse – has ensured the blind puritan’s immortality in the English literary canon.
OF MAN’S FIRST TRESPASS
Inspired by the ancient classical poets Homer and Virgil, Milton had planned to write his great English epic on the greatest English legend, the story of King Arthur. But as he matured, the importance of writing a fundamentally Christian epic, something to rival and even exceed the achievements of the ancient pagan Greeks and Romans, led to him choosing the ultimate subject: God’s creation of the universe, Earth and man, and man’s Fall in Eden.
The twelve books of Paradise Lost expand greatly upon Genesis, the first book of the Bible, featuring a great deal of artistic license in elements that Milton added to increase the drama of the piece. Although Paradise Lost is primarily a poem of discourse and reasoning, Milton begins with a war in heaven between the followers of God and the Rebel Angels led by Satan, the most visually impressive of all the Angels that may or may not have been created by God. Satan is cast down to Chaos, a region below Heaven and the universe, and along with his followers he build Pandemonium, his hellish palace from which he can plan his revenge.
The other protagonists of the play are Adam and Eve, in the sections of Paradise Lost that will be familiar to those brought up as Christians. God made Adam, the first man, in his own image, but once Adam confessed his loneliness and desire for a counterpart of equal intelligence, God created Eve from one of Adam’s ribs. Book 9, the most widely-known book of Milton’s epic, sees Satan, jealous of the humans’ blissful lives in a Paradise they have not earned, possessing a snake and tempting Eve to eat fruit from the Tree of Knowledge, the only fruit forbidden to the humans by God. Once she takes a bite, Eve ‘descends’ into a more recognisably human character, embarrassed by her nudity and feeling fear and jealousy for her actions that she blames on others. Scared to take the blame by herself, and possessive of her beloved Adam, Eve tempts Adam with the fruit, stating: ‘Adam shall share with me in bliss or woe.’
‘But what if God have seen
And Death ensue? Then I shall be no more
And Adam wedded to another Eve’
THE FORTUNATE FALL
Milton’s goal with Paradise Lost is to ‘justify the ways of God to men,’ explaining the reasons for God’s actions in a way in which he feels no other poet would be capable. One of the endless paradoxes of the Bible is that an all-knowing God created fallible, fickle man and woman, and was surprised when they betrayed him. An omnipotent creator would know that his creations would fall, and the closing books of Paradise Lost reflect this:
‘Then the Earth
Shall all be Paradise, far happier place
Than this of Eden, and far happier days’
Adam is shown the future of mankind, up to the sacrifice of Jesus for the world’s sins, implying that this was all part of God’s master plan. After all, if Adam and Eve had not betrayed him, how could be show them humility and forgiveness? Even Satan’s actions could not have gone unnoticed, independent and wily as they seemed, informing Milton’s readers that all the trials and tribulations of life are simply part of a greater goal. Reassuring words for readers in perhaps the most turbulent and dangerous part of England’s history.
The political agenda behind Paradise Lost is also fairly clear when applied to Milton’s time. The civil war in heaven, leading to the punishment of those who dared to try and seize power from an aristocratic leader, mirrors the struggle of Oliver Cromwell and the supporters of democracy, for which many of the ‘traitors’ were later executed on the Restoration of the monarchy. Milton managed to escape this fate thanks to the support of his friend Andrew Marvell, but his limited fortune suffered immensely in reparation payments. The character of Satan can be viewed as Milton without claims that the poet was, as William Blake put it, ‘unconsciously of the Devil’s party,’ but the convincing arguments over the quest for knowledge do indicate that, placed in the position of Eve, Milton would make the same decision. Milton’s Satan is even prepared to make his dismal situation positive: ‘a heav’n of hell, a hell of heav’n.’
RHYME: ‘THE INVENTION OF A BARBAROUS AGE’
The introductory note to the verse of Paradise Lost sees Milton condemning the use of rhyme in poems, especially epic poems, for its constraint on the writer’s message. Rhyme is fun, but in Milton’s view, many works of genius have been hindered by their strict adherence to such structures. Dante’s ‘Divine Comedy,’ the Italian Christian epic to rival Milton, does suffer in places for its rhyme, and this is multiplied by those English translators who find it necessary to work the Italian into rhyming English verse.
Milton’s blank verse still conforms to a ten syllable iambic pentameter, and his elaborate similes and obsessive allusions to other classical works make reading Paradise Lost a difficult task. Even more confusing is his refusal to use words appropriated from other languages without using them in their original meaning. Paradise Lost may remain a book for scholars and students, but its revision of the Fall is fascinating and helps make sense of an otherwise rather simplistic attempt to explain how women are the inferior sex.
‘To thy husband’s will thine shall submit, he over thee shall rule’
Sadly, seventeenth century John Milton was as sexist as the rest of them.
Advantages: Lofty and ambitious English epic, Rewrites the Fall in thoughtful detail, Interesting, human characters
Disadvantages: Somewhat time-bound, Difficult for casual readers, Bogged down in references
Monty Python, The Complete Monty Python's Flying Circus: All the Words
I Think Sexual Ecstasy is Over-Rated
Written on 28.08.04
*****
The hit early seventies comedy series Monty Python's Flying Circus is still seen by many fans as a show ahead of our times. They're wrong obviously (it's dead old), but it's a sad fact that few comedy series since have continued to innovate and destroy conventions in the way that the Pythons did, and in a country where recycled trashy sitcoms such as 'My Family' and 'Two Pints of Lager' are released on DVD without even a sign of a full Flying Circus release, fans have to settle for buying the excellent films and reading the zany madcap escapades in Roger Wilmut's reproduced script book of the complete series. Either that or they can buy Sky Digital where Paramount 2 have been repeating the show all year.
WHAT IS MONTY PYTHON? I HAVE NEVER HEARD OF IT
'Monty Python's Flying Circus' was the silly name eventually decided upon for the televisual collaboration of Graham Chapman, John Cleese, Terry Gilliam, Eric Idle, Terry Jones and Michael Palin, and as time passed and the series grew in popularity, this team became collectively known as Monty Python. The show premiered on BBC television on October 5th 1969 and it was largely word of mouth that led to the cult status of the show, as well as its international popularity.
The thirty minute programmes were based on comedy sketches and routines that were often expertly linked together by the use of animation or continuing ideas to make a consummate piece of television, the series being written and performed by the Monty Python team and a number of recurring guest stars, most notably Carol Cleveland, who was used whenever a man in a dress wasn't good enough, and the Fred Tomlinson Singers for those lumberjack- and spam-based signing necessities.
HUMOUR
Most casual viewers will describe the show as "silly" in a positive way, but there's a lot more to it than huge-nosed men and people with tape recorders up their noses. The Pythons delighted in their abstinence from practices such as ending a sketch with a satisfying punchline, and this even led to many of their shows featuring wild use of the opening and closing credits at different points throughout the show. The series also entered the darker comedy realm on a number of occasions, but due to the surprisingly traditional mindset of members such as Cleese, these would mostly be done deliberately over the top to become ironic, and were rarely disturbing or offensive.
THE WORDS
As it states several times, the book 'All the Words' (the collected volumes one and two previously released as 'Just the Words') contains all the words from the forty-five episodes of Flying Circus, without any drawings, photos or blurred screenshots of the performers in the middle for you to look at. These are not the original scripts of the series, something that divides peoples' opinions on this book, but rather a retyped transcript of the completed episodes by dedicated fans with a VCR on hand. The dialogue is all perfectly accurate and complete, while important events and actions are included in italics and parenthesis.
There are also some nice touches to help fans in visualising sketches they haven't previously seen: on the entry of each character, the performer's name is noted (Connie, Terry J, etc.), while the intended effects of actions are described when the words alone might not be enough ("staring transfixed," etc.)
Terry Gilliam's bizarre animations are also described very briefly, but this is mainly a tome for those interested in recapping their favourite Python moments or discovering new ones. Every sketch can be located very easily by page reference. This book does not include any material from the Pythons' other projects such as their hit films, their live shows, their albums and their reunion shows.
FEATURES
This book has been made as useful and to the point as possible, sacrificing pictures and fancy typefaces in favour of transmission dates and an index of sketches. These indexes are very useful for locating popular sketches such as the Dead Parrot, Scott of the Sahara and Mouse Problem, the. The contents page is also very well produced, with each episode given an appropriate title and a quick list of relevant sketches included for each one.
As the two volumes are printed upside down from each other, the indexes of each feature the sketch title in italics to indicate its presence in the other half. There are also a number of blank pages in the centre between the two books, which you could fill with your own Pythonesque sketches or drawings of Eric Idle or something I expect.
VERDICT
Reading the show is clearly something of a poor substitute for seeing it performed, or even hearing it on one of the Pythons' popular records, but this book does have its uses. Young people who enjoy literal sub-Python whimsy can recreate some of the less well-known sketches and pass them off as their own, or simply check whether Ivan the Terrible really did slice a dummy man in two with a sword, or whether that was just a dream you had. After many months I found out it's in episode thirteen.
Many of the sketches can be enjoyed as much just by reading them, as a great deal are based on clever or silly wordplay and basic monologues from the performers. So although 'The Ministry of Silly Walks' is wasted in this format, something like the anagram discussion of 'Blood Devastation Death War and Horror' can be even more enjoyable ("if you're going to split hairs, I'm going to p*** off.")
Some hardcore fans were disappointed that these scripts weren't the originals written for the actors that were ad-libbed and altered right up to the transmission date, but anyone really interested in some of the sketches that never made it can find them quite easily on the internet. SOTCAA has a fairly definitive and long-winded collection at http://web.ukonline.co.uk/sotcaa/python.html
A nice additional feature of the book is that the original scripts, where available, were kept on hand for some additional notes. This allows all of the Pythons' strange character names to be included for their dialogue, even those that were never given names on screen. John Cleese's character in the Dead Parrot sketch is called Mr. Praline.
Monty Python were arguably the most influential and brilliant comedy minds in television history, and this is an easy, cheap and definitive way to enjoy their most influential work. Anyone interested in the Python films can invest in the enjoyable Monty Python and the Holy Grail scriptbook or simply buy the shoddy and unnecessary "special edition" DVDs of Holy Grail and Life of Brian that are exactly the same as the cheap versions but include a wafer ("waffer") thin script book and film cell.
E.T. II: Escape From Birmingham!
Written on 02.12.07
***
Another fondly remembered series from the early bibliography of Alan Moore (at least fondly remembered by people who were born at least a decade earlier than I was, lucky gets), 'Skizz' is one of the major limited series he wrote for London-based sci-fi comic 2000AD before really hitting his stride with more ambitious projects, re-inventing the mature comic format and sodding off to America. This twenty-three part saga, originally published as five-page parts of a weekly serial, was primarily demanded of the writer by the comic's editor to be an unapologetic and shameless cash-in on the popularity still riding from Steven Spielberg's blockbuster 'E.T.', released the previous year. Moore's take on the tale chronicles the sympathetic struggle of a funny-looking alien who had the rotten luck to crash-land on a surprisingly aggressive, hellish planet populated by the brutish descendants of apes. We finally really did it - you maniacs! God damn you all to hell! Spaghetti Junction twirls across the skyline and we realise it was Birmingham all along.
Moore knows full well that it's a bit cheap to make a straight E.T. rip-off, and makes sure to explicitly reference that film in dialogue, along with other alien-on-Earth clichés, to prevent himself from slipping into lazy parody. Although the restrictions of deadline, format and target audience keep this from reaching the artistic heights of his later 'V for Vendetta' and the numerous major successes that followed, or even the more modest achievements of his later, more liberated 2000AD series 'The Ballad of Halo Jones,' Moore's talent is still strongly evident in the interesting characters, dialogue and later elements of the plot, even if the whole endeavour does feel disappointingly pedestrian and family-friendly compared to the mad stuff he was writing at the time for Sounds magazine. The story of Skizz is the story of E.T., but slightly different - set in Brum of the early eighties against a subtle background of recession, with an intrepid cast of unlikely, unemployable heroes. They may not have a flying bike, but they have a minivan and they still have their pride.
If E.T. was largely about the divide between adventurous, loving childhood and cynical, paranoid adulthood (I actually can't remember, I haven't seen it since I was about four), 'Skizz' replicates this without much embellishment, ageing the main character to fifteen-year-old punk Roxanne and adding an irritatingly stereotypical arch villain in the form of Jan Van Owen, whose presence (and strange German accent) only serve to undermine the serious messages as the captured alien is subjected to testing and forced to reveal its non-existent violent agenda. Upon crashing outside Birmingham at night-time, Skizz (real name Interpreter Zhcchz of the Tau-Ceti Imperium) stumbles into its busy, crowded centre in a daze brought about by Earth's unusually low gravity and high concentration of oxygen, and witnessing punks engaged in a street brawl, forms his first impression of the human race. The question the reader is invited to ask is, was this just an unfortunate stroke of bad luck in terms of keeping up appearances, or was this incident of human conflict a more honest, unadulterated depiction of the truth behind our species' diplomatic veneer? It's fortunate that the shed he finally selects as shelter is owned by the family of the more accepting Roxy, whose parents are spending the weekend at Scarborough, and whose startled reaction of disbelief is tempered by her knowledge that this is clearly just a dream. A dream that seems to be lasting for quite a long time, even after she wakes up.
The larger plot suffers a little from this being a weekly serial composed of relatively short episodes that need to be self-contained to some extent, to prevent casual readers from feeling too alienated. There are some oversights as cliff-hanger endings from the previous week occasionally fail to be really addressed in the next, or the time span between instalments is assumed to be longer, particularly as Skizz first enters Roxy's care and learns to adapt to his new environment, which seems to be over far too quickly on the page for her to develop the attachment and devotion she displays through the rest of the story. For the most part, the deadlines don't affect the quality, and Moore's script, though naturally evolving to some extent with each issue rather than being set in stone from the start, features the level of consistency and pay-off to earlier set-ups that would be expected of a substantial serial such as this. Characters are consistent and entertaining, particularly Roxy's adult friends Loz and Cornelius who prove their worth, ingenuity and brute strength when required, and it's ensured that everyone will be rooting for the innocent, helpless Skizz to escape from the mad German's clichéd clutches.
I'd say that it's still primarily a story for younger readers (I'm thinking more the teenage audience, often stupidly classified as 'young adults'), considering its status as a beefed-up (and Brummed-up) E.T., but as ever, Moore makes things interesting for a wider audience. His stories for 2000AD usually tried to avoid the comic's trademark space wars and macho metal violence, and this is a great example of a sci-fi story based around human themes and interaction. Even the necessary technobabble in the opening crash sequence seems noticeably tongue-in-cheek in its excess, inaugurating yet another arbitrary lexicon of alien gobbledygook for the 2000AD multiverse, and the usual plot clichés are all dismissed during the alien's interrogation: his ship "just happened" to crash on Earth because he naturally directed its failing systems to find the nearest planet capable of supporting life, and he picks up the English language with speed due to his job as an Interpreter. Despite the significant drawback of learning it from Brummies. (I'm only joking, though I have to admit to getting an enhanced level of amusement from taking the time to imagine all of the characters speaking their lines in the quite frankly hilarious dialect of that great city).
I've gone over the top in praising Alan Moore without even mentioning the excellent art of Jim Baikie, which is striking in the publication's customary black-and-white format, and fulfils the requirement of rendering humans and aliens with the same degree of skill as the natural and industrial backdrops. Apart from some gratuitously indulgent double-page spreads at the most dramatic bits, which are ace, Baikie's most impressive feat comes in defamiliarising the modern structures we take for granted through the eyes of an alien who really is very alien; Baikie's electrical pylons and cooling towers really do look like "horrifying monuments." Like 'Halo Jones,' and I presume, much of the 2000AD canon, this is a series I can't imagine looking better in colour as the shading is enough. Anyway, the front cover shows that Skizz is sort of brown, so you don't have to read the whole book in tense frustration before that is revealed (for some reason he looks purple on DC's re-issue, but that might be the light).
Baikie went on to both write and illustrate a further two series of 'Skizz' for 2000AD in the early nineties, but trade paperbacks seem to focus solely (and thus I assume, wisely) on the original written by Moore, coming in at just over a hundred, nicely thick, black-and-white pages and retailing around the £10 mark, though probably a bit more expensive today. The complete series is presented back-to-back with only the unavoidably tell-tale 'Next Prog:', title bubble and repeated writing/art credits seeming amiss in this format, and the book is kick-started with a three-page 'The Making of Skizz' from the 2000AD annual that came out that year, a fair substitute for a more recent, original introduction by Moore or Baikie, and one that follows the comic's recurring joke of casting its production team as androids, keeping the whole thing light-hearted and semi-truthful to the point of intrigue. The only real flaw, that has gone uncorrected no matter how many times this is released, is the glaring error by letterer Tony Jacob in which he presumably wrote the wrong species of marsupial into a speech bubble that was later amended to 'wallabies' with an oblong sticker that failed to be masked by the photocopy. It's these sorts of unprofessional errors and rushed-to-deadline scripts that make me so fond of the humble early work of (later) legendary writers, and I'm sure the various companies licensed to reprint 2000AD material are similarly glad that the opportunity presented itself.
Advantages: An entertaining, Brummed-up version of Spielberg's heart-warming film, with more explosions.
Disadvantages: Short, a little inconsistent and unadventurous.
Alan Moore and Ian Gibson, The Ballad of Halo Jones, Book One
Overture
Written on 29.09.07
****
When a renowned writer has a number of huge successes behind them, it’s always interesting to go back and view their earlier stuff, and it’s especially satisfying to find out that their early work was actually really good. ‘The Ballad of Halo Jones’ was Alan Moore’s first prominent, long-running series for the English comic publication ‘2000AD’ following several years’ worth of mostly comedic one-off stories, most memorably featuring the extraterrestrial students D.R. & Quinch, and the double-decker-brained Abelard Snazz. Created and produced in collaboration with artist Ian Gibson, Halo Jones was envisioned as something of an antidote to the usual space age violence of the publication encapsulated by its most famous figure Judge Dredd, by focusing on an ordinary character having to cope with life in a harsh, dystopian future. Perhaps most strikingly, Halo was a girl, as Moore strove to diversify 2000AD beyond being a mere boys’ comic and to give something back to its surprising female following. And also, as he notes in this volume, because Gibson drew girls really well.
This first of three collections published by Titan reprints the first ten-part story that introduces Halo’s origins, fittingly in a floating district shaped like a hoop, and provides her motivations for leaving the Earth behind and heading out to space as a lowly stewardess to face whatever the rest of the stories will throw at her. The stories were originally printed as mere five-page episodes in each weekly issue of the comic, making the first few parts rather disappointingly brief and inconsequential as they explore self-contained scenes, but after this the narrative becomes fairly continuous as Moore and Gibson depict Halo and Rodice’s eventful shopping trip and their ill-fated return home. At only fifty-five pages, plus a few extras at the end, this is a lightweight and easily read paperback that has since been incorporated into larger complete collections of all three stories, since it’s been apparent for about twenty years now that Moore won’t be writing another.
‘Halo Jones’ is set in a distant future, precise and concise details of which are withheld by Moore to essentially drop readers in at the deep end and try to sort it out for themselves. The world is very effectively explored from the perspective of the main characters, all young women who share a dwelling together with a robotic dog for companionship and protection, and by denying readers an easy introductory paragraph to explain how everything works, the reading and observation process becomes more demanding and enjoyable, as casual lines of dialogue or details in the artwork build up to create quite a fair overview of Halo’s world, or at least as much as readers need to know. Some of these revelations are more transparent than others, but some, particularly those concerning the reptile-like aliens who seem to cohabit the Hoop with humans, will only really be revealed through repeated readings, if at all.
This edition of the collection unfortunately destroys this sense of mystery to a large extent by including just such an introductory page that explains some of these things away through the conceit of a promotional advertisement for life on the Hoop, but thankfully it was left until the back pages after the story had finished, and it did contain some points that I was surprised I hadn’t noticed, particularly the disproportionate number of females living in the Hoop and the number of limbs on a Proximan. Moore alienates readers even further with a very nice system of slang and futuristic language similar in function to that of Anthony Burgess’ ‘A Clockwork Orange,’ which he claims in his introduction (also at the end of the book so as not to spoil things) is a genuine, workable language system developed by Gibson years earlier for fun. As with Burgess’ and most other fictional slangs, it’s usually clear what characters are talking about, but it will take until several issues in that some of the earlier dialogue will actually make any sort of sense in context.
Alan Moore is widely praised as the finest comic writer of all time, and although this more straightforward and consciously domestic plot lacks the multi-layered extravagance of something like ‘Watchmen,’ it’s very clear that both he and Gibson are enjoying working on a project that defies convention. His dialogue is flawless as ever, once readers get accustomed to its eccentricities, and the characters are all highly distinctive and progress excellently as the story evolves. Halo’s house/pod-mate Rodice takes charge of much of the action early on, proving herself to be quite feisty and sarcastic with a knack for cracking puns, but when she gets in out of her depth, whether it’s being exposed to the unfamiliar vastness of the outside world with its open skies, or to the consequences of a death in the adoptive family, it’s time for Halo to take the spotlight and prove what she’s capable of becoming, despite her modest background and earlier fears. The robotic dog Toby is a very nice addition, bringing a male presence to balance out all that oestrogen without veering too far into macho territory (he is only a dog, after all), and he has a great antagonistic relationship with Rodice, having a similarly sarcastic sense of humour.
There’s no real sense of an enemy force or larger dramatic plot as of yet, though the ominous news reports of a military build-up in the Tarantula nebula and the unexplained state of humankind’s relationship with the Proximans (and any further, as-yet unseen races that might be out there, such as the oft-mentioned Cetaceans) are perhaps awaiting Halo Jones in books two and three. Indeed, fans of 2000AD’s usual action-oriented sci-fi may have been disappointed with what is essentially an extended ten-part prologue of build-up, but those people would be missing the point; while it’s regrettable that Moore wasn’t able to get a satisfactory deal with the publishers that would have allowed him to produce more Halo Jones stories in his intended saga of numerous books (a few more than three, at least), making this introductory book more prominent and focal that it was intended to be, I wouldn’t be surprised if it turns out to be my favourite of the lot precisely for that focus on everyday life rather than adventure. I’ll get back to you on that in a couple of weeks.
As with all my favourite work from Alan Moore, the depressing situation of the slums for the unemployed is balanced out by a large smattering of ironic humour, leading to an alternative, propagandised description of the Hoop as a haven for ‘increased leisure citizens,’ whose generously provided habitat seems to double up as a convenient collector of tidal energy that’s not so convenient for the Hoop dwellers themselves. Moore uses the futuristic setting to comment on present-day concerns like all good sci-fi, with plenty of digs at unreasonable concerns over fashion, including a preference for spherical weapons this season over pointy ones, and an anticlimactic scene in which Halo’s plan to leave the Hoop behind and head boldly into pastures new requires extensive paperwork, reminiscent of Terry Gilliam’s ‘Brazil.’ There’s also a very interesting take on the dividing nature of popular music, with an underground group of violent ‘Drummers’ being confined to the Hoop, and frequently spacing out to the music they can evidently access through a chip inserted into their shaven heads. Perhaps most glaringly comical of all is Rodice’s arsenal of ‘zenades,’ grenades that unleash positive energy waves that send the victim into a gibbering new-age philosophical mode.
Of course, Alan Moore’s comics would only be readable if the art was up to scratch, and Ian Gibson has an excellent style that’s perfectly suited to just this type of story (and, according to Moore, its defining gender). Originally produced on a hurried weekly schedule for a comic that sold for ‘22p Earth Money,’ the art is naturally in un-shaded black and white, and while this makes some of the more detailed panels a little more difficult and time-consuming to properly absorb, the reader/observer soon gets accustomed to the visual style of the depressing Hoop environment, with its curving, artery-like hallways and artificial gardens. Gibson’s characters are all drawn with some quite drastic angles ensuring that he retains his credentials as a slightly edgy artist, and it’s true that he draws really good women, rather than the customary huge-bosomed Valkyrie warrioresses, huge-bosomed superheroes and huge-bosomed damsels-in-distress more associated with comics like this. They also have quite cute big eyes, and his renditions of Toby appear satisfyingly world-weary.
Advantages: Excellently realised futuristic setting encourages the reader's total immersion.
Disadvantages: Slow pace, lack of traditional comic action and alienating local jargon will deter casual readers.
Alan Moore and Ian Gibson, The Ballad of Halo Jones, Book Two
Intermezzo
Written on 06.10.07
***
Alan Moore reveals in his introduction to the second Book of 'The Ballad of Halo Jones' that the general response of '2000AD' readers to the first serialised story was lukewarm at best, and the sequel had none of the inevitability of anything Moore churns out today (to a consistently high standard, admittedly). Moore's eighteen-year-old female protagonist inhabited a bleak and confusing fiftieth century world where a single shopping trip could lead to tragedy and even death, and her decision to escape the hopeless planet Earth as a crew member of the luxury liner Clara Pandy presented a hope for drastic changes from those who found the first story alienating or dull, and were awaiting Halo's transformation into Judy Dredd: Space Warrior Whore or something similarly backwards-looking.
Fortunately we're dealing with Alan Moore, a follower of Glycon the hairy snake god glove puppet; a writer who is renowned for sticking to his strong principles even when they fly headlong into the face of public opinion. He admits without shame in his introduction that he was happy to go along with IPC Magazine's demands of more action and less futuristic newspeak, but only because these could be fit nicely into the story he and artist Ian Gibson had already outlined. Consequently, Book 2 of Halo Jones, despite being set almost entirely aboard an uneventful luxury liner on an intermediary journey, was received with greater warmth by comic readers, and Moore didn't have to sell out to win them over. There's always one annoying purist though, isn't there? The irritating reader who thinks he or she (don't laugh at the notion, Halo Jones supposedly attracted a fair few girls to '2000AD') is on a more artistic plain than the common reader, and much preferred what the creators were doing before they were forced to make changes for the better. Unfortunately, I happen to be that person this time... as well as most other times to be honest.
Book 2 of 'The Ballad' is set out similarly to the first, reprinting the ten five-page comics, but this time accompanied by an extra 'prologue' issue at the start to bring new readers up to speed. It's a good idea, and by introducing the events from a perspective that is even further detached from our own - namely a University or school lecture a further 1400 years after Halo that focuses on her as an "obscure historical figure" - the narration through dialogue is conveniently permitted to explain certain aspects of Halo's contemporary society and universe, straightforward explanations that were sadistically denied to readers of the first book. This first issue is fairly inconsequential, especially for fans already familiar with the preceding events, and it must stand out quite oddly when appearing a third of the way through the complete collected edition, and by spoiling some of the mystery it takes away what I found to be one of the most satisfying aspects of the first book's reading experience. It's also never a good thing when a writer has to expressly state the point of a character - in this case, the fact that Halo was a completely ordinary human being who just happened to find herself in these as-yet unexplained situations that "could have been anybody." Now that the lowest common denominator has been catered for, the story can begin in earnest, and it is indeed an entirely non-confusing, enjoyable tale with some cracking action scenes.
As a ten-part story, Book 2 is handled similarly to the earlier parts of the first book, which would spend each five-page episode telling of a single event. Most of these parts are separated by a space of at least a month, stated in the opening panel, in an effort to advance the story through a whole year to conclude with Halo's promised rendezvous with her friend Rodice, though some of the more eventful days receive two to three issues to flesh them out further. There's a stronger sense of overarching and building plot lines across all of the segments which lends it well to repeated readings, with some of the larger galactic concerns expanding on the subtle hints dropped in the first book and promising some monumental things for Halo’s future. But that's after she's completed this first year's tour of duty as a lowly stewardess on a ship for the rich and secretive, where nothing interesting can happen... right? An early terrorist threat from members of the Tarantulan Emancipation Army in part two is dealt with fairly swiftly by Halo's violent robotic dog Toby, but this fairly arbitrary action scene (important though it is in explaining more details of the shady Tarantulan situation) is chiefly important for helping to set up the book's most devastating and exciting fight sequence spanning two later issues, complete with a killer twist that readers like me will probably feel stupid for not having seen coming, despite a real lack of evidence towards that end.
Halo and her dog are the only characters to transfer to this second story in a major fashion, and most of the new faces are much better developed than those of the first, excluding its power trio of Halo, Rodice and aforementioned dog. Halo's roommate Toy is amusing to observe as she indulges in excessive muscle toning over the course of the year, though a couple of her predictable criticisms of the male species represent the only real weak points of Moore's dialogue. Male characters actually begin to overtake females in terms of number in contrast to the female dominance of the Hoop in Book 1, but it's perhaps an intentional joke on Moore's part that all of them, at least the humans, are portrayed as either irritating, odd or otherwise stupid. Halo forms a strong friendship with the ship's Cetacean navigator Kititirik Tikrikitit, which even seems to border on romantic (a woman and a dolphin - even Alan Moore wouldn't write that, surely?), and although the character's speech is entirely unintelligible to readers, the concept behind his function is rather interesting, even if it seems like a direct rip-off of Frank Herbert's Guild Navigators in 'Dune.'
Special mention has to go to Halo's other roommate, a tragic figure who goes unnamed in all of its appearances (though it suggests 'the Glyph,' which appears to have stuck according to a poster at the back of the book in which a sculptor is unable to remember its name past the initial 'G'), and this character receives the bulk of an entire issue devoted to its rather sad life story, before involving itself in the main plot. An insecure victim of numerous total body remoulds (like a sex change, but more holistically severe), the Glyph travels through the universe without being seen and very rarely noticed, delivering the upsetting but also quite amusing explanation, "my personality had been completely erased. That's why I'm so boring." Moore points to the character's popularity with readers as the main reason for the second book's comparative success, and it does add a nice bit of sympathetic human charm to the otherwise nasty centre of the tale.
While I didn't enjoy the odd clashing of action with tedium in Book 2 as much as the more focused non-events of its predecessor, it was nice to see an entirely different perspective on Moore and Gibson's fiftieth century, and the new characters are all very entertaining. Oddly, despite Toy's considerable strength, this story seems less progressively feminist than its premise would indicate, as Halo is reduced to a damsel in distress on two occasions, and is forced to wear a very tight and revealing uniform while on duty - though this is clearly a satirical point in itself. It's a little strange to see the Hoop slang almost completely eradicate itself from her system so quickly, though it's believable that this was indeed a mere local dialect of the slums that wouldn't be found in the more privileged environments. It's also very easy to empathise with Halo's loneliness in the scene when she replays Toby's memories and the reader is treated to a reprise of dialogue from the first book, when her friends were still close at hand, and before tragedy had stricken her household. The character is coming along nicely, and it will be interesting to see the next phase of her "ordinary" life in the third, final book.
Ian Gibson's art is as strong as it was in the first book, as he is yet again called upon to design an entirely new, inhuman setting, this time involving multiple areas of a space-faring luxury liner, and his renditions of familiar areas such as Halo's quarters and the main dining lounge and bar area are both believable and intelligently futuristic, reminding me of 'Red Dwarf' despite that series coming several years later. In fact, I realise that I imagined the general colour scheme of the ship in this black and white book to be in shades of red, despite a lack of evidence either way. Come to think of it, I envisioned Toby to be that colour in the first book too, before I reviewed its cover afterwards and was hit by a disappointing gunmetal grey. Perhaps my mind's eye simply sees all fictional worlds through blood-stained spectacles.
Advantages: More exciting than the first book, due to popular demand.
Disadvantages: Pressure from above interferes with Alan Moore's creative vision.
Alan Moore and Ian Gibson, The Ballad of Halo Jones, Book Three
Cadence
Written on 13.10.07
****
The third story in the saga of 'ordinary' 50th century space adventurer Halo Jones was never intended to be the last, but its open ending feels like a satisfying conclusion of the character's early life that really could go anywhere, though writer Alan Moore has failed to betray his principles and write a sequel for over twenty years (and to be fair and understating, he has been concentrating on a couple of projects in the meantime). 2000AD publishers IPC Media, whose comic hosted the series in its original five-page weekly form, continued to add irritating pressure and unrealistic guidelines for Moore's increasingly popular story, and to his credit Moore once again reached a compromise that didn't impede on the quality of the finished product, even if the greedy and unreasonable attitude of the publishers effectively put an end to the series and saw Moore jump channel to the American market, with which he would become equally disillusioned in due time.
While the action scenes of the intermediary Book 2 felt somewhat superfluous, never really hiding the fact that their inclusion was due to publishing pressure, Book 3 very naturally finds the series moving into the popular genre of full-blown futuristic war, providing readers with Moore's self-described "slightly different" take on the subject. The third 'book' was extended from the previous ten strips to fifteen, a compromise on the publishers' preferred twenty, and is all the better for the extended focus and added depth this provides. Book 3 is almost undoubtedly the best of the three books (though I still enjoy the small-scale domesticity of the first book as a nice contrast), with the plot reaching its height, long-running loose threads being tied up and exploding all over the place, and a great step up in the quality of Ian Gibson's art, which even the artist felt was a little rushed and half-hearted in the preceding offering. Moore and Gibson learn from their earlier successes and failures and unleash a horrific, action-packed and deeply personal story that manages to cater for even the 2000AD readership's lowest common denominator; the carnage-hungry adolescent.
Where the previous two collections published the same year by Titan featured cover art from Gibson depicting Halo in relevant civilian attire and kinky stewardess gear respectively, the third promises some long-awaited action heroine carnage and shows Halo armed with a massive space gun. True to form, there is a substantial focus on war in this story that makes clear parallels to the American invasion of Vietnam by keeping all the fiftieth century technology distinctly 1970s at its foundations - but being able to hover, and stuff like that. Gibson renders everything to look particularly menacing and almost alive, from the initial recruitment 'Glory Barge' swallowing Halo into its maw to the great-looking gravity suits required to survive on Moab, which resemble overgrown frogs from a distance and are pretty unique. The story follows a fairly standard and predictable course of events for a war story told from a deeply personal perspective, leaving several issues at the end for the necessary moralising analysis on the futility and inhumanity of all conflict and its personal effects on the conscience, set up by some telling sarcasm in the earlier sections where Halo despairs at her new career path but figures, "things could be worse - at least it's a job."
A prologue (labelled as 'Part 0') again opens the story, but this time fills readers in on Halo's actions over a ten-year period since the second book, assuming that everyone is already familiar with who she is, or at least doesn't require a patronising and unnecessary introduction to that end, as was provided at the start of Book 2. Although it flashes past, this manages to be one of the more interesting parts of the story for the sheer amount of information and ideas it packs in, from the bleak desolation of Pwuc at the figurative rear-end of the universe where scarce jobs are allocated according to a lottery, to the hideous and fascinating self-preservation measures taken by the trees of Vescue that form screaming human faces in their bark and emit a natural howl upon destruction as a successful biological deterrent against tree fellers, a career that Halo, with her ever-developing conscience, was only able to hold down for three days . While Moore feels obligated to spell out his themes in so many words without the unpopular subtlety of the first book - namely, "she'd escaped the Hoop to find a bigger prison waiting outside" - the scene is painted fantastically with words, and just as impressively with the pencils and inks of Ian Gibson whose much greater use of shadows here adds a distinctly darker tone to this book than has been found previously, while also making it a black and white success that for the first time would be spoiled by colour, rather than improved.
The tale begins in earnest when the army's recruitment barge arrives at Halo's latest hell-hole to find willing/desperate recruits for the continuing war in the Tarantula Nebula, where she is reunited with her former roomie Toy and is enlisted into a trainee troupe of all-new characters, less ridiculous and more compelling than those of the previous book. The nervous, stammering Mona is a great human focus who fills the role of cute supporting character you least want to be killed off, while the long-awaited appearance of General Luiz Cannibal himself is particularly striking and disconcerting. The female bonding is enjoyable to follow due to Moore's flair for natural and often humorous conversation, and the little details such as Toy's love of holo-soaps, which she can now receive direct into her artificial left ear after an accident robbed her of her previous one, keep things firmly (if stereotypically) feminine, without reducing the characters to mere men with breasts. Probably enormous ones at that.
'Halo Jones' was never a straightforward sci-fi action story, and it's always apparent that every scene of carnage and tragedy is intended to strike a nerve and make a heartfelt point. Halo and her team take out hostile snipers who appear to be only children, while the character's eventual descent into shock is carried off fantastically, in one of the plot's more memorable phases. The longer duration of this book is used to its full extent to put Halo through hell on numerous occasions and really examine the effects and her own changing personality and objectives, while also allowing time to examine some nifty sci-fi concepts involving the effect of extreme gravity on time. There are, as usual, plenty of background details and minor sub-plots glossed over that make Halo's universe all the more intriguing and believable, from the Moabite's adoption of Puritanical Christianity to the statement (after hints way back in Book 1) that humans of the future have all evolved into vegans, either through a shortage of meat or as a natural progression of values. As a limited, self-contained story with a rather narrow focus (at least compared to long-running 2000AD series such as 'Judge Dredd'), it's usually easy to spot the details being hammered into the reader's consciousness at an early stage that are all going to pay off later, and although most of these are tied up very nicely by the end of the book, there's enough left to whet appetites for future stories that will sadly never arrive.
Alan Moore and Ian Gibson achieved a commendable feat in taking 'Halo Jones' fully into the genre of future war without losing any of its thoughtful and compelling attitudes towards humanity and the struggle for existence. This third book is an improvement over its predecessors and a work that should satisfy readers who would be put off by the low-key or uneventful nature of the previous stories, though those who still object to the almost entirely female cast are best left to their primitive macho publications in any case - we don't need their input (and as Alan Moore asked in his baiting introduction to Book 1, "what's the matter? Don't you like girls?")
The original three volume publication by Titan Books in 1986 proved extremely popular, selling out in pre-orders before the books even hit the shelves, and this separation of the distinct stories into individual volumes is the most satisfying way to read the saga. Those editions have long since been deleted, meaning that the more affordable and available complete editions are a fine alternative, which tend to be updated every decade or so with a new front cover. This original version features the usual introduction by Moore (replaced with one by Gibson in newer editions, I believe), as well as black and white reproductions of the several 2000AD covers that featured the series during its original run. It's a shame there wasn't more 'Halo Jones,' but at least it goes out with a bang, and everyone likes a nice trilogy don't they?
Advantages: The longest, most focused, most action-packed and most tragic volume yet.
Disadvantages: Falls for the war story clichés at times, and lacks the humour of the previous books.
Jim Munroe, Angry Young Spaceman
Ich bin ein Octavianer
Written on 12.12.07
***
Canadian author Jim Munroe publishes his own work, granting his science fiction novels a sense of D.I.Y. punk credibility and theoretically allowing him to get away with pretty much anything. 'Angry Young Spaceman' is his second novel, and despite some misleading quotes in the blurb that promise something of an unhinged psychedelic sci-fi trip (like Steve Aylett's work), this is actually more of a very easily digested space opera that works along the same lines as classic metaphorical science fiction.
We catch up with the tale of Sam Breen about a thousand years into the future, by which time the Earth has established itself as more or less the dominant planet in the known universe following a war in the recent past that is alluded to on several occasions. This barren, capitalist Earth has advanced considerably in some ways and acts as an example to other 'inferior' planets still stuck in the twentieth century, particularly in regard to the equal treatment of homo- and heterosexual relationships, the absence of a gender divide and the abolition of eating meat (the latter most likely a practical issue, as humanity's 'advancement' has led to the extinction of all Earth's fauna), but in other ways things are much worse. Munroe presents something of a capitalist dystopia, a realistic and plausible rather than nightmarish situation, and one that even the least intellectual reader will immediately recognise as a metaphor for American expansion today.
Sam Breen has decided, more or less on a whim to escape some of the embarrassments of his youth, to sign up for a job as an English teacher on one of the distant planets, the farther away the better. After losing his costly Speak-O-Matic translator unit at the spaceport, he is faced with the daunting task of having to learn the unique language of the Octavians, a distinctly alien race of squid-descended humanoids, complete with eight tentacles and with an atmosphere with a high water content, but still breathable by humans. Sam revels in the opportunity to effectively start again in this unique civilisation, and begins to despise the planet of his origins once it dawns on him just how unfair Earth's dominion is. English is the international language of commerce, meaning that all alien children are expected to learn it in schools, and aspects of human culture have already begun to corrode away at the conflicting traditions of planets like Octavia, sometimes for their modern appeal - Sam's new Octavian friend and lover Jinya is happy about increased power and freedom for females, for example - but occasionally enforced because they fail to comply with Earth's own standards.
The majority of the book is spent chronicling Sam's fairly quiet and cosy domestic life, teaching English to eager Octavian children, courting Jinya, hanging out with teachers to improve his grasp of the Octavian language, and visiting some of the planet's more spectacular areas. Sam intermittently meets up with the three friends he met at orientation, who are also teaching English on other planets in the sector, and it's this smaller portion of the novel that stands out the most for being a little jarring and incompatible. While it's interesting to get further insight into the other exotic planets of this novel's universe, and the four young teachers are all interesting characters in their own right, the ending is just plain weird, and the reader is plunged in and out of it so quickly that it fails to be the good kind of weird. As for the Octavian culture itself, Munroe does a great job making them bizarre and recognisably human at the same time, demonstrating that even the most outlandish or 'alien' culture is still the same as us, deep down. Ahh.
The Octavians may have eight tentacles, but apart from this they very clearly parallel the Japanese. Or the South Koreans. Or Eastern Europeans. Or in fact, any culture that has been more or less forced to teach its children English as a second language in order to remain formidable and competitive in a world controlled by America, even down to adopting American fashion and culture in place of its own. Sam's anger at the corruption of Octavian culture makes him an instantly likeable character, particularly once his own violent, rebellious past is unveiled as another level of control by the government in their shady creation and perpetuation of subcultures to facilitate the release of pent-up aggression in youths. Spherical Octavian dwellings and beverage bladders perfectly suited to their tentacles are being enthusiastically replaced with square accommodation and mugs with inconvenient handles, while pop bands like Intergalactic Cool Youth are following a distinctly Earth style of music, right down to their English name (as you've probably noticed, the language of this future Earth is specifically and unanimously 'English').
But for all its positive, relevant and angry statements of cultural preservation, Munroe's novel feels like it doesn't quite go far enough. For the most part, it's content to be the story of Sam learning to live happily on an alien world to get over the break-up of his last relationship and eventually start pursuing another, but the issue of the easily-impressed, easily-obtained foreign bride is all but avoided. Sam makes sure not to flout or encourage his developing celebrity status as the only human on Octavia, but anyone who's spent time in a similar profession abroad will likely recognise many of the moral dilemmas, and the way it's all too easy to be made to feel superior due to your more privileged background, but Munroe chooses not to dwell on these issues. The weird ending concerning Sam's human friends is also far too much of a deviation to make any kind of sense or real purpose, and this is really the kind of book that could be read in part before abandoning it, rather than one that needs to be read right to the end for a satisfying conclusion.
Munroe's independent publishing ethic is attractive (though there's no doubt that this book would have been easily snapped up by a major publisher if he wasn't so opposed to them), but I can't help feeling that he's missed some of the opportunities to expand on his major concerns. Still, it's got a nice cover and some snazzy fonts.
Advantages: Thoughtful and relevant metaphor of America's monopoly on the world. But in space, in the future.
Disadvantages: Doesn't push hard enough, and descends into bland soap for the most part.
N
Pool With Planets?
Written on 10.06.04 [2017 update]
****
BACKGROUND
As most of you will doubtless know, Red Dwarf is a television series mixing science fiction and comedy produced by the BBC. The creators and writers Rob Grant and Doug Naylor went to great lengths to get the series commissioned throughout the eighties, and the show's popularity increased with each series.
Rob and Doug, under the alias Grant Naylor, decided to write a Red Dwarf novel once the show really hit its stride in its third series. The limitations of television production and a very meagre budget had hindered their creative vision of the series in a large way, and their first novel (titled 'Red Dwarf' but often referred to as 'Infinity Welcomes Careful Drivers') can clearly be read as a more definitive version of their original intentions and vision. Because it was.
Deeming itself "the not-very-long-awaited sequel to the internationally best-selling 'Red Dwarf,'" Better Than Life continues the story threads left hanging at the end of the first novel and continues to incorporate successful ideas from the television show.
CHARACTERS
The five principal characters are the same as those in the television series, and although Rob and Doug had originally planned some of their major players as being very different - Lister, for example, was originally intended to be middle-aged and slightly demented - the characters here are very believable as those presented on screen. Already established as the essential backbone of the show, the character of Dave Lister takes on a much more primary role in the books than on the series, although there are still plenty of lines and events focusing on the others.
Dave Lister - The last human being alive, Lister held the lowest rank aboard the mining ship Red Dwarf and was sentenced to six months in suspended animation for smuggling a pregnant cat on board when the ship was docked at Titan. Sadly for Lister, he is not released for three million years due to a nuclear accident that wipes out the crew.
Arnold Judas Rimmer - The annoying, career-minded failure who was one rank Lister's superior before failing to repair a drive plate properly and accidentally wiping out himself and 1,167 of the crew. Resurrected as a hologram of his former self to keep Lister sane, the antagonistic relationship at least gives them both something to do.
The Cat - When Lister's pregnant cat was safely sealed in Red Dwarf's ventilation system it became the mother of a new species, evolving over the millions of years into Felis Sapiens, a species resembling human but with the mannerisms of a feline. When these religious fanatics eventually wiped each other out or abandoned the ship they only left behind the lame and the stupid, and this self-obsessed moggie is the last survivor on board.
Kryten - A sanitation and service mechanoid who accidentally killed the all-female crew of the spaceship Nova 5 when washing the consoles with nice, soapy water. Kryten was stranded alone for millions of years before Red Dwarf chanced upon him on its long return to the solar system, and Kryten enjoys his ironing and sheet-folding chores on board despite Lister's protests that he should break his programming.
Holly - The ship's computer. He used to have an IQ of 6,000, but three million years alone in space have taken their toll on poor Hol, who is now suffering from computer senility. The provider of information and the occasional joke, when he’s a bit bored.
PLOT
At the end of the previous book, Lister, Rimmer and the Cat had all drunkenly plugged themselves into the illegal total immersion video game Better Than Life, a game that taps into the user's subconscious desires and creates their perfect fantasy world without them even realising it. Thanks to the influence of Kryten, Lister eventually realised what was going on and he was prepared to leave, although he then got a feeling that he couldn't abandon his life in the fictional town of Bedford Falls on Christmas Eve. Even though he knew it was always Christmas Eve.
'Better Than Life' begins with the crew still in the game, their bodies decaying and wasting away in the real world despite the efforts of Kryten and Holly. Lister lives a quiet life with Kristine Kochanski, the woman of his dreams, while Rimmer's fantasies are quite the opposite: he is the richest and most successful businessman in the world and is married to a beautiful Brazilian bombshell. It's only when this idyllic and self-absorbed lifestyle begins to fall apart that Rimmer realises his own subconscious mind can't stand him being happy, and once he realises the truth about the game he is quite embarrassed about the very unsubtle way he has imagined the perfect life. The smeghead.
Cat, on the other hand, is inhabiting an island on Denmark where he is constantly attended to by scantily clad Valkyries and enjoys hunting dogs for sport in his milk-moated castle, and when Kryten enters in an attempt to rescue his friends he realises that he might as well wash the dishes and iron the clothes that are lying around in endless piles. It would only be polite.
Needless to say, this total immersion video game isn't the only aspect of the novel. Some ideas from the episodes 'Marooned' and 'White Hole' are also used in the book, but are expanded to epic proportions. Lister ends up stranded on an ice planet that reveals itself to be the litter-covered remains of the Planet Earth, a planet that aeons ago was deemed the least important planet in the colonised solar system and which ended up quite literally "farting itself into the cosmos" due to the vast amounts of waste gases on its surface. As Red Dwarf is sucked through the time dilation effects of a black hole due to Holly's attempt at increasing his IQ, Lister becomes and old man whose only companions are huge mutated cockroaches.
STYLE
The Red Dwarf books all sold incredibly well worldwide, especially this and its predecessor, and there are clear reasons for this. Firstly, these are not mere adaptations of episodes, despite containing some plot ideas and dialogue from the more successful shows, and are very solid books in their own right. This means that they can reward fans of the show as well as newcomers, and although Rob and Doug are arguably not the most talented writers they still have a great grasp of wordplay and clever or funny ideas.
Better Than Life is most commonly classified as a science fiction book and I agree with this classification; although the series is often more oriented towards comedy, even featuring a laughter track throughout, this book is based much more upon interesting ideas and theories, although it's still a very funny read. Douglas Adams' excellent 'Hitch-Hiker's Guide to the Galaxy' series is more of a comedic take on a very daft but meaningful universe, and the Red Dwarf novels are more sci-fi efforts with humorous dialogue.
VERDICT
I really like this book, although mainly as a follow-up to the excellent 'Infinity Welcomes Careful Drivers.' I had seen quite a few Red Dwarf episodes when I was young but I didn't see the early episodes for quite some time, and as such I was granted a much more interesting version of the events in that first novel. The plot of Better Than Life is similarly disjointed like the original, but a little bit too much in places: it took me some time to realise that the Garbage World and the black hole were in the same book as the total immersion video game, but the effects of each occurrence do link together and have an overall impact on the ending.
Anyone who is a fan of Red Dwarf not only as a comedy, but as a funny sci-fi series should get hold of the books, although this isn't just a guarantee of a hilarious read before bed-time. It's still much more impressive than the later Red Dwarf books, which were written solely by Rob and Doug after they decided to end their writing partnership.
Related products:
Red Dwarf (aka Red Dwarf: Infinity Welcomes Careful Drivers) - the first novel that should be read as an introduction to this book. It's also much better.
Better Than Life audiobook - My introduction to this novel was the abridged audio book from Laughing Stock, read by Chris Barrie (Rimmer in the TV series) whose impressions of the cast are all very skilled. The unabridged version costs a lot more.
Red Dwarf the TV series - Series 1 to 4 are available on DVD, and the rest will be released during the next few years. This book was written shortly before production of series 4, as shown by the dialogue and ideas based on some episodes.
Everybody's Dead, Dave
Written on 10.06.06 [2017 update]
*****
Just like the television series and proposed feature film, the popular series of Red Dwarf novels, written parallel to the show's run in the late 80s and early 90s, seems consigned to a frozen existence in stasis for the foreseeable future. The four novels - 'Red Dwarf' (a.k.a. 'Infinity Welcomes Careful Drivers'), 'Better Than Life,' 'Last Human' and 'Backwards' - were well-received by fans of the series and of science-fiction comedy in general, and were consciously (and admittedly) written to provide a more definitive and epic account of the story Rob Grant and Doug Naylor developed in the 1980s, but were never really able to communicate in Red Dwarf's 52 episode run.
'The Red Dwarf Omnibus' collects together the first two classic Red Dwarf novels, the two written by Grant and Naylor cooperatively and published by Penguin in 1989 and 1990 respectively. Both books pick up on (and in the case of Better Than Life, pre-empt) events from specific episodes of the series, making for something of an episodic feel to the books, however hard the writers try to create an overarching storyline. To their credit, the action and humour in these books never slips up for long, and the plot that evolves and mutates between escapades and 'to be continued...' conclusions would make for a far more satisfying movie than anything Grant Naylor Productions will finally come up with, ten years on from the split of the duo's writing partnership. With under 300 words each, these books make for relatively easygoing reading, aided by the division of each book into three distinct and named parts.
The major difference between the novels (which are not simply novelisations) and the TV episodes is one of style, and all comes down to the books being liberated from the constraints of a twenty-eight minute television sitcom format. For a show like Red Dwarf to be well received by viewers, the writers would be required to find a middle ground between their desire to tell an epic character story and the BBC's desire for a series with plenty of laughs that won't deter viewers with lofty sci-fi concepts. The books, however, target a more selective audience than a television comedy series can afford to. Firstly, the books will primarily be read by fans of the show, eager to discover more. Secondly, the books are commonly classed as science fiction; that's where they can be found in most bookshops and libraries.
Simply comparing the blurbs of the books and DVD/VHS releases of the show indicates that the essential premise of the Red Dwarf story remains consistent in both mediums. 24-year-old Dave Lister reluctantly finds himself three million years in the future, and the last human being alive (at least, that's the logical assumption). As the colossal dilapidated mining ship Red Dwarf begins the hopeless journey back to Earth's solar system, its crew of a endangered slob Lister, deranged computer (Holly), resurrected hologram (Arnold J. Rimmer) and humanoid cat (known simply as Cat) essentially devise ever more ingenious ways of wasting time between "zany" space adventures. At least, that's the word generally favoured on these types of blurb.
The first novel (commonly referred to as 'Infinity Welcomes Careful Drivers' or 'IWCD' due to the exploding space traffic sign on its cover) expands these ideas from the TV show's first episode into truly epic proportions. The story is deepened, extended backwards and forwards. The book opens with Lister scrounging a meagre living on the seedy Saturnian moon Mimas, and explains his reasons for joining Red Dwarf, and presents his first encounter with future bunkmate Arnold Rimmer in an excellent scene involving android brothels. The writers revel in their newfound freedom on occasion; the football pitch sized monitor displaying the face of the ship's computer Holly smacks of this enthusiasm, as do the repeated attempts to wow the reader with descriptions of Red Dwarf's immense size and crew complement (it's roughly as big as a city, has at least a few thousand decks and boasts 1,169 crew members, of which Lister ranks position 1,169).
After spending the necessary amount of time setting up the premise and introducing the characters, the novel moves on to deal with story concepts from the early TV episodes 'Future Echoes' (flashes of the future, and the futility of trying to escape fate), 'Kryten' (the introduction of the eponymous fifth main character) and, finally, 'Better Than Life.' The concept of the total immersion video game is expanded to incredibly sinister proportions from the comparatively shallow and whimsical version featured in the episode, and provides the cliff-hanger ending that leads into book two.
'Mistakes' are rectified in this debut book; some of the glaring differences of opinion present in the first two series of the TV show compared to the latter majority. The sanitation Mechanoid Kryten is introduced to the cast at the earliest opportunity, and Lister's dream of a relationship with the deceased console officer Kristine Kochanski is rendered less immature now they are provided a history as a couple, for a brief time. The writers' thanks to the cast are certainly well meant, as the dialogue in the books owes a small debt to the talents of the more impressive cast members, especially Robert Llewelyn’s Kryten and Norman Lovett's deadpan Holly. Rimmer, oddly, seems somewhat different in the books than in the TV series, despite many of the same lines being recycled between formats. Perhaps it’s the frequent dips into his mindset and memories, excellently avoiding generating more than the tiniest amount of sympathy for the bitter, snide and unlikeable character, who is clearly the real focal point of Red Dwarf and the best reason to watch or read.
'Better Than Life,' often described as "the not-very-long awaited sequel," in fact only spends something like a quarter of its pages concluding the story of the previous book, and is in fact a little less impressive as a result. But once the subject matter shifts, this second novel proves itself to be on equal par with the first, perhaps exceeding it in terms of originality and ingenious sci-fi. The central section of the book would later form the fourth series episode 'White Hole,' and the finale, another cliff-hanger, owes to the earlier 'Backwards,' yet the most memorable and creative segments have yet to appear in any other form. Then again, I can't really imagine seeing Craig Charles fly around towering mountains of broken green glass bottles on enormous sofa-eating cockroaches under a BBC2 budget.
Serious fans of the television series will almost certainly enjoy the books, as the characters (with the possible exception of Rimmer, as mentioned earlier) are recognisable and easy to visualise, even in the ludicrous fantasy landscapes of Better Than Life. Grant and Naylor were the sole brains behind Red Dwarf in its heyday, and it's incredible to see how far they intended to take their idea beyond the limits of an episodic TV format.
My primary criticism of these two books is that they are quite disjointed; IWCD and BTL each contain three to four separate episodes that conflict slightly and don't always convince me of a dominant plot, but it's still very enjoyable to see how elements from the TV series are combined to link these sections. And although it's a comedy as much as it is science-fiction (although the books tend toward the latter more than the series ever did, even in its later years), sometimes the tone seems a little off. The writers feel the need to include classic dialogue segments from episodes, such as the Wilma Flintstone exchange from 'Backwards,' but such arbitrariness is more distracting on the page than on the screen. The books focus heavily on dialogue, which is always excellently written, but sometimes the witty put-downs and contrived similes seem a little too out of place. The writing is best when the humour of a situation is balanced out with a sobering, serious coda, such as Lister and Cat's shockingly frail and malnourished bodies resulting from two years trapped inside the virtual computer game that previously brought so many laughs.
Like the successful series of books spawned by the late Douglas Adams from his 'Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy' radio series, the Red Dwarf novel series clearly aims itself at readers looking to be amused and entertained with quality sci-fi. Comparisons of Red Dwarf with Hitchhiker's Guide have existed from the start, and are to be expected. Both series originated (in a way) on the radio before appearing on the BBC, and the novels (written afterward) bear both of these broadcast versions in mind in crafting and perfecting a definitive version of the events with which fans are familiar. Red Dwarf and Hitchhiker's Guide also concern themselves with the story of the last surviving human hurled headlong into the insanity of space travel and its inhabitants. Picking a favourite and discussing at length why Hitchhiker's Guide is clearly superior is as tiresome as arguing that Kirk was better than Picard, or that Jaffa Cakes are clearly biscuits, no matter what the lawyers think. So let's all just get along. In my opinion, the Red Dwarf books aren't as laugh-out-loud funny as the television episodes, but are more thought-provoking and rewarding for fans.
This Omnibus was originally intended as more than simply a cheaper alternative to buying these two books separately. As well as providing fans with a couple of cheap thrills in the form of a section of script and what is allegedly a photocopy of 'the original Red Dwarf beermat' on which Grant and Naylor first scrawled their ideas (I don't care if it's genuine or not, it's a funny idea), the Omnibus was perhaps the first in the infuriating attempt to make Red Dwarf more universally accessible by altering its content. Creating a more America-friendly version of Red Dwarf is a noble goal, I guess, but the 90s saw many embarrassing and botched attempts at achieving this goal. Most notorious were the unsuccessful American pilot episodes of Red Dwarf, with a US cast, and later came the pointlessly re-edited remastered versions of the BBC episodes.
The Omnibus sets the trend by removing some jokes deemed "too contemporary," namely those criticising Kevin Keegan's authorship skills and references to 80s popular culture, and trimming some sections of the books to make for a slimmer volume. My advice would be to buy the novels separately, as they can often be found second hand on eBay or in charity shops, but the Omnibus is a more cost-effective way of collecting these two publications, which now commonly retail at £6.99 each. The other two books, Doug Naylor's 'Last Human' and Rob Grant's 'Backwards,' each act as individual, unconnected sequels to the action of Better Than Life, but the break-up of the classic writing partnership results in less impressive books. I'm glad that Grant and Naylor have never advocated further Red Dwarf novels written by other writers; as such, Red Dwarf (IWCD) and Better Than Life remain sought-after and acclaimed books that offer something new to fans sick of repeat viewings of Red Dwarf DVDs.
The real strength of these books is that readers need no prior involvement with the TV series to appreciate them fully; compulsive fans set the books in an alternate reality to the TV shows to comfortably explain away the differences, but Grant Naylor couldn't give two hoots. Their decision to publish with Penguin and disassociate the novels from the BBC label intended to grant the books a wider and more accepting readership, and this was completely successful. As Tony Lacey of Penguin asserted in the BBC's 1998 'Red Dwarf Night,' the novels sold so well (over two million by that date) due to their excellent quality. This is no cheap TV cash-in, but a lovingly detailed definitive vision of a sci-fi sitcom freed from its bonds.
Advantages: Fleshes out and expands the familiar Red Dwarf story to epic, filmic proportions
Disadvantages: Traces of an episodic TV nature remain
Whoever Heard of a Worm-Skin Rug?
Written on 12.08.04 [2017 update]
****
Lister had died three million years from home on a garbage planet populated by mutant cockroaches. His aged body was retrieved by his crewmates - a robot, a cat and another dead man - and sent to a backwards universe to begin ageing young again. But if you thought that was confusing, try grasping the dual chronology of the Red Dwarf novels.
Following their long-time partnership as writers of television and radio (most notably 'Red Dwarf') and novels (most notably 'Red Dwarf'), the gestalt entity calling itself Grant Naylor separated, and Rob Grant and Doug Naylor went their separate ways. Rob effectively distanced himself from the successful space sitcom he had co-created despite its popularity, leaving control of the franchise to Doug. 'Last Human' was finally released in 1995 as a continuation of the previous Red Dwarf novels, again incorporating ideas and plots from several television episodes while sticking to an original plot.
BACKGROUND
Red Dwarf is primarily the story of Dave Lister, presumably the last human being alive following a reluctant three million years spent in suspended animation aboard the mining ship on which he was content to hold the lowest rank. The ship's computer revived Lister's irritating bunkmate Arnold Rimmer in order to keep him sane, while the discovery of an unbalanced service mechanoid and a man evolved from the descendants of Lister's pregnant cat brings together a distinctly motley crew.
Dave Lister - the last human, deceptively capable but lacking any sort of ambition or effort.
Arnold J. Rimmer - a hologram made entirely of light, whose arrogance and general gitness have softened over time.
Cat - unbelievably vain, self-centred and lazy, with wardrobes that cross international time zones.
Kryten - the service mechanoid who lives only to serve and is thankfully skilled with technology.
Kristine Kochanski - Lister's old flame who split up with him for all the obvious reasons. Although she died in the radiation leak that wiped out the crew, her ashes were recovered and sent with Lister's to regenerate.
The difference between Red Dwarf the TV series and Red Dwarf the novels is greater than might be assumed: the first book was written in 1989, at a time when the show's budget was still miniscule and when character and story details were still being modified, so Grant and Naylor wrote the novel to present the show's origins as they should have been told. 'Better Than Life,' the second novel, branched out into new territory as the writers now felt free to explore other concepts that would be too expensive for television, or simply wouldn’t be effective in a short comedy show format.
STORY
Last Human picks up where Better Than Life left off, with Dave Lister having regenerated in a universe where time flows backwards. His temporary amnesia allows Kryten to explain the situation to new readers (in a scene adapted from the first episode of the show's sixth series, which had the same intention) and also allows for some jokes about curried Corn Flakes and Rimmer's neuroses before the real plot has to begin.
Red Dwarf was let behind when the crew used the insectoid transport ship Starbug to retrieve Lister and Kochanski from the backwards universe, but they are still unsure whether they have returned to their home dimension or one of the other five. The discovery of an identical ship crashed on an asteroid indicates that they haven’t, although the horrific display of mangled bodies and missing heads isn't enough to put Lister off finding himself. Literally, not in some kind of mid-life crisis way.
The search for the alternate Lister involves passing through dangerous GELF (Genetically Engineered Life Form) colonies, but it soon becomes clear that this dimension's Lister was much more dangerous than the curry-obsessed bum we have come to know and sort of like, a bit, and the hideously mutated creatures send Lister to the penal colony of Cyberia - a prison in which every inmate's subconscious nightmares are played out throughout their sentence.
STYLE
As with the previous Red Dwarf books, this is written in a humorous tone that never takes the science fiction concepts too seriously. The character dialogue is true to the series - which it should be considering Naylor's involvement - and the events do feel, for the most part, like they could easily be the genuine occurrences of a big budget Red Dwarf movie. Not that the plans for the proposed film will see the light of day any time soon.
Doug has once again incorporated dialogue, scenes and concepts from several episodes into the plot, and with good reason - these exchanges are excellent, and are mostly derived from the sixth series of the show in which the crew are marooned in Starbug, and this was the series that first got me interested (let's face it, in love with) the franchise. The low-key cockpit exchanges between Lister and Cat, discussing such things as toenail trimmings, gullibility and dancing moose-shaped asteroids, bring back fond memories of the series while not standing out as separate from the plot.
Many fans feel that while Rob Grant was perhaps the less funny of the duo (as shown by his solo Dwarf novel 'Backwards'), there are also claims that Doug Naylor is less adept at exploring sci-fi concepts, and that he has never outgrown his adolescent urge to write about Kochanski. It's true that the female character makes her appearance here and would go on to star in the show's seventh and eight series, but the descriptions of the penal colony, genetic experiments going awry and a currency based on semen all show that Doug is capable of doing it all on his own. In fact, the chapter in which Lister offers his fluids to another culture - a culture that is not sterile and as such reacts rather badly to this gesture - is a lot funnier than most of the later TV series.
It should be an easy matter to tell whether or not you would enjoy this book by your reaction to this dazed description of a slowly awakening Dave Lister on his reluctant honeymoon night:
"There was a name for it, it was very popular. What was he doing? It was something he hadn't done a lot of recently: he was having sex. Wait a minute, he was having sex? With a grizzly bear? No, of course he wasn't. Crazy idea. It must be Kriss wearing an old gorilla-gram costume. Why would she be doing that? Had she ever done anything like that before? Not really. So why now? Damn his eyes, why couldn't he see properly? He tried to rub them back into focus but her might hands pulled them away from his face and placed them back on her large, hairy breasts. Hairy breasts? Wait a minute. He was being screwed by khakhahhakkhhakhakkkhakkkkkh."
VERDICT
Anyone who enjoys the Red Dwarf television series for its concepts and ideas should check out the books as they provide extra depth and insight that will never be found in the brief televised plots, but at the same time I wouldn't recommend them to anyone who doesn't enjoy the more science fiction-oriented episodes. The books are funny, but in a different way to the series - while most audience laughs stem from Chris Barrie making a deadpan observation over an idea's idiocy, the book relies more on humorous descriptions of situations and characters, and as such may not be to everyone's taste.
'Last Human' lacks the strong concept of the first Red Dwarf novel, but it is more enjoyable and fast-paced than the second and fourth novels. Some confusion was caused when Rob Grant decided to make his own continuation to the second novel, which means that both 'Last Human' and 'Backwards' are different representations of post-'Better Than Life' events: thankfully, some fans suggested that both books could be seen as equally valid if they occur within the different universes that Red Dwarf itself is always going on about, and several over-obsessive men could finally sleep well at night.
I would personally recommend 'Last Human' over 'Backwards' as it is more fun, lightweight and evenly focussed on each character in the way that the alternative isn't, and although it isn't vital to have read the previous books that have a very different atmosphere, it would still be wise to leave Doug's solo effort for a later date.
Oh yes, and this does include the celebrated 'blue alert bulb' joke from series six also. You'll know it if you've seen it.
Planet Earth is Blue and There's Nothing I Can Do
Written on 15.08.07
***
Robert Newman's first novel is firmly entrenched in the writer and comedian's bohemian days of the early 1990s, before the haircut that led to the more satirical political leanings of his more recent works. Newman is most remembered as the former double-act partner of David Baddiel in the successful BBC series 'The Mary Whitehouse Experience' and 'Newman and Baddiel in Pieces,' even though this primarily consisted of two very different stand-up comedians doing their very different material in turn, rather than a truly collaborative effort. Following his rebellious nature as the king of 'the new rock-and-roll' that comedy was being optimistically billed as at the time, Newman seemingly opted to pack it all in just as he hit the height of his fame, performing at the sold-out Wembley Arena and perhaps feeling that this constituted selling out to his own principles. Newman slipped off the public radar and got around to writing this book, a demi-autobiographical, experimental affair that can clearly be traced to the frustrated, world-weary romantic of his on-stage persona, even if none of the characters points to a dog turd on the pavement and exclaims: "you see that dog turd? That's you, that is."
I always find first novel attempts by comedians interesting, as they usually try to blend the well-crafted monologues of stand-up with a down-to-earth plot that is more often than not based directly on their own lives (Baddiel's own 'Time for Bed' is the perfect example), before developing a finer and more readable style in later publications that somehow prove less entertaining for me. It's the amateurish nature of 'Dependence Day' that I find most endearing, not content to be a simple piece of linear prose and incorporating frivolous literary diversity in a way that reminds me of the portfolios I produced for my University's creative writing course. It was this empathy that allowed me to see past the often crude or out-of-place experiments going on in Newman's book, towards the bigger picture he obviously had in mind, but that doesn't quite work on the printed page. There are several stories at work, connected in some small manner but mostly standing alone (much like Newman and Baddiel's act), with the whole work being rather grandiosely separated not only into chapters of anarchically varied lengths, but into two 'books.' The lives of a small cast of characters are followed over a similar period of time, all connected in some manner to a drug-motivated murder in a Manchester pub and a plot to transport heroin overseas in the stomachs of swallows.
Kevin's attempts to deal with heartbreak after his athletic girlfriend leaves him, sometimes suicidal and always desperate, are related in the format of an extended first-person letter to Kenny Rogers, in response to his song 'If You Happen to See the Most Beautiful Girl in the World.' This technique, which becomes forgotten for most of Kevin's narrative, is only a smaller framing narrative within the larger notion that the characters are all returning home on a boat, as a clear literary homage to Joseph Conrad's 'Heart of Darkness' (which is even explicitly referenced with the sidelined storyteller Marlowe, whose account we never hear). Kevin's story is the more ridiculous of the main plots, but still within the bounds of credibility as it's clear that his actions are those of an extremely unbalanced individual; one whose occasional eloquent outbursts on the futility or mesmerising brilliance of life are written in the same manner as Newman's more enthusiastic television monologues on the same subjects, and with the same show-off Latin quotations. Less riveting is the more primary story of Karen, a woman living on the run who is eventually persuaded to testify against Buzz, whose murderous actions she witnessed and whose life outside incarceration is threatening to hers. Despite the potentially Hollywood nature of such a plot, it's all very deliberately played as mundane and 'real-life' as possible, part of Newman's overall plan to prove that real life isn't like the movies, with exciting and convenient endings that tie all of the loose threads together. As expected, the slightly short novel ends without making too much of a fuss, and this stubborn refusal to provide a shocking, climactic, filmic, conclusive ending, while being commendably true to life, is also unavoidably a disappointing anticlimax.
Shifting between several different stories can often be an irritating feature of books like this, and it's true that at points towards the end I was hoping that certain chapters would finish so I could learn more about the more interesting characters. By far the most entertaining narrative is a brief and entirely unconnected story offered as the book's 'prelude,' which details a crazy tale of the speaker's friend having a chance encounter with a friendly and approachable David Bowie, followed by another chance encounter, and another, until it becomes clear that Bowie is stalking him and attempting to work his way into all aspects of his life. As a short story this sets the book up to be far more ludicrous and hilarious that it ultimately is, making me laugh once every few chapters, which is good enough for a book that doesn't restrict itself to comedy, but also making me bored as it approaches an unimpressive finale. The success of the opening short perhaps indicates that this novel would have worked better if presented as a selection of short stories, featuring the same characters and events but presented from a wider range of perspectives, and avoiding the back-and-forth switching of narrative. Such a direction would also serve to make the more glaring diversions from the prose format - namely the mock screenplay format of Buzz's trial and the author's consciously stylised descriptions of the surrounding events - less intrusive and disrupting. But of course, this could just be the part of me talking that thinks Rob was in my creative writing class and offering his weekly contributions up for criticism.
I did enjoy Robert Newman's first novel, but it's clearly an unstable attempt to translate an educated comedian's creative vision to the page, blending literary trickery with the humdrumity of life in a manner that doesn't really mix. The subject matter of pubs, drugs, love and sex will be familiar to fans of his early work, and certainly appeals more than his recent performances and novels that follow a stricter political agenda, although I haven't seen any of this work so can't comment on how funny it is. I'm new to Newman, my experiences being almost entirely thanks to YouTube, so I was glad when I saw a scruffy first edition of this book in one of those boxes outside an independent bookshop for a mere £1. It's certainly worth trying out for that price, but many will doubtless fail to appreciate the cute amateurishness as much as I, a fellow novice with a degree to prove it. The author throws up a number of excellent and concise observations on life throughout the 170 pages, but these are far apart and, sadly, easily forgotten, unlike the detailed descriptions of Kevin's (and presumably the author's) favourite sexual practices that may be ingrained for some time to come.
Advantages: Witty and realistic, with lots of unusual ideas.
Disadvantages: Confused mix of styles that doesn't really work.
O
Michael Okuda, Denise Okuda and Debbie Mirek, The Star Trek Encyclopedia: A Reference Guide to the Future
Written on 12.07.07
****
Encyclopedias, however you wish to spell them, have faced a major threat in the form of free and more up-to-date online equivalents since the 1990s, from the first commercial encyclopedia software such as Encarta to the eventual launch of the ever-handy Wikipedia. ‘The Star Trek Encyclopedia,’ Michael and Denise Okuda’s ‘Reference Guide to the Future,’ was revised and updated twice before being forced to surrender before the force of free online equivalents, however unofficial and un-endorsed they may be. Ironically, publication of this encyclopedia from 1994 to 1999 ran alongside the busiest and most changeable time in the history of the Star Trek franchise, with new series beginning, old series ending, and the increasing number of episodes and feature films rendering the book out of date before it even hit the shelves.
A vast franchise like Star Trek is one that needs mapping, for the convenience of both fans who wish to know more, and writers who don’t want to contradict each other. Star Trek reference works have been published in force since the series first aired in the late sixties, but most of these, such as the cute and wildly speculative ‘Star Fleet Technical Manual,’ took great liberties and artistic license in presenting facts that were not grounded in the television series or accompanying film series. The series’ late creator Gene Roddenberry had a very determined view of what could and could not be considered ‘canon’ information from his show, wishing that fans accept everything presented on screen as factual (presumably including the frequent inconsistencies and contradictions, especially in the old series), excluding the 1970s animated series which he practically disowned, and not counting any licensed novels or other works of fan fiction. With these ground rules in place, it was a fairly straightforward, if painstaking task to trawl through roughly six hundred episodes and nine films and jot down all the noun words.
Thankfully for readers, the people trusted to do this job were Michael and Denise Okuda, with the help of some others. As the scenic art supervisor for Star Trek: The Next Generation, Star Trek: Deep Space Nine, Star Trek: Voyager and the more recent films, Michael Okuda was responsible for creating the majority of graphics and designs seen on the series, permitting him and his wife, scenic artist on the more recent series, the benefits of inside knowledge and access to original props and plans to clarify any canonical facts that may appear too hastily or out-of-focus on screen for their details to be deciphered. Of course, the writers can’t help but break the rules of canon sometimes, particularly it seems in speculating the class, registry and appearance of starships name-checked on screen but never actually seen. While their source material is just about as official as you can get outside the episodes themselves, it does place the whole thing on shaky ground, extending to the acceptance of Spock’s childhood experiences in the animated series episode ‘Yesteryear’ merely because they seemed to think it was quite a good episode.
Approaching the encyclopedia is made into a fairly easy task, but it will obviously require more than a little prior knowledge of the series to get any kind of enjoyment or satisfaction out of it. All the information is arranged as an extensive alphabetical index, with reference to the episode or film the information is taken from, and a large number of images (originally black and white, but later replaced with colour) gleaned from production photos, video freeze-frames, production artwork or new and original illustrations. The whole encyclopedia is extensively cross-referenced with bold text pointing to a different article, and turning the pages seems like a bit of a labour in the age of hyper-links. The book is probably most useful for fans who are curious to learn more about something or someone they know only a little about, such as Captain Picard’s birthday, Klingon language, the known fates of characters from the original series by the time of the later series, or the impending mid-twenty-first century demise of baseball, as coming to the book without a specific goal will most likely be a disappointing trawl through an information overload. As expected, the A-Z bulk of the book is followed by several appendices including episode lists with airdates and a fictional timeline of the Star Trek universe, from the creation of the universe to the late twenty-fourth century, all of which perfect the informative experience. Although written primarily from an internal perspective, the encyclopedia entries being written from the perspective that the Star Trek universe is real and the events and characters genuine, the writers do let off steam occasionally and break the illusion with interesting and entertaining behind-the-scenes fact boxes alongside relevant entries, which keeps the experience from becoming stale and taking itself far too seriously.
This is a book of limited use, however impressive (or shameful) it looks on the bookshelf. The first interactive ‘Star Trek Omnipedia’ followed shortly after the first edition, updates to which allowed users to enter their own information on contemporary topics, but the entire range has been abandoned by Paramount and Pocket Books in recent years in response to both the previously discussed growth of free online equivalents and the diminished interest in the Star Trek franchise after Voyager. There are some positive consequences of this cancellation however, as the older encyclopedias, whether first, second or third edition, all act as nostalgic relics of a simpler time when they were very temporarily bang up-to-date. This only falters for the third edition, which was evidently rushed into production shortly after the end of the television year that saw Deep Space Nine end its run, Voyager conclude its fifth season and the film ‘Star Trek: Insurrection’ hit box offices, as information from these three sources is added at the end of the book in a separate section, revealing a difficulty in alphabetising the information in time for the deadline. The other advantage for collectors is also, obviously, that they don’t have to keep buying new editions and wondering what to do with the old one (in my opinion, any encyclopedia that includes information on the franchise after the end of the superb Deep Space Nine would be a waste of time and money anyway).
The encyclopedia is handy and compact, repeating information only when strictly necessary – for example, a brief summary of an episode’s plot under the episode title’s entry, and reproduction of similar information on the entry of the planet or character involved in that episode – and is thus much better value for money than the extended magazine equivalents available such as the ‘Star Trek Fact Files.’ There is still a degree of pointless reproduction in terms of the small illustrated profiles of starships, which the editors seem to think need to be tagged on to every entry even when dozens of ships throughout the book will feature the very same picture. It was necessary before computer animation for series such as The Next Generation to re-use the same Excelsior- and Oberth-class starship models from the feature films again and again in numerous scenes, but it becomes irritating to see the same picture crop up for each of these insignificant ships, when a single, large photo of each starship class could serve the same purpose, and be linked to. The varying quality between genuine promotional photographs of characters, ships and exotic objects and the more blurred sources for planets and scenes taken from film cannot be avoided, and although the difference is noticeable and a little distracting, it’s handy to have all the different images available even when the editors had to settle for an inferior source.
The pictures, as well as the limited amount of non-canon speculation, is what places the encyclopedia above previously available unofficial reference works, and great care is currently being taken with sites such as the vast but unofficial Star Trek Wiki ‘Memory Alpha’ to ensure a similar standard, inspired by these books. ‘The Reference Guide to the Future’ may be ironically and hopelessly outdated even in its most recent form, but its fastidious selectiveness and canonical alphabetising laid a solid foundation for all other Star Trek reference works to follow.
Advantages: Comprehensive and definitive information on every facet of the Star Trek canon (once).
Disadvantages: Outdated, and difficult to approach by newer fans, or those with limited knowledge.
George Orwell, Nineteen Eighty-four
Dystopia
Written on 21.04.04
****
The oppressive and futuristic society of George Orwell's Nineteen Eighty-Four is widely known, with the book becoming one of the most recognised novels of the twentieth century. Many aspects of the plot are similar in context to earlier Dystopian novels: Aldous Huxley dealt with similar notions of human oppression, albeit from a different angle, in the novel Brave New World, while the much lesser known novel We by Russian author Yevgeny Zamyatin, has been credited as the forerunner and inspiration for these later classics, cited by Ada Palmer as "the first modern Dystopia, and the work on which all the rest are based." All three novels share similar traits, however the differences in style and plot reflect each individual author's personal fears and the message they are attempting to convey.
Orwell's novel takes place in London on 'Airstrip One,' formerly Great Britain, in the empire of Oceania, one of the three empires of the world that constantly vary between war and peace with each other. Society has been divided into three classes, the privileged Inner Party, the less recognised Outer Party and the proles, uneducated labourers who form the majority of the population. Posters and television monitors constantly display the moustached face of 'Big Brother,' the figurehead of the government which, with its Thought Police and surveillance, can observe your every action.
A TOTALITARIAN SOCIETY
Government in Airstrip One is divided into four dubious departments; the Ministry of Peace, concerned with war; the Ministry of Truth, which falsifies old records to ensure the government has always been correct; the Ministry of Love, where criminals are tortured and laws are passed; and the Ministry of Plenty, which rations food. The novel features an ambiguous conclusion as to whether the rebellious movement known as the 'Brotherhood' actually exists: although seldom discussed in Orwell's novel, the oppressed working masses, the proles, are a group that would certainly benefit through carrying out their own revolution; Winston writes in his diary that, "if there is hope - it lies with the proles."
The symbolic figurehead of the oppressing force is another theme common to all the novels, however neither Huxley's Ford nor Zamyatin's Benefactor have the same function as Orwell's terrifying Big Brother, required by the government to accustom the citizens to living repressed lives through fear. The ultimate goal of the governing bodies in Dystopia novels is the creation and maintenance of stability, although this has been achieved through different means and for different reasons, relating to each author's motive for writing their novels based on their personal experiences and fears. Orwell's novel can be seen as a comparison to totalitarian Russia and Nazi Germany leading to forced slavery for a society, due to it being written shortly after the demise of the Nazi government when the full extent of their atrocities became known.
CHARACTERS WITHOUT HOPE
The similarities between the Dystopian novels can be largely seen in the actions and presentation of the characters. The protagonists in all three, most notably Nineteen Eighty-Four, follow the cycle of curiosity, discovery, rebellion and destruction; ultimately there is no sense of hope or salvation.
Nineteen Eighty-Four is the story of Winston Smith, a man whose job concerns falsifying old records for the Ministry of Truth. Winston feels the need to write his thoughts down in a diary, an illegal practice which will likely be observed despite Winston's precautions, eventually being told of an dubious underground resistance movement called the Brotherhood by a woman called Julia. Winston begins meeting her in private for sexual liaisons, and is finally arrested and taken for rehabilitation and execution in the ironic 'Ministry of Love.'
Winston, like the protagonists in all three novels, is one of society's more privileged males, not content with his lifestyle, whose rebellious feelings are eventually forced further through sex. The end of each novel features the destruction of the rebellious individual: Brave New World sees John committing suicide and Bernard exiled to Iceland; the end of We sees D-503 undergo reconditioning and becoming an emotionless drone; in Nineteen Eighty-Four, Winston is forced to share the ideals of the Party before being killed for his crimes.
We and Nineteen Eighty-Four feature female characters who are very similar in purpose; E-330 attempts to persuade D-503 to help her sabotage the Integral, causing him to fall in love with her before they are found out and permanently separated. In the latter novel, Julia is also a member of an underground rebellion movement who finds she has fallen in love with Winston but who is unable to perform any terrorist acts before they are permanently separated.
STYLE & LANGUAGE
The major difference between the three texts is the style in which they are written. Brave New World takes an objective and distanced view of the events, using scientific terms to explain concepts. We is written in the form of a journal, incorporating a large amount of mathematical calculation and dialogue in the early stages before D-503's progression. Nineteen Eighty-Four manages to tell the most personal story with its explorations of Winston's thoughts and feelings.
An interesting feature of the Dystopian novels is their reference to slogans and terms which are commonplace in the horrific future. Brave New World's simplistic slogans are taught to children in their sleep from an early age, while Nineteen Eighty-Four's unique 'newspeak' terminology allows for an exploration of futuristic slang terms, explained as an appendix to the book and easily believable.
Unlike the distanced viewpoint of the other novels, Orwell's narrative is centred on the world as Winston experiences it, and this personal approach encourages more sympathy for each character's plight from the reader. Nineteen Eighty-Four is written from the perspective of their respective protagonists, making these far more intimate accounts and offering a personalised view of the societies and governments with which they are concerned.
CONCLUSION
Nineteen Eight-Four is the most recognised and acclaimed novel to portray a nightmarish vision of the future, but is by no means the only one. Fans of one novel will likely enjoy, and be inspired by, the alternative works as they fit together well: Brave New World, We and Nineteen Eighty-Four portray alternative Dystopian futures at different stages; Orwell's oppressive society is still in its development with a population in the process of conversion; Huxley's society exists centuries afterwards, at a time where the government has firmly established its perfect control over the population; Zamyatin's novel exists in a distant fantasy time when the naturally evolved survivors of a devastating war intend to spread their "idyllic" existence to other stars.
Not a book for the faint-hearted, this is ultimately a little depressing but acts as a well-known warning of how society must stay on the right track.
Advantages: A classic novel with a genuine message, Believable characters with which to sympathise, Not overlong
Disadvantages: The book drags on at times, Not an uplifting experience
P
...But I Know What I Like
Written on 03.10.05 [2015 update]
*****
Probably one of the most widely-owned art books, Phaidon’s somewhat pompously titled ‘The Art Book’ is a colourful, concise and informed pocket guide to different takes on art and its history and development from biblical scenes to lobster phones.
Originally a heavyweight tome, this bestseller was scaled down to handbag size and its price thankfully reduced proportionally. There is no other difference between the two editions; the larger book is easier to read and admire, while the smaller volume is easier to carry and afford as a casual purchase or gift.
Featuring 500 paintings from legendary to less renowned artists, this is an excellent, basic introduction to art in general for students and normal people too.
PRESENTATION & ARRANGEMENT
The first impression to be gained from The Art Book is that it is arranged alphabetically by artist surname, its first commendation and flaw. There has never been an agreed method of grouping paintings, some preferring a chronological view and others gaining more from thematic groupings regardless of the painting’s age or fame, but this A to Z at least makes the paintings easy to navigate. In fact, the publishers see the occasionally excellent juxtapositions as a major selling point to the book, allowing for an interesting view on contrasting or complimentary views of ‘what makes art.’
Each artist is represented by a single work, almost always their most famous or inspiring, but occasionally seeming oddly chosen in light of more renowned examples. Da Vinci’s Mona Lisa is here, as is Picasso’s Weeping Woman, while the always fascinating world of modern art is represented by names such as Andy Warhol and Yves Klein, with the unlikely inclusion of his ‘IKB 79,’ a canvas of patented deep blue hue.
LAYOUT
The artist’s name, surname first, heads the page in a large font, accompanied by the artwork’s title above the work itself. The pages are excellent quality, surprising for the price (in the compact edition at least), varnished and sturdy to allow for much flicking and scrutiny. The drawback to this is the comparatively weak spine: with any wide paperback there is a danger of creasing the spine, and even more so when biographical and historical details are tucked away in the shadowy margins. The book doesn’t crease if care is taken, and the predominantly white spine and cover don’t show such wear and tear so easily.
NOVEL FEATURES
A celebrated and dedicated addition to the brief description of each piece is a list of similar artists, a feature that can aid fans of a particular style greatly in discovering new favourites. The notes on each work are satisfactory and mostly interesting, if a little dogmatic and controversial in expressing the artist’s intent, but this helps to gain a better understanding of art’s development in the reader’s head. It’s very interesting to see classic and much-lauded works treated with no greater enthusiasm or praise than less successful offerings, aside from occasional adjectives such as ‘pioneered’ and ‘developed,’ and the final pages of the book include copyright information, addresses and contact details for international art galleries.
VERDICT
Although not essential or indispensable, The Art Book is highly useful introductory and reference material as well as an entertaining and jam-packed collection of artwork. Although more contemporary genres receive much more focus than others, especially modern art and painting after the 19th century, the variety of work on display in this mini home gallery is fascinating. Nothing can compare to seeing artwork (with the exception of reproducible media such as photographs and prints) in its original exhibited glory, but the clear colours throughout the book really do the masters justice.
With 500 artists, art nerds are clearly going to be disappointed. There is currently nothing from the last few years due to the publication date of 1997, something amended only slightly by the sequel-of-sorts ‘The 20th Century Artbook’ in 1999. And there are, of course, influential artists left out. It isn’t Phaidon’s goal to include the post-apocalyptic fantastical realism of Beksinski and Barlowe or the erotic extraterrestrials of Giger, although no doubt every casual reader will question the validity of many pieces contained within: part of the fun of this book, and art in general.
Currently available on Amazon.co.uk with 20% off for the low price of £5.56, plus postage and packing, Phaidon’s Art Book is waiting to be usurped by an even more balanced and affordable collection, but is currently a common bookshelf resident in schools, colleges and homes and a book that will never become tiresome. If only for the erotic nature of the numerous nude portraits. I don’t know much about art...
Advantages: Excellent range of styles, genres and formats; well researched; affordable
Disadvantages: Unbalanced focus; limitations
A Naked Woman Smashing Eggs. What is the World Coming To?
Written on 21.11.07
**
Paul Pope's ambitious "Graphic Movie" of a graphic novel, originally released as five large-size comics between 2002 and 2003 on DC's adult Vertigo label, must have been something of a fun pet project for the popular writer, who both wrote and illustrated all two hundred and forty-something pages of this future-based soap opera. It's insightful and something of a rare privilege to see an artist's creative vision realised precisely as they intended without any outside involvement beyond a little pressure from the publishers, but it also brings up the less favourable possibility that the work will end up so self-indulgent that its appeal is limited to an audience of one.
Pope's credentials as a prolific writer and artist allow '100%' to avoid this pitfall almost entirely, but it does feel like the project's narrow field of input affects how it eventually plays out. While there's no doubt that the resulting highly detailed, black-and-white screenplay of this 'movie' makes a seamless transfer from its creator's mind to the blank page, there's a substantial change in tone and style between the first issue and the four that come after it, which I put down to the writer's misguided use of a shock opening as much as my own false preconceptions based on this and the heavy doses of science fiction in the written introduction. Seeming to start out as a dystopian future noir style crime story in the vein of 'Blade Runner,' the plot becomes increasingly low-key and cosily domestic as it continues, to the point where the final two issues are entirely devoid of any sinister overtones whatsoever. Upon reaching the arbitrary end to these characters' dull stories, the reader can decide whether to praise the writer-artist for his authentic depiction of everyday humdrum life outside of the unrealistic twists and turns typical of fictional drama, devoid of any kind of neatly-packaged, satisfying ending that would be untrue to such a realist statement; or to simply feel a bit angry and disappointed at the lack of flying car chases and rampaging, post-apocalyptic mutants that became increasingly unlikely as each issue moved on.
'100%' is entirely a character story, dealing with a core cast of five characters whose situations are loosely entwined. The sci-fi background is disappointingly irrelevant beyond the repetitive scenes at one of the primary locations, a nude dancing club called the Catshack that utilises twisted 'gastro' technology to project the dancers' internal organs for a fuller invasion and penetration of their bodies, advertised through such catchy slogans as "Transparency is sex-sex-sexy!" and the irresistible "What's boiling inside her stomach?" Gastro is the most interesting and witty aspect of Pope's dystopia, presented as the natural evolution of human (alright, male) perversion and reminding me of a question posed by satiric celebrity interviewer Dennis Pennis to Madonna in response to her coy sex publication, when he asked whether the sequel will allow us to see her intestines and fallopian tubes.
It's an effectively chilling dystopia that seems all too plausible, but one that is left largely mysterious and unexplained, detailed only through hints to a past war through characters' natural dialogue but helped along with insightful technical journal extracts in the first two issues. This whole process of teasing readers by dumping them into an unfamiliar environment and forcing them to adapt was used even more successfully in Alan Moore's early work 'The Ballad of Halo Jones' for 2000AD comic, while Moore's legendary 'Watchmen,' one of the gospels for adult comic writers since its publication in the late Eighties, seems to provide inevitable inspiration for the filmic layout, from oblique opening 'shots' to incorporation of apocryphal supplementary material on the fringes to help flesh out this world even more.
Prior to this publication, Pope spent a number of years in Japan producing Manga, and the style makes its way into his work here, though in more subtle ways like character dynamics and graphic perspectives, not just by something less subtle like giving everyone big hair and making the women frequently display their hulking breasts. Well, he doesn't do the hair thing anyway. The art really is great, as would be expected from a fairly mainstream publication that didn't demand another artist to be drafted in, taking interesting approaches with first-person perspective in the opening issue, and spending a significant amount of paper on detailed establishing shots and movement without dialogue that really help to convince that this is some sort of highly detailed storyboard for a feature film, without distracting annotations. I do, of course, have to take issue with the series' ridiculous sub-title of 'A Graphic Movie,' which seems to imply that this is beyond the graphic novel format and will achieve for cinema what 'Watchmen' did for literature, but Pope is unfortunately completely wrong and his work hasn't been snatched up like that of Frank Miller. This is not a movie at all; it is a comic. Comic. Or graphic novel if you want to distance yourself from the stereotype of that bloke from the Simpsons. A graphic movie would be something completely different, commonly known as a movie (or film).
Stripping away the sci-fi backdrop, this film's script is fairly bland and not that interesting, but still contains some nice ideas and likeable enough characters, particularly the slightly eccentric Eloy whose enthusiasm for his expanding collection of old kettles on miniature stoves all tuned to whistle in C major to form a blaring, beautiful symphony is quite endearing in its pointlessness. Elsewhere in the drama we have the obligatory Romeo and Juliet couple John and Daisy, the former being an everyman slaving away in the kitchens and washrooms of the dancing club where the mysterious and elusive Daisy works for a fleeting time, herself providing some tedious "she's only felt comfortable with dangerous men" style musings from the sometime-narrator and concealing what's most likely a drugs problem; still an issue of this late twenty-first century despite government initiatives to legalise and brand softer drugs like marijuana.
The first characters to be introduced end up accomplishing the least, the nightclub owner Strel receiving a sinister phone call that threatens to drag her character into the darker recesses of the nightmare future at first, before being cleared up and made weakly amicable in the next issue, and her friend Kim who illegally buys a gun in order to feel safe, before realising that all she needed was a boyfriend after all. Pope apparently conceived of this project as a collection of five characters' independent stories, but was overruled by the publishers who insisted it be made continuous; thus, the links between the characters are all rather loose and occasionally non-existent, and the narrative simply chooses to jump around with each of its twenty-five 'chapters,' some of which are ludicrously short and insubstantial at only a couple of pages - and anyway, I thought movies were split into acts and scenes, not chapters? This all sounds a bit too novelly for my liking, what I wanted was a graphic movie (on bound paper).
This is something of a graphic novel (sorry, movie) aimed at readers who are preoccupied with promoting the idea of comics as a legitimate art form, seeking out the avant-garde and daily insisting to anyone who mocks their hobby (or is just unfortunate enough to be in their vicinity) that comics are not just about 'flying men in tights,' but to be honest I'd rather read 'Izzard the Airborne Transvestite' any day. The art is really good, but the plot is weak and drawn-out, and it wasn't the wisest idea to open with the discovery of a mysteriously murdered dancer sticking out of a bin, as it only raises readers' hopes that this story will be something that it's not. The ending is left open for an unlikely sequel ('200%'?), but I'd rather see the writer move away from soap and apply his skills to something more dramatic and exciting. Some of the sci-fi ideas here are good, but weird distractions such as the 'Four-Dee Booth' that acts like Star Trek's holodeck and briefly transport the characters to exotic locations indicate that Pope was perhaps feeling a little constrained by this grimy not-too-distant-future Manhattan he'd bricked himself inside for what must have been a gruelling and lonely writing, drawing and inking period. '100%: A Graphic Movie' is never coming to a cinema near you, but you can buy this storyboard from comic shops.
Advantages: Interesting future vision and artistic concept.
Disadvantages: Rapidly degenerates into bland soap opera, and the later issues offer very little.
Terry Pratchett, The Light Fantastic
Old as Time, Patient as a Brick
Written on 06.10.05
***
The Discworld is heading towards a large red sun, and nobody knows why apart from Great A’Tuin him/herself (there is a strong possibility here of the latter). Rincewind and Twoflower have cheated Death again, miraculously landing unscathed in a lush talking forest, but soon find themselves hunted for the spell lodging inside Rincewind’s head. Twoflower just sort of hangs around for support and adventure and stuff.
‘Twoflower didn’t just look at the world through rose-tinted spectacles … he looked at it through a rose-tinted brain, too, and heard it through rose-tinted ears.’
The second book in Terry Pratchett’s continuing Discworld series introduces more oddities and develops those features of the disc introduced in ‘The Colour of Magic.’ Focusing on failed magician Rincewind and the arrogant, power-crazed wizards of Unseen University, ‘The Light Fantastic’ sees the Discworld slowly heading to its destruction and a mad rush to find Rincewind’s brain, preferably still inside his skull.
THE SEQUEL
This book was originally sub-titled ‘A sequel to The Colour of Magic,’ and that’s effectively what it is: a second part to a previous tale that ended with a dramatic cliffhanger. Or rather, cliff fall-off. Not having read the first book I did feel like I was missing out on character development and history that seemed to be taken for granted a little, despite the author’s attempts at clearing up what led to the current situation. Namely, that of Rincewind and Twoflower plummeting off the edge of the world. Don’t worry, they’re alright really.
‘It was always a considerable annoyance to any Disc citizen with pretensions to culture that they were ruled by gods whose idea of an uplifting artistic experience was a musical doorbell.’
The Discworld, a flat plane supported by four elephants who in turn stand on the back of Great A’Tuin the space turtle, is obviously developed a little more at this early stage of the series. Confused talking trees, drudic computer programmers and a barbarian called Cohen add to the encyclopaedia, while many characters are re-introduced: most memorably Death (sadly seeming less original now thanks to the character’s overuse in pretty much every adult cartoon series since) and the brilliantly conceived Luggage, a loyal, magical chest with a bad attitude and hundreds of sprawling legs to carry itself after its owner. The wizards of Ankh-Morpork were presumably a prominent feature of the last book based on their actions here, but on the whole they don’t seem particularly cunning or terrifying as the sort-of-villains of the story.
STYLE
Terry Pratchett’s writing style is popular and has helped him shift many books. I haven’t read any of his other books so I can’t compare the level of humour or literary accomplishment, but this feels less like an epic read than something that will entertain and make the reader laugh for 285 pages. The plot does make sense and leads to a logical and actually surprisingly tense and exciting conclusion, but it’s littered with distractions and asides that aren’t necessary to the driving story arc but are welcome in a book of this type. Pratchett doesn’t divide the book into evident chapters, simply using double spaces to separate each paragraph, and although it’s a nice, personal touch it does make it more difficult to keep track of exactly what’s going on sometimes.
There are some very obviously contrived paragraphs that discuss a completely irrelevant issue just so Pratchett can end on a bit of a rubbish joke – most memorably a parody of the ‘what is best in life’ scene from the 1981 film ‘Conan the Barbarian,’ which lasts for two pages and ends with the rather weak statement, ‘hot water, good dentishtry and shoft lavatory paper.’
INFLUENCE OR COINCIDENCE?
First published in 1986, this is post-‘Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy’ stuff, and whether intentional or not, the style is often very similar to Douglas Adams. Pratchett’s excellent descriptions that litter the pages and are, for me, the highlight of this book read like they could have been penned by Adams, especially when describing usually inanimate objects showing traces of personality.
Pratchett’s ideas of ‘charm, persuasion, uncertainty and bloody-mindedness’ keeping the sun and moon orbiting the world and a rock being able to fly just so long as the riders don’t let themselves realise that it’s impossible seem, at times, directly lifted from Adams’ ‘Life, the Universe and Everything.’ Even the double act of sarcastic, reluctant hero Rincewind and strange, otherworldly Twoflower also made me think of the interaction of Arthur Dent and Ford Prefect (from Hitchhiker’s Guide), but as a fan of that series I found these similarities quite fun and nostalgic.
Also, being a huge fan of the recent sci-fi adventure show Farscape, the idea of obsessively hunting someone down for the knowledge inside their head seemed eerily familiar, but that’s fifteen years down the line.
VERDICT
Terry Pratchett confesses in the short biography at the start of the Discworld books that ‘it became obvious that [writing] the Discworld series was much more enjoyable than real work.’ The author’s sense of fun shines through here as he creates an expansive fantasy world to make himself and others laugh and, occasionally, get involved in the plot. But this is early days; doubtless the other Discworld books are aimed a little more at newcomers than this ‘part two,’ although as an introduction to the books in its own right, it doesn’t fare too badly.
As can be expected from a male author’s pet project, the book is dominated by witty and heroic blokes. Bethan acts as little more than a bizarre love interest for the octogenarian Cohen while Pratchett’s introduction of Herrena, a potential but underused warrior woman, is littered with incomplete descriptions of her leather-clad body that lead the author to admit he requires a cold shower. Potentially enjoyable for people of all sexes and backgrounds, it’s not uncommon to see a multi-coloured row of Discworld book spines occupying the same shelf as an adolescent’s Warhammer army.
Recommended for fans of funny and fantastical books alike, but I’d recommend reading The Colour of Magic first. That makes it better, I expect. The cover art is fun too.
Advantages: A fun fantasy romp in very funny writing style
Disadvantages: Not too original; hard to keep track of plot at times
R
Judith and Garfield Reeves-Stevens eds, The Art of Star Trek
A Dream That Became a Reality and Spread Throughout the Stars
Written on 26.08.07
*****
Art books are always far more interesting than other books, because they're full of pictures. Despite having a degree in English Literature, I was only partially joking about that. This large, affordable and extensive collection of original Star Trek design artwork and photography is a fascinating look behind-the-scenes at the creation of the series, from its modest roots in Leonard McCoy's trumped-up salt and pepper shaker medical instruments to the awe-inspiring, high-concept designs for the Deep Space Nine space station and its unique technology. Released in the mid-90s in hardback (now hard to find), this paperback version was produced in 1997 and has never been updated, though unlike all-encompassing reference works this does not act against it as a simple sketchbook of designs and prop photos from Star Trek's conception to its most prolific era in the mid-90s, before its arguable downfall in more recent years.
Judith and Garfield Reeves-Stevens (how do you like that? A married couple of Star Trek fans!) have evidently carried out a huge labour of love with this book, collecting all of the available design work for the series and printing it in pristine quality. For Star Trek fans (who else is going to buy this book?), the concept sketches in particular act as a fascinating comparison between the creators' ideals and the ultimate result achievable due to the technology available, and the time and budget permitted. This is especially noticeable in the designs for the original series, which went into production in 1964 with a comparatively small budget, but also evident as each new incarnation brought lofty and sometimes ridiculous ideas with it. Much of this material has likely been seen before and since in other publications, but this is the only book to collect it all together in one neat, chronological volume, including much material that was previously unseen as part of private collections.
The book is helpfully and logically arranged in two sections of chronological chapters, from the 1960s to the "present day" of around twelve years ago. The first half, 'The Future in Our Living Rooms,' covers the television series, while 'The Big Picture' tackles each feature film one at a time. The chapters are of uneven lengths, depending on the amount of material available, and the arrangement makes it much easier to locate specific areas. All of the Star Trek series produced up to that point are covered, as well as the feature films one to seven, but most interesting of all are the chapters on the lesser-seen or even unproduced series that are usually ignored in reference works. Most surprising in an officially licensed Star Trek work is a chapter on the animated series from the early 1970s, which although popular was later seen by Gene Roddenberry and others as an embarrassing mis-step and eradicated from the "official" canon completely, until more recent years. Thanks to this book, fans can once again see the simple cartoon drawings of the original cast, as well as the often ludicrous concepts developed for the new-found freedom of animation, where budget concerns could no longer get in the way of eccentricity.
Also from the seventies is the production work for the never-produced live action series tentatively titled 'Star Trek: Phase II,' which was ultimately abandoned in favour of a film series in the wake of Star Wars' popularity. An amusing mix of leftover ideas from the original series and lower budget predictions of what was in store for the first film, this is likely to be seen as the most intriguing chapter of the book, unless the reader already owns the more extensive 'Phase II' publication from around the same time, which is entirely devoted to this lost series. Cancelled prior to the production phase, the only photographic evidence of this series are the two images of new cast members Persis Khambatta and David Gautreaux who would both return in the first film (Gautreaux playing a different character). The rest consists of the usual sketches and attractive paintings, mostly for the refitted Enterprise and its redesigned interiors that would eventually appear in 'Star Trek: The Motion Picture,' after a further series of very odd-looking and clearly Star Wars-inspired designs from Ralph McQuarrie, which can also be seen here: http://www.robsacc.nl/_forgottentrek/phase2_1.php
My personal favourite section of the book is that covering the feature films, as the higher budgets allocated encouraged the designers to come up with some truly impressive designs. Star Trek III in particular was responsible for expanding the range of spacecraft significantly, from Starfleet's Excelsior- and Oberth-class ships and huge, mushroom-like Spacedock to the nifty Klingon Bird-of-Prey, all of which would be recycled endlessly in the future television series. It's also interesting to see the changes made to background graphics and interiors, tiny elements of the film experience that nevertheless help to change the tone subtly towards the creators' intentions, from the submarine feel of Star Trek II to the jollier fourth and fifth in the series. The evolution of alien make-up for races such as the Klingons and the more elaborate species that would come later (particularly in Deep Space Nine) are also explored visually, and even the progress of computer generated special effects is charted, from the memorable 'Project Genesis' demonstration to the stellar cartography set from the first Next Generation feature. Although it leaves aside the actors and many of the characters (the dull human ones anyway), this book achieves its goal of covering everything strikingly visual in the Star Trek universe, leaning heavily towards original concept designs for which I am grateful - after all, it's easy enough to see the finished product on screen.
It's refreshing to see a Star Trek work such as this that doesn't attempt to present itself 'in character' within the fictional Star Trek universe, something that makes the official encyclopaedia publications a little dry and distant. This book is set entirely behind-the-scenes, and the writers' honest comments accompanying each image, or introducing each section, are the perfect mix of awe and even humorous criticism for some of the more desperate-looking or recycled props. The amount of text is kept to something of a minimum, explaining the premise and history behind each step in the Star Trek production timeline and the goals of the designers, but aside from a couple of confusing mistakes in the annotations there really isn't anything lacking in terms of information. The pictures themselves are all in full colour, sometimes grouped together or occasionally spread across a double page, and the only real problem is that there is much material left out, although to be fair this is mainly matte paintings and starship models of a similar design to what's included. Many of the great looking but completely unconvincing matte paintings used for alien vistas in the original series would look great on my wall.
The limited, anticipatory focus on 'Star Trek: Voyager' and the 'Generations' feature film obviously date this book, but in a cute way, and there have been enough behind-the-scenes releases since that contain the sketches and models for the newer films and series. All the same, it would be interesting to see an expanded edition or supplementary volume of 'The Art of Star Trek,' perhaps once the franchise receives its regrettable big-screen reboot at the end of next year and becomes popular again. Although it may now seem incomplete, 'The Art of Star Trek' is undoubtedly my favourite Star Trek publication, and certainly the one I've flicked through the most over the years.
Advantages: Hundreds of full colour illustrations covering all aspects of Star Trek imagery.
Disadvantages: Nothing from the last decade.
Alan Rudrum, Joseph Black and Holly Faith Nelson eds, The Broadview Anthology of Seventeenth Century Verse and Prose
Renaissance, Revolution, Restoration & Robert Herrick
Written on 12.01.06
***
The Broadview Anthology of Seventeenth-Century Verse & Prose, to give its full title, is a bulky 1300-page volume that falls a little short of being A4. Its pages are filled, as the comprehensive title indicates, with writings from across the seventeenth century from over 100 authors, not exclusively English, boasting a greater proportion of women writers than has been seen before.
The 17th century is a very interesting period of English history, although really that's to be expected considering it lasted for a hundred years and was relatively recent as far as centuries go. It's sometimes hard to contemplate progress within a time frame like this, and to be honest the fastidious adherence to writings between 1600 and 1699 doesn't help the matter: they're not having any of that 1599 or 1700 rubbish here. At least it gives the book some guidelines, and allows the keen reader to see the development from Renaissance to Restoration (with a bit of revolution in-between), and a noticeable development in Early Modern English.
As is customary for literary anthologies, the works are arranged in order of the writer's year of birth, beginning with John Chamberlain (1553-1627) and ending with Elizabeth Singer Rowe, pen-name 'Philomela' (1674-1737). This arrangement is hugely helpful in keeping the changing historical context in mind, and seeing the influence exerted on later authors, but is perhaps a little flawed due to the ages at which the writers start writing. The only way to avoid this discrepancy would be to arrange each specific work in order of publication, skipping between authors all the time, and this would be a lot less useful. To aid those searching for specific works, the anthology has two indexes: the first is an index of first lines, the second an alphabetical list of authors by surname.
The anthology's prime goal is to make available works of poetry and prose from the 17th century that are of historical and literary interest, with the specific bent of excluding those that can be commonly found elsewhere. This is most obvious in the omission of Milton's epic poem Paradise Lost, one of the most famous and important works of the century, but one that exists in a wide variety of affordable forms elsewhere. It's also quite easy to see which authors are more influential than others, as a quick browse of the contents pages sees recognisable names being devoted a far greater amount of space than their less remarkable contemporaries, as should be the case.
All spelling and grammar has been 'modernized' (as the American editors put it), which will anger purists, but makes it a lot easier to read poets like Donne and Herbert without being distracted by extraneous eeees. Unfortunately, this is also likely to bring unnecessary 21st century subconscious anti-American feelings to the fore as Donne's 'The Canonization' gets the z treatment. I don't really mind though, I was brought up on 80s cartoons: I think zs are cool.
This book features nothing on the historical context of the time outside the comprehensive biographies that introduce each author, meaning that companion volumes will be needed to fully appreciate the position of the more politically-minded works. All this is done deliberately and wisely, although I think the biographies themselves could do with providing a little more information about the authors outside their texts: flatly stating some of their political views would be a bit of a time-saver.
The bulky Broadview anthologies are designed with University studies in mind, and as such they can rely on the judgement of course tutors in selecting the relevant authors and works to study. As you may have guessed, I'm studying 17th century literature and this book forms just under half of the selected reading across two terms. It would be useful for anyone with an interest in literature from the century, but it would have to be quite a large interest - and remember that this excludes some longer popular works and doesn't feature any plays or masques.
Some notable poets and authors included in the anthology:
Francis Bacon: writer of The Essays, commonly seen as laying the foundation for the century's prose writing style, as well as detailing Bacon's influential views on science and the search for knowledge
John Donne: founder of what would be later termed 'the metaphysical poets,' the randy promiscuous lover who later became priest of St. Paul's produced some of England's most memorable poetry
Ben Jonson: chiefly a writer of plays and masques, Jonson's Cavalier poetry (a bit of a misleading categorisation, as he died before the civil war) contrasts perfectly with Donne's extravagant Renaissance verse by being almost completely plain. It's fortunate that their birthdays were so close that Rudrum and the other editors could place these men side by side.
George Herbert: Herbert's consistently Christian poetry deals with varying themes but always turns them into a celebration of God by the climax, and as such may not impress non-Christians to the same extent, not that this would have been a concern for this man, who died age 40.
John Milton: Puritan revolutionary and notorious free thinker, Milton's contribution is vast enough to be divided specifically here into poetry and prose. His famous pamphlet Areopagitica, criticising overly strict censorship laws, is included here among a very limited range of his poetry including some of his sonnets. Not an exceptional reference point for Milton, but there are plenty of those out there.
Andrew Marvell: switching back and forth between Catholicism and Protestantism, and from a Royalist supporter to one of Cromwell's MPs, Marvell's varied nature comes through in his lyric poetry. A close friend of Milton from the 1650s onwards, it was probably Marvell who protected him from those Restoration men who fancied hanging, drawing and quartering followers of Cromwell.
Margaret Cavendish, Duchess of Newcastle: the inclusion of Cavendish seems to be one of the book's selling points, a figure who many feel has been overlooked over the centuries. Her Utopian prose writing 'The Blazing World' isn't included here, controversially lauded by some as the first work of science fiction (take that, Wells!), but her stubborn pride in publishing her own works under her own name, as a woman in a patriarchal century, makes the resulting effects of her works much greater than the sum of their words. But this was really accomplished by:
Aphra Behn: the most recognised woman author of the century, Behn comes in at the final quarter with her radical stories of female sexuality, lust, seduction, incest, rape - all manner of shocking subjects. Especially for a woman, whew. Behn is most famous for her plays, which aren't included here.
This Broadview anthology is pricey and bulky, but in the end the reader has to rely on the selections of its editors, which are likely to change year to year according to the blurb's own admission of "the breadth of seventeenth-century studies in recent decades." My personal approach was, controversially, not to buy the book at all, instead checking it briefly in libraries and opting to read the original collections of the poets studied (I don't mean the first editions, obviously. If I can't comfortably afford a £30 anthology, what would I be doing with a library of 17th century folios?)
In this way I feel I'm emulating Milton in his stand against the Royalists. And by borrowing the anthology over the Christmas holiday I feel I am emulating his somewhat contradictory and otherwise confusing depiction of rebels and conformists by admitting that it's quite a good book after all. I'm your biggest fan John, you blind dead Puritan.
The key thing readers should keep in mind when reading this text is that the 17th century produced a whole load of very good and important plays too, but I can't fault the anthology on sticking fanatically to the rules of its title.
S
Lily Bloom is Dead and Well and Living in London
Written on 24.11.07
****
Anyone familiar with Will Self himself won't be surprised to learn that his critically acclaimed novels are saturated with the critic/writer/cartoonist's unsurpassed world-weariness, and this is only one of the issues that makes 'How the Dead Live' an incredibly demanding read. This odd and unsettling hybrid of social satire, gritty soap opera and urban fantasy doesn't mesh together with any kind of ease, but somehow results in a completely unique and compellingly disturbing book that's likely to leave quite an impact on the reader.
The novel is all about Lily, an old American immigrant of Jewish background who spends her final years living in London, as well as the subsequent years of her death. The novel is written in the third-person for the most part, but the narration absorbs Lily's consciousness to such a degree that the reader gets a clear idea of her character fairly soon, and is stuck with her for the long haul whether they like it or not. Despite her frustrations with seemingly everything that comes across her field of vision, from rather obvious and trivial concerns about modern culture that provide some refreshing comic relief to more serious and distressing obsessions with her own weight and regrettable lack of sexuality, Lily is ultimately quite a likeable character whom the reader can't help but feel sympathy for, even as she criticises her own daughters for their drug habit and unfortunate resemblance to her late husband, respectively. Oh, that Lily.
Opening with a bizarre 'Epilogue' set many years down the line that launches the reader straight into the more fantastical side of things for a few pages, the novel then switches to a more customary linear format starting from Lily's final days in 1988, divided into the even sections 'Dying,' 'Dead' and 'Deader.' The first is conversely the most accessible, for its focus on the 'real' world (ahh, but what is real? Oh shut up), and the most disturbing as the reader is taken along for the ride leading to Lily's inevitable death from breast cancer. For its profound and horrific effectiveness, this is the strongest section of the book, and it takes some personal effort to make it through the later chapters as Lily's consciousness becomes more flighty, returning to key incidents in her distant past and only occasionally providing glimpses of the deterioration and rushes to hospitals occurring in the even more distant present, as she loses control over her own grunts and actions.
The greatest relief in this difficult time is the introduction of the spiritual factor; just as many dying people take comfort in such obviously made-up rubbish in their final hours, the appearance of the bizarre urban aborigine Phar Lap Jones as Lily's death guide inaugurates Self's own confusing, flawed and inconsistent mythology, but at least allows the reader a degree of relief as it becomes clear that Lily is being watched over, and you no longer have the responsibility of being her sole companion.
From this point on, in 'Dead' through 'Deader,' Self lets rip with ingenious and less ingenious ideas from his own twisted mind and borrowed from the history of mythology and fantasy literature, and while his construction of a parallel world of the dying existing alongside the living world is interesting, sometimes visible to the living depending on the dead's intentions or the needs of the plot, the idea reminded me a little too much of a similar but better 'alternative London' concept in Neil Gaiman and Lenny Henry's 'Neverwhere.' Lily's depressing squat is a fittingly bleak location for the early years of her death, a state that has failed to mellow her in the slightest, and her companions are similarly frightening, in the form of the children she lost - one stuck for eternity as a rebellious nine-year-old, the other a tiny foetus prone to signing the hits of the Sixties that it absorbed during its brief tenure in Lily's uterus - and three lumpy creatures made up of the fat she gained and lost during her life of yo-yo dieting. Seasoned sci-fi and fantasy readers will doubtless find some of the inherent contradictions of this world a little distracting - how, for instance, is Lily able to live a relatively normal death for dying of lung cancer, while her dead children and numerous other characters are condemned to die an eternal parody of the manner of their demise? - and this jarring mix of genres does affect it somewhat as it moves from human drama to Lily's desire to be reborn. A number of explicit comments make it clear that this book is intended to educate the (dead) reader in the waiting room that follows their demise, and it's equally creepy and enjoyable to be addressed in such a manner.
Self's writing style, as Lily of course, is quite overwhelmingly cynical, and as such this is a book that doesn't lend itself to being re-read, or even read in large doses. The author's grasp of his craft is inarguably excellent, similar to J. G. Ballard (who is quick to praise the endeavour in the blurb), and he makes nice, if off-putting use of repeated phrases and ideas as the prose slips into something approaching stream-of-consciousness, albeit from the perspective of a dead woman. It's funny in a subtle way, and not above less subtle toilet humour and terrible puns, but the author's obviously pain-staking research into pens really pays off by making Lily's humorously tedious discussion of her work in the pen industry completely authentic. Less commendable is his habit of drawing too much attention to his own mythological allusions, spoiling the fun for smart-arse readers in identifying a minicab driver as an urban Charon for instance, but there are enough original and inventive creations to raise this above a mere parody of myths, particularly in the interesting idea of Nowheres, Phar Lap's chain of restaurants that mimic the aboriginal walkabout experience by being unpalatable and almost impossibly elusive, and of course the novel's most memorable creation in the singing, dancing, eternally foetal Lithopedian (Lithy for short).
I haven't read any of Will Self's earlier or later novels, I'm not sure I have the necessary stamina, but 'How the Dead Live' is an excellent character piece, complicated to an unnecessary degree by the author's weird fantasy ideas but kept sufficiently entertaining as it approaches a conclusion that starts to explain the cryptic, italicised 'Christmas 2001' segments that have closed each chapter, set at a later date and spoken in the first-person in a voice and situation dissimilar to Lily's. Casual readers will be instantly deterred by the shifting of time and fantastical overtones, something that won't be helped by Matin Rowson's pretty map that opens the book and details the locations important to the story in London, Australia and New York, that will likewise lure fantasy fans with its false promise that this will be similar to C. S. Lewis' Chronicles of Narnia. Really, the map's just there to look nice.
The story of a fat and miserable old woman's descent into death and regurgitation through the other end won't be to everyone's taste (though I'm sure that in an infinitely diverse world, there's at least one person who's been waiting for just that book to come along), but it makes for an interesting, if strenuous reading experience, and should be enjoyed by fans of Ballard and William Burroughs as a modern equivalent.
R.I.P.
Advantages: Disturbing, charming, realistic and fantastical.
Disadvantages: The fantasy side of things is a little uneven.
The Green-Eyed Monster
Written on 18.05.04
****
O beware my lord of jealousy;
It is the green-eyed monster which doth mock
The meat it feeds on.
- Iago, Act 3 Scene 3 [Class. Literally.]
Shakespeare's Othello is one of the most debated and controversial of the Elizabethan playwright's works [Thanks for clearing up which Shakespeare you're talking about: the Elizabethan playwright], and as such is one of the better examples of his tragic plays [I'd only read this and Hamlet.] Bill Shakespeare [Let your hair down for the review] has long been the scourge of school pupils with his comedies that aren't really funny and his words that are difficult to read, and although I have always enjoyed studying English Literature I have often found myself conforming to this popular view. The text I have been studying for the last few months has offered me a new appreciation for the late William.
THE DEVIL WILL MAKE A GRANDSIRE OF YOU: PREJUDICE IN OTHELLO
Othello is refreshingly different from Shakespeare's other tragedies in a number of ways; although the main characters are of relative importance in society, the tragedy is limited to a domestic affair that only affects those directly involved, unlike plays such as Macbeth and Hamlet in which the future of a country's monarchy is in the protagonists' hands.
There are elements of racial and sexual prejudice throughout the play, although this should not lead to the conclusion that Othello is a racist play; the titular character is black, and the prejudice of the time leads to characters with direct hostility towards Othello using racial slurs such as "thick-lips" to describe him to others, along with beastly animal imagery intended to rekindle prejudices. The famous phrase "the beast with two backs" is used in the first scene to describe alleged sexual activity between Othello and Desdemona, Iago instructing Brabantio that "a black ram has been tupping your white ewe."
Shakespeare's plays are also a little notorious in the modern day for their somewhat disdainful view of women; Hamlet famously noted, "frailty, thy name is woman," and Desdemona is used here as the innocent victim of blind love and devotion. This play does manage to set itself apart once again however, as Shakespeare creates two female characters who are every bit as knowledgeable of the world as the men; Iago's wife Emilia offers advice on the opposite sex to Desdemona, and the brief appearances of Cassio's courtesan Bianca present the audience with a powerful female who is willing to speak her mind.
Othello's deterioration into animalistic qualities towards the end of the play has led to the impression by some that this is a racist play, but Shakespeare offers enough reasons to balance this out; Othello's violent and oppressed past has left a permanent mark on him along with a survival instinct, and he is seen to suffer epileptic fits, indicating that his physical and mental health are not all they could be. There is also the very effective influence of Iago.
HONEST IAGO
Although Othello is the eponymous character, many critics have argued that the play should in fact be titled 'Iago,' as a reference to the ways in which that character essentially drives the plot and events. Motivated by political greed and jealousy, Iago is an incredibly cunning man and a skilled manipulator, managing to play on characters' feelings and weaknesses. I have seen an exhaustive list of interpretations of Iago's character, many of them plausible and others a little extreme (there is little to suggest that he is a repressed homosexual in love with Othello!), although in the first Act he outlines his motivations and goals.
He tells his foolish accomplice Roderigo that he is after political gain, as Othello promoted Michael Cassio to his lieutenant over him, but in a soliloquy he admits to the audience that there are further reasons for his feelings of hatred: "It is thought abroad that 'twixt my sheets he's done my office" refers to the belief that Othello has slept with his wife, something that is never confirmed, and it is obvious that he also extracts a certain amount of perverse pleasure from deceiving his master; he even describes it as "my sport and profit."
Out of all of Shakespeare's popular characters, Iago is by far the most interesting to me, as he confides in the audience while also remaining something of an enigma. "I wear my heart upon my sleeve - I am not what I am" is a line from the first scene of the play, and Iago stays true to this false persona throughout, acting as an ally and confidant of every principle character to suit his own goals: "in following him, I follow but myself."
Iago is cunning and without remorse, and is therefore very appealing. Once he has set his plan in motion, he can do little else but watch it take its course and rely on his good fortune; after the third Act there are no more soliloquies with the audience, as he knows that "This is the night That either makes me, or fordoes me quite."
RUDE AM I IN MY SPEECH
Othello's deterioration from a noble-speaking Venetian into a cursing, decrepit murderer is brought about in full by Iago's plots, but the character's background and latent emotions will have existed in any case; Iago can only play with what he is given. The relationships between Othello and Desdemona seems to be based on very thin grounds, more a statement of ownership than love, and when Othello is prompted into considering the murder of his wife he feels it is through noble causes; his mental state has very broad definitions of what is honourable.
Critics argue over the ending of the play, and whether Othello is too stupid to be considered an honourable character. In my opinion, Othello is another unfortunate victim of both Iago and his oppressed youth, as both bring out the very worst in him. I have found nothing to support the view that Shakespeare offers a racist presentation of the character, and it is still tragic to see his life spiral downwards. In many ways he is more complex than Iago, especially as the audience are not offered the benefit of soliloquies to explain his feelings, but with the inside knowledge of what Iago is doing is it difficult not to find Othello far too trusting and prone to rash, unsound judgements.
MUCH ADO ABOUT A HANDKERCHIEF?
Desdemona's handkerchief was given to her as a token of love by Othello, and it is introduced subtly when she asks if she can use it to wipe the frustrated Othello's forehead. He informs her, "your napkin is too little," which can be interpreted as a message regarding the inherent flimsiness of their relationship; "one that loved not wisely, but too well."
Iago's world-weary but loyal wife Emilia attempts to earn his gratitude when finding Desdemona's handkerchief, after it is dropped in the previous scene, and giving it to her husband. Although the misogynistic Iago forces her off the stage, he sees an opportunity in the small, spotted silk and indicates, "this may do something." In his next meeting with Othello, Iago offers him the "ocular proof" he demanded by showing him the handkerchief and claiming to have found it in Cassio's quarters.
This trivial item, the background of which is uncertain as Othello offers two contradictory explanations that seem designed to increase his wife's guilt at losing it, becomes the catalyst for Iago's machinations as Othello finally believes everything he is told. His feelings and "honour" cloud his judgement to the point that he does not even realise that he has never been granted ocular proof of a relationship between Desdemona and Cassio.
VERDICT
As an A-level student of English Literature I have had the opportunity to explore many aspects of this play, aided by discussion and teaching, and I am increasingly impressed by the opportunities for speculation for almost every event and speech. If you have been disappointed by some of Shakespeare's other plays as I had, but enjoy reading classics and tragedies, this may be of interest to you. Although this was written with the intention of being performed, I have seen two adaptations and have found it more interesting to read the book at my own pace, especially when equipped with a helpful set of annotations to explain some of the more obscure Elizabethan language.
Ultimately depressing but morbidly engaging, it's difficult not to share in Iago's glee as the characters are successfully turned against each other leading to inevitable but still quite shocking conclusions. Every aspect of this play can be explored in depth, even down to the location of the Acts and what each setting represents, and I have enjoyed going through this process, actually being thrilled when confronted with an interesting opinion I hadn't thought of myself. I know, it's quite odd (and fairly sad), but Shakespeare has come up with a winner here.
I enjoy reading literary classics concerning damnation and religion, such as Dante's 'Inferno' and Marlowe's 'Dr. Faustus,' but the political struggles of Shakespearean plays rarely interest me aside from this. The five Acts craft an engaging story that never seems to drag on, and although a few of the characters are frustratingly one-dimensional and indecisive, Iago is always at hand to poison their lives.
Robert Silverberg, The Man in the Maze
Lord of a Dead Labyrinth
Written on 28.11.07
*****
I'm really quite astounded that no one ever made a film or TV adaptation of Robert Silverberg's 1968 sci-fi classic (or at least, one of the sci-fi classics the prolific author released that year), but with computer games getting more advanced all the time, I fear it's too late for that idea to seem anything but redundant. Silverberg's tragic, sympathetic and heroic tale of principles and stubbornness set in a weird alien maze can be seen as one of the final publications of his 'earlier' period before his writing apparently improved to the standard of raking in an obscene amount of Hugo and Nebula awards in the following decade, but its futuristic revision of Sophocles' already outlandish Greek tragedy Philoctotes works incredibly well, far better than some of the more desperate cyber-Greek productions the twentieth century offered: I can't help but think chiefly of the cartoon series 'Ulysses 31.' If this novel was ever in danger of becoming a lost classic, it's only for being buried so deep within such an extensive bibliography.
The background is rather a sad one; just as Philoctetes was exiled from Greece for having a smelly foot, famed Earth ambassador Dick Muller is haunted by a terrible psychic sickness that leads all within close proximity to experience sudden, unbearable, distressing emotions, and caused no objections when he packed his woman-cubes and departed his homeland forever in favour of the isolation of planet Lemnos. The ancient world is one of many known to mankind in its lonely expansion throughout the Milky Way that displays obvious archaeological signs of a native alien race long since extinct, specifically the enormous and seemingly impenetrable labyrinth they left behind; a puzzle that Muller no doubt appears to have solved, beginning the novel nine years into his self-imposed exile, having settled into a comfortable routine of hunting local dumb beasts and exploring the functions of his environment. This routine is rather suddenly and rudely interrupted when an Earth space craft appears in the skies overhead and lands in the general vicinity, outside the active defence perimeter of the vast maze of course (things aren't going to be that easy), and Dick must choose whether to exact revenge by using his traps to impede their progress, or leave the future of his exile in the hands of fate, in the unlikely event that anyone makes it through.
There's a nice trisected narrative to the book that shifts between Muller's perspective from inside his ancient fortress to the increasingly opposing views of aged officer Charles Boardman and his young subordinate Ned Rawlins on the other side of the divide. I don't know whether this is another narrative parallel to Sophocles' tale, but it's effective in really fleshing out both sides of the argument and explaining the background to this situation and to the futuristic setting in general without such insights feeling forced. There's even enough moral ambiguity and indecisiveness to prevent this from being a simplistic us v. them tale that expects the reader to identify with Dick's side against the advancing threat, as the truth about his situation is explained in depth and he considers whether continued exile in a dead city of booby traps is really what he wants from life. Similarly, Boardman isn't really the villain of the piece, despite seeking to control events with cold, unscrupulous precision for the sake of humanity's future and even lying or withholding information when necessary (like Cancer Man from 'The X-Files,' but not as cool), but it's Muller's tragic situation and young Rawlins' triumph of personal morality that endears them the most. I quite liked Muller, who I couldn't help but visualise looking like Richard O'Brien standing cool and confident in the Aztec Zone of 'The Crystal Maze,' as his time as a hermit has allowed him a clearer insight on the arrogance of his youth, proclaiming to be the next Columbus and elevating himself to a God, only to realise that due to his curse of expressing unclouded feelings, he is now more human than the race he left behind for good. Unfortunately, this is exactly why they need him back.
This novel stems from the most classic and speculative age of science fiction, and doesn't disappoint with its outlandish alien creatures. Muller's famous diplomatic encounter with the tall creatures of Beta Hydri IV was deemed unsuccessful due to a complete lack of communication opening between the two races, but on his return the emissary found himself substantially changed. Muller's resonance of this 'frequency' of negativity is intelligently deemed to be the only possible means with which to make contact with a new and even more exotic race of space whales slowly conquering the galaxy, whose absorption of the entire spectrum from infrared to ultraviolet finds little time for primitive verbal communication. Even the architecture of Lemnos and the maze itself are explicitly designed to be unrecognisably alien, from the architecture's complete lack of symmetry to the combination of traditional physical traps and more inventive psychic distractions to impede the invader's progress. At less than two hundred pages, this book necessarily leaves the majority of this mysterious universe satisfyingly unexplained, most obviously the question of how Muller - angry, careless and near-suicidal - ever managed to successfully navigate his way to the centre when all other have died in the attempt.
The tense and lengthy penetration of the maze from the outside with a series of expendable probes is the sequence that would most obviously lend itself to film, although the abstract nature of some of the traps would probably only have ended up looking disappointing. It feels as if Silverberg is foreshadowing video games that wouldn't be released for twenty years in this memorable section, particularly when human cannon fodder is sent in to establish whether the routes determined by the probes' trail-and-error progress are safe for people. Needless to say, these guys might as well be wearing red shirts ('Star Trek' in-joke there, this review is getting far too nerdy). Amidst all this mystery and drama, Silverberg finds a little time to squeeze in some space opera romance in Muller's memories of his old flames, unfortunately mainly serving to highlight the complete absence of women in this male-dominated universe as anything other than fetishised sex objects (personified literally with the 'woman cubes' that seem to be some form of futuristic sex doll), and there's even minimal use of comedy with the description of bizarre practices of human colonists on outlying worlds, particularly the Fat Cult of Loki. This novel doesn't encompass all, but it makes an admirable effort.
'The Man in the Maze' is essentially one of a seemingly infinite number of mid-twentieth century science fiction novels and as such is easy to take or leave - even wading exclusively through Robert Silverberg's works from the period would be a monumental task - but it impresses more than most for its strong human focus rather than a dependence on showing off innovative ideas for technology that wind up sounding daft and outdated when read several decades down the line. Its basis in timeless Ancient Greek tragedy helps quite a bit, even if this might be considered cheating, and the characters are all life-like, if a bit distinctly 1960s in some of their attitudes. The maze concept also provides a wealth of potential metaphors that more literary-minded readers can apply to the inner turmoil of the characters or the universe in general if they like, as long as they remember that it's actually about a maze. With false turns and dead-ends and stuff. I wouldn't necessarily read another of Silverberg's novels straight away, but as he's published about a thousand, it stands to reason that there's something in there that will grab my attention.
Advantages: Interesting concept with strong characters, particularly for classic science fiction.
Disadvantages: Some of the sci-fi concepts are a little silly, and the women stay at home to do the ironing.
Tom Stoppard, Rosencrantz and Guildenstern Are Dead
Things Have Gone About as Far as They Can Possibly Go...
Written on 11.06.05
****
...when things have got about as bad as they can reasonably get.
Tom Stoppard's acclaimed play 'Rosencrantz and Guildenstern are Dead' is a postmodern existentialist drama that re-centres Shakespeare to expore the crisis of identity and the nature of death, but it's also funny as well.
First performed in 1966 at the Edinburgh Fringe festival, Stoppard's seminal work earned him a place in the literary canon overnight when it was performed by the National Theatre Company the following year. Spawning a 1990 feature film and allowing Stoppard to pursue a career as a co-writer on several prominent semi-comedy films ('Shakespeare in Love' and Terry Gilliam's excellent 'Brazil'), R&G is now often taught at an academic level back-to-back with 'Hamlet.'
THE PREMISE
"The sight is dismal;
And our affairs from England come too late:
The ears are senseless that should give us hearing,
To tell him his commandment is fulfill'd,
That Rosencrantz and Guildenstern are dead."
(Hamlet, Act 5 Scene 2)
For those unfamiliar with Shakespeare's most famous tragedy, Rosencrantz and Guildenstern were attendant lords in the royal castle at Denmark, who reportedly shared an upbringing with Prince Hamlet and who were ordered by the King (Hamlet's villainous Uncle) to observe his odd behaviour, eventually ordered to deliver a note for the Prince's execution to authorities upon arrival in England.
The buffoonish, inseparable characters provide light comic relief in Shakespeare's erudite play, and Stoppard's foregrounding of these previously peripheral characters presented the opportunity to discuss the importance of a defined identity and independent thinking. Fleshed out as likeable (if a little odd) 'human' characters in R&G, there is nevertheless a constant confusion over exactly who is who, something that even the characters themselves fail to discern on many occasions.
THE READ
As with most plays (although there are exceptions), the live performance is more entertaining and understandable than the script, but the best-selling book features enough notes on action and the feelings of the characters, written as stage notes. The interaction between the two main characters in brilliantly written, and they become as real as any double act as they face the various tasks they are required to undertake. The repetitive banter may grate to those not fond of playful postmodern wit, but for those that are it's highly entertaining.
The metaphors linking to fate are also made very obvious for the reader, while fans of Hamlet especially will no doubt enjoy seeing the occasional overlapping of events, handled expertly by Stoppard. This isn't a large book, coming in at under a hundred pages in most editions, and can easily be read in one sitting if the interest is there.
THE VERDICT
The current culture of literature and media seems obsessed with referencing past works of interest (just look at the numerous references in comedies such as 'Spaced' or 'Family Guy'), but the specific focus here means that R&G can be successfully read in tandem with its precursor. Stoppard's focus on ignored, perhaps unimportant characters, their deepening humanity and their own uncertainty about what exists outside the realm of the play, really involved me as a reader and made me wonder whether the characters would indeed escape the fate penned three hundred years earlier by Shakespeare.
Perhaps this is one for literature students and other overeducated unemployables, but unlike other attempts at postmodern existentialist drama, such as Samuel Beckett's 'Waiting for Godot,' [Hadn't read/seen it] Rosencrantz and Guildenstern are Dead really makes the reader think and laugh in equal measure.
"They had it in for us, didn't they? Right from the beginning. Who'd have thought that we were so important?"
V
Blue Streak
Written on 17.08.06 [2016 update]
****
Published by Fleetway from 1993 to 2002, ‘Sonic the Comic’ began as a simple cash-in aimed at fans of the burgeoning video game franchise, but quickly developed into an impressive and intensive labour of love for its dedicated writing staff and artists. ‘The UK’s official Sega comic’ was released every fortnight, beginning life at a friendly 95p but escalating to a final price of £1.35 in its bleak final days.
The comic was aimed at young readers, as is customary in the UK, and this was especially noticeable in the early issues, which featured brief, inconsequential adventures for the blue hedgehog and his associates. Things took a turn for the epic as soon as writer Nigel Kitching began multi-part adaptations of the Sega video game storylines (yes, those brightly-coloured 16-bit things did have plots), which in turn blossomed into original ideas and spin-offs that kept the comic fresh and creative even during the late 90s, when Sonic video games were few and far between.
The comic would usually consist of four comic strips, the first titled ‘Sonic the Hedgehog’ and starring the popular character. Writer Nigel Kitching (who also worked on the less successful ‘Red Dwarf Smegazine’ among other publications) created a Sonic that was set apart from the character’s other incarnations in cartoon series and print; STC’s protagonist was a little flippant and aggressive, taunted his buddy Tails and could lose his temper at times, which occasionally led to him unleashing his own Mr. Hyde in the form of the yellow-hued and practically indestructible Super Sonic, cleverly adapted from the video game appearances. The most popular aspect of the comic throughout its impressive run, the Sonic stories fit snugly into the Sega canon while venturing out to increasingly creative realms.
The early years of the comic featured story adaptations of other prominent Sega MegaDrive games of the time, including ‘Golden Axe,’ ‘Shinobi’ and ‘Streets of Rage,’ but as the popularity of the console dwindled it became apparent that most people were buying for the Sonic storylines, and a decision was made to feature more stories based on characters from Sonic’s world. These featured a combination of existing characters from the games, such as Tails, Knuckles and the nemesis Dr. Robotnik (the planet’s tyrannical ruler until he was finally deposed in the celebratory 100th issue), but equally popular were characters created within the comic’s universe itself. Most of the non-Sonic stories were written by Lew Stringer, whose approach was somewhat more light-hearted and comical than Kitching’s serious adventure stories. People who enjoyed ‘Adventures of Sonic the Hedgehog,’ the Roadrunner-style cartoon series based on slapstick humour that had little or nothing to do with the Sonic franchise, would probably prefer Stringer’s work, although it had a lot less going for it.
In addition to the comic strips, which were each five pages in length apart from the Sonic features which boasted seven, the comic devoted time to addressing the ‘real’ world of Sega video games and the readers themselves. Every issue (in the early years) was hosted by MegaDroid, the fictional representation of the editor who was intended as a robot built out of Sega MegaDrive parts. This character would introduce each issue briefly as well as answer reader queries in the insightful ‘Speedlines’ page at the end. The self-explanatory ‘Review Zone’ reviewed contemporary game releases on Sega consoles, ending with the ill-fated Sega Saturn, while ‘Q&A’ was a double page feature helping players to cheat their way through favourite games. Recurring features alternated at random, but included ‘Gallery Zone,’ which either featured photos of readers with varying degrees of hedgehog obsession, or their artwork. There were also a number of centrefold posters. These features vanished without trace in the new millennium, when the comic’s decreasing readership led to its fate as a reprint mag comprised entirely of recycled material from past years.
STC was the highlight of the fortnight for my eight-year-old self (and a few years thereafter, although I’m not going to admit how many). The stories were aimed at a young audience, but constituted fairly epic sagas, the like of which is rarely seen in the medium today, or in modern cartoons (there are a couple of exceptions). The power duo of writer Nigel Kitching and artist Richard Elson was largely responsible for the comic’s appeal, developing the on-going story intelligently and with often surprising results. The lack of any new material from Sega hindered the development a little, leading to a few too many alternate-dimensional plots, but surprisingly there was no noticeable drop in quality from the first serialised story ‘The Sonic Terminator’ in 1993 to the saga based on the ‘Sonic Adventure’ video game in 2001. The comic arguably reached its peak sometime between 1994 and 1995, when the release of the games ‘Sonic 3’ and ‘Sonic & Knuckles’ gave Kitching and Elson a wealth of material to work with, adapt and improve.
Fleetway attached free gifts to the comic’s cover at regular intervals, which may have encouraged a few people outside the fan base to take a look. Some gifts were extremely fitting in their relation to the Sonic franchise, such as packets of Sonic stickers from Bandi or a Sonic Frisbee, while others represented blatant sponsorship deals with Rowntrees and other producers of sweets. For the initial price of 95p the comic was well worth the money, printed on glossy paper in full colour, but the quality did wane towards the end, even as far as the no-longer-glossy paper.
The Sonic franchise was effectively dead after the disappointment of the Sega Saturn, and a loyal hardcore readership wasn’t enough to convince Egmont (the new Fleetway) to continue with the unprofitable publication. Sadly, things began to take off again as soon as the comic reached its end, with the well-recieved Sega Dreamcast releases paving the way for the even more successful GameCube titles that continue today. Running for over two hundred issues, Sonic the Comic had served its purpose and outstayed its welcome. The wealth of new material from Sonic games led a group of the comic’s more dedicated fans to start an online continuation at stconline.co.uk, an unofficial e-zine that has nevertheless been endorsed and praised by Nigel Kitching and other important figures from STC’s past. It’s unknown whether the continuing popularity of the Sonic games will lead to further Sonic comics, as it has done for the franchise’s animated spin-offs, but it doesn’t seem likely that STC will return.
Advantages: Intelligent writing and excellent artwork throughout the series' duration.
Disadvantages: Many pointless throwaway stories towards the back of the publication.
Bookbinding Class: 'Come In, Make Yourself a Tome'
Written on 23.06.07
****
The second compendium of self-confessed 'Crap Jokes' from Viz magazine offers a handy portable resource of cheap laughs smattered with the occasional swear word that can be read from cover to cover in around ten minutes, or dipped in and out of more leisurely. Each of the 96 widescreen pages is taken up with a single panel cartoon, drawn by a variety of artists whose contributions become recognised as the book carries on, most commonly presenting a slightly unusual scene that is not funny in itself, until the caption or dialogue is read. One's expectations are confounded, and from thence the humour will arise.
The jokes are occasionally incredibly formulaic, or pastiches of traditional forms (most notably the frequent 'Doctor Doctor' gags), and for the most part involve manipulating wordplay to present a common saying in a ridiculously literal manner. As a couple of examples, an early joke is a shamelessly contrived 'Chess Pieces Christmas Party,' which sees a gathered throng of chess pieces enjoying refreshments. The angry King orders the pawns to shut the door on the uninvited piece from a draughts set, who insists he should be allowed in as he's brought a bottle; the King's command is, obviously, "shut the door, don't let the draught in." It's sort of like a rude version of 'Catch-Phrase' that doesn't take itself seriously in the slightest.
I personally find the jokes more amusing, the more ridiculously contrived and unbelievable they are - one of my favourites is a crudely drawn headmaster shouting "you're late boy!" at a schoolboy's grave, and another sees a driver make a sharp left turn following a sign for 'German Sausage Factory,' causing a bystander to comment: "looks like he's taken a turn for the Wurst." There are about ninety-three more crackers where they came from, but that's not really the point of the review. Some jokes break the format, being entirely visual or based on obscure seventies pop and rock groups whose names are worked into the pun, and these I'm not so fond of, even when I actually get the jokes. The most bizarre oddity is the 'Rude Kid,' probably the most love-it-or-hate-it facet of the book, which is basically an obscene child swearing at his well-meaning mum.
Viz endeavour to make the most of this limited book, and essentially go a little above and beyond what is necessary. The index is listed alphabetically by category - so the writers were obviously aware of the formulaic nature of what they were doing - but aside from saving about ten seconds of page flicking to find a particularly favoured wheeze, this section is largely irrelevant. At least, in their mercy, the compilers tag a further joke about litter collecting ("don't worry, you'll pick it up as you go along") to make use of these extra pages at the end. The ordering of the jokes through the book seems to be completely random, though some thought was clearly put in to spacing out the categories so all the Doctor or Tailor jokes didn't crop up together, and this is really the best way to read it. There's also an exhaustive introduction in very small print, in which an alleged Doctor inaugurates readers into the process of reading and responding to a joke, in relentless scientific depth. There's a bit of a gag at the end, but it's really just a bloke experimenting with tedium by going on for far too long with one idea, which is great as that's precisely what I'm into. There are probably as many words in these first two pages as the rest of the book combined.
The format of the book is suited to travel reading, though it would have to be a fairly short car journey. The main problem is the excess horizontal length of the envelope-sized book, which makes it slightly too big for pockets but is necessary to accommodate the shape of the panels. The book is completely black and white save for an eye-catching yellow background on the hardback covers, which themselves feature additional jokes not collected inside - some of the more family-friendly ones about animals rather than Rude Kid, obviously. The page length is just about right, and although the R.R.P. of £4.99 seems a little steep, it's as realistically cheap as the book could be sold (this was almost ten years ago, it might have gone up in price since). It's certainly not a book for all the family, the pages smeared with talk of sexual bodily functions, harsh swearing (especially in the 'Coarse Fishing' joke, which is self-explanatory) and even a drawing of a man's meat and two veg half-way through, replacing the photographed breasts from the previous collection. Thankfully, it's so crudely etched that it would probably just confuse any children who accidentally glanced at this 'Crabs Joke.'
On the whole, it's a lot less rude than the average issue of Viz, using sexual innuendos surprisingly rarely (there's no equivalent of 'Finbarr Saunders and his Double Entendres' here), and all the characters exist only within the confines of the jokes, which can alleviate any worries about Buster Gonad dropping in. These Crap Jokes originally appeared once per issue in a bottom corner of the mag, and although they can get a little irritating and repetitive in excess, it's up to the reader whether they dip into the book or read it obsessively. The myriad artists and writers keep things interesting, as the pages move from a lavishly illustrated scene hosting a rather disappointing joke about telephones to a scribbled and out-of-proportion thing about stilts which squeezes additional speech bubbles in with apparent contempt for the whole format. It's a book I enjoyed thoroughly when I was a young teenager, but now only show to people when conversations turn stale. I'd say it was about equally as good as the first book.
"I've come for this job polyfilla-ing this piece of fence."
"I'm sorry, this post has already been filled."
Advantages: Some of the most brilliant and ridiculous wordplay I've ever seen.
Disadvantages: Expensive and not-quite-pocket-sized, with a few too many pop group and 'Thing' jokes.
W
Walter Wangerin Jr narr, In the Beginning: The Book of Genesis
[Self-consciously secular review of Genesis as literature. It holds out impressively long before the inevitable atheist stabs]
God is an American
Written on 23.09.07
***
This release from American Christian media group Zondervan is a complete unabridged reading of the Book of Genesis, taken from the larger collection of the complete NIV audio Bible (New International Version). Performed by a fairly small cast of American voice actors and narrators accompanied by some very limited sound effects and a constant stream of background music, this isn’t as extravagant or high-budget as the more recent ‘Inspired by the Bible Experience’ selection starring Samuel L. Jackson amongst others, but serves a similar function; a complete and authentic reading of Genesis that misses out none of the boring stuff whatsoever. This Genesis extract is accompanied by very selective releases of other books from the Bible such as a couple of the Gospels, while the rest can only be experienced from buying the full set – presumably, these are the Bible’s ‘greatest hits’ and it was appropriate to release them as three-hour singles.
Genesis spans a considerable span of time, from the creation of the universe through to following the individual domestic happenings of Abraham and his descendants, and the common New International Version released in the mid-twentieth century seeks to eliminate some of the discrepancies and archaisms of the famous King James translation that had been in perplexingly common use since the early seventeenth century. Thus, oft-quoted passages are replaced with more easily understandable (if less impressive) modern sentences, and there is a commendable and allegedly well-researched approach to the definitive pronunciation of names. Genesis purports to be factual to the extent that precise numbers and names are thrown at the listener with tedious regularity, the audio format making it difficult to keep track or make any real sense of these figures without the printed page, and these intermission sections between the events are clearly the low point from an entertainment point of view. The main noticeable trend is for the declining lifespan of humans from impressive numbers approaching one thousand in the early years to a more modest (but frequently broken) one hundred and twenty year limit imposed by God after rebooting the human race from the sons and daughters of Noah.
God is the only real protagonist of the story, as the only character to span the whole time frame. It’s quite interesting to see his change and learning curve over the course of this book, particularly as the figure has always been presented as infallible in Christian education; here, the Bible’s writers (whoever they may be) present him as quite human, learning from his actions and prone to frustration, resentment and forgetfulness. There are some obvious inconsistencies with his character in regards to a lack of foreknowledge and the ability for disappointment (the argument being, ‘surely he would already know everything that’s going to happen, ever?’) that readers and scholars have attempted to explain through conceits like the ‘paradox of the fortunate fall,’ but this doesn’t really work, and it should just be forgiven as a sign of simpler times before science fiction introduced these predestination paradoxes and such to the regular lexicon. It wouldn’t really make any sense for God to be planting all these cunning traps and watching gleefully as gullible humans fall for them with no freedom of choice, and it’s much more satisfying to read/hear the character’s real disappointment when it happens.
The perception of a vengeful Old Testament God is seen throughout this early book as God cares for a very small and local group of followers while paying little attention to the other races of the world, and delivers threatening messages to them whenever his people are passing through potentially hostile territory. God’s anger is clearly best displayed in his eradication of the entire world’s population of humans and animals (save one ark) with the devastating flood as he admits to himself, “I am grieved that I have made them.” After the crisis is over and Noah’s children are ready to re-populate the land, God admits that his actions were a little rash and he promises to never again do such a thing to humans, “even though their every inclination is evil.” His attention thereafter is rather more focused, and unlike his modest son from much later on in the Bible stories, he demands a fair amount of recognition in the form of sacrifices and loyalty, though the old trickster is still present when he witnesses the grandiose Tower of Babel and decides “come, let us confuse their language.” There’s also quite a nice, if repetitive scene in which God explains his intention to kill the entire population of Sodom unless Abraham is able to find fifty good people there, and Abraham haggles him down as far as ten, demonstrating the value of a human life and giving his Lord something to think about.
The stories are all very well-known, though some more than others, and their popularity is roughly proportional to their level of interest. The stories of Adam and Eve, Cain and Abel, Noah and the flood, Abraham and Isaac, and Joseph in Egypt form the bulk of the narrative in that order, but for anyone who went through a mostly Christian school education (or failing that, watched Tony Robinson’s early 90s Bible stories TV series ‘Blood and Honey’) it’s nice to fit these familiar stories into their proper context. Of course, despite its apparent immortality, this book really does show its age in terms of attitudes, particularly towards women who are frequently treated as objects of barter between men for the birth of children, and who are commonly portrayed as liars in contrast to their more noble husbands. The story of Sodom and Gomorrah also very plainly demonstrates God’s attitude towards homosexuality, while modern readers will probably need some time to adjust to the general values and economy of the time period to properly understand what’s going on.
Walter Wangerin Jr. narrates this story with the required authoritarian and slightly deep voice, but his lack of variation fails to make the intermediary lineage sections any more interesting than they would be on the page. The voice actors used for all instances of speech are fairly typical and as expected, all being American and of rather mediocre talent, and there’s a very plain difference between the wizened, kindly old man playing Abraham and the nasal, snivelly weed playing Joseph’s murderous brother. God himself is performed in an echoed film trailer voice-over style that caused me no end of amusement. There are, as stated, a couple of instances of sound effects, but these are kept to a minimum and pushed heavily to the background to avoid encroaching on the story: notable instances include the creaking and storm effects of the Noah story, the blazing destruction of Sodom and Gomorrah and the farmyard noises of Pharaoh’s dream, and it’s perhaps no coincidence that these are mainly found towards the beginning and end of the recording rather than the less notable centre, where the whole thing tends to slump somewhat. The ever-present music follows a similar path, beginning with numerous variations appropriate to each shifting trend of the Eden story, before seeming to settle on a basic piano or violin melody for the remaining two and a half hours. It provides quite a pleasant background, but there are a number of times that it accidentally jars with what’s being said.
The Bible is much less widely read today than it used to be, and experiencing this considerable ‘extract’ of the entire first book makes it fairly clear why. The stories themselves are all entertaining, and mostly suitable for modern standards, but their precise chronological arrangement doesn’t add an awful lot to the briefer and more enjoyable alternative of reading narrative versions in a children’s book of Bible stories, and even the narrator Wangerin seems to concur, having published a novelisation of the Book of Paul. I enjoy the laziness of lying down and listening to an audio book, but the unabridged Bible doesn’t provide the most suitable audio material, though I’m sure religious readers will clearly gain a lot more from it. The acting, music and sound effects will probably prove too distracting for those interested in a pure reading, and not exciting enough for those used to the higher standards of the ‘Inspired by the Bible’ series, making this dramatisation of Genesis slightly weak when taken on its own merits. As the first part of the larger NIV audio Bible series it would probably be more impressive, but I couldn’t sit through that.
Advantages: Authentic and unabridged rendition with researched pronunciation.
Disadvantages: Distracting touches, and a slightly laughable American cast.
Hurled Headlong into Futurity
Written on 07.02.07
*****
First published in 1895, ‘The Time Machine’ is the first in H. G. Wells’ impressively consistent bibliography, followed a year later by the equally (or perhaps more) famous ‘War of the Worlds.’ Time-travelling DeLorians and all Star Trek episodes where the characters wind up in the late 20th century and have hilarious mishaps (ha ha) owe their existence to Wells’ innovative sledge.
‘The Time Machine’ is one of the first truly extrapolative science fiction stories, meaning that its science and predictions are based on futuristic estimates of current trends, and are plausible to some degree (as opposed to Swift’s fairies and things). Wells bases his anonymous Time Traveller’s discoveries on current scientific thinking, with only the slightest hint of magic to distinguish his world from ours, as the time machine is made of a partially ethereal material. Suspension of disbelief is aided by the Time Traveller’s persuasive rationalising of the impossible to his assorted group of wealthy sceptics, one of whom begins the narration of the book before the Time Traveller takes over. This narrator, Hillyer, encourages the reader to go along with the crazy man’s ideas, and holds more than a passing interest in the ideals of communism. As such, he seems quite clearly to be a stand-in for the author, while the Time Traveller is more of a traditional action hero: the scientist who exercises (still a common trope of sci-fi).
The book (technically a novella) comes in at an easy 100 pages and the serialised chapters make it very easy to read, and to locate specific events when returning to the book later. The story begins in Victorian London, where the Time Traveller, a reclusive and somewhat eccentric inventor, has gathered some of his posh associates and members of the press to demonstrate his latest invention. A time machine, obviously. Despite a brief moment of puritanical fear, the gathered throng are not convinced by the inventor’s demonstration with his miniature Tomy version, and he asks them to return several days later to witness the real deal. Bold and reckless, the Time Traveller completes his work and zooms towards the future, only to return with a fascinating and horrific tale of humanity’s self-destruction.
Wells’ presentation of a far future dystopia is incredibly effective and well crafted, owing to Darwin as much as Wells’ own socialist leanings. As ‘The Time Machine’ comes at the tail-end of Victorian literature, just before the world plummets into Modernism, the narrative is subjective rather than omniscient, as it would be in a Jane Austen novel (where the narrator seems to know everyone’s life story and thought process). The Time Traveller is something like a detective, and a failed one at that, trying to connect the dots over millennia in a futurity without the aid of books or a common language. Lacking the superhuman deduction of his fictional contemporary Sherlock Holmes, the character comes to a number of conclusions that are eventually proven false in light of new evidence. He even admits that his final hypothesis may be inaccurate, in light of the enormous historical blind spot he’s faced with. Things become even harder to comprehend as the Time Traveller follows through with his experiment to its logical conclusion and speeds forward into the mind-meltingly distant future and ‘the sunset of mankind,’ in a sequence that reminds me of the psychedelic epilogue of ‘2001: A Space Odyssey,’ only with giant crabs and a diminutive Kraken.
‘The Time Machine’ is a light read and a fascinating one. Though not the best character study – even the main character is never given a name – its blend of adventure and science-fiction is novel and exciting. Wells should also be commended for providing all the ingredients for critics and smart-arse readers to draw meaningful conclusions from the events without being whacked over the head with them (‘ahh, I see – the advanced Time Traveller must now rely on fire, like primitive man’). The exception comes in the author’s determination to instil the socialist message, marked in the explicit comparison of the Eloi and Morlocks to contrasting social classes in Wells’ contemporary London. This presumably puts off some over-privileged, bottom-feeding aristocrats from reading the text. There should be no political ill-effects from reading this book. Hardly at all.
This Oxford edition has a characteristic pointless cover as well as extensive background notes and a comprehensive overview of the text, if you find it hard to think for yourself.
Advantages: Persuasive science leading to enormously influential science-fiction.
Disadvantages: Perhaps too abstract and detached for readers of the realist novel.
Moments of Being
Written on 18.07.07 [2016 update]
****
Virginia Woolf’s most daring expression of modernism continued her experiments in finding a distinctly female voice and writing style to stand against the male-dominated literary canon. Like ‘Mrs. Dalloway’ before it, which is more well known and less cerebral, the book is written entirely in a stream-of-consciousness style, the long-winded sentences striving to evoke each character’s thought process as their minds flit from one topic to another, and back and forth through their lives.
Despite being her preferred means to find the feminine voice, contrasting against more usual rigid sentence structures she saw as typical of male phallic domination, the technique was largely inspired by Irish author James Joyce, whose demanding final chapter of ‘Ulysses’ is a huge un-punctuated sentence of around forty pages, chronicling the mental process of Leopold Bloom’s adulterous wife as she drifts off to sleep, masturbates, and comes onto her period. It’s a highly creative and revealing insight into a woman’s mind that is, of course, written by a man. ‘To the Lighthouse’ is similarly a celebration of the feminine against male oppression, as well as a very effective and chilling observation of the generation gap carved by the First World War, particularly in the changing attitudes of women.
Woolf’s novel is divided into three uneven sections all taking place on the Isle of Skye, the favoured holiday destination for the Ramsays and their middle-class friends, over a period of ten years. The author’s own preferred analysis of the structure was to imagine an ‘H’ shape, with the first part of the novel (occurring in 1910) linked to the third (in 1920) by the smaller and radically different central section, forming the horizontal connection of the H. Being a sucker for a clever structure, this was what appealed to me the most about Woolf’s novel, as the clipped, rushed and deeply impersonal central passage is just about as different to the sprawling interior monologues that dominate the bulk of the book. Woolf’s intention was to represent a world devoid of human influence as the holiday retreat is left to decay while a great war is being fought overseas, and the narration’s flippant and detached descriptions of the deaths of major characters from the first part are quite shocking in their unsympathetic finality. Once things cool down and the surviving Ramsays and friends return to the island, it’s clear that the world has radically changed.
‘To the Lighthouse’ is a demanding work of fiction, but far from the neoclassical pomp of ‘Ulysses,’ and its family drama and deeply personalised narratives should appeal to anyone who survived through ‘Mrs. Dalloway.’ Both novels disregard the normal conventions of time in stretching single moments over pages and pages of reactions, and there’s a fair amount of chaos in a novel whose seventeenth chapter, the pivotal dinner scene, lasts for around a quarter of the book. The main focus is on the conflicting attitudes of the characters and their feelings towards each other, demonstrated memorably in the first few pages when the young James Ramsay is told by his father that they cannot visit the nearby lighthouse due to the probability of bad weather, and the child’s thoughts instantly turn to vicious murder. It is similarly revealing to see the downtrodden Mrs. Ramsay living a servile life under the dominance of her husband, but not having the ability to see this as a problem. Her opposite comes in the form of the artistic Lily Briscoe, who spends her time on the island painting Mrs. Ramsay’s portrait despite repeated criticism from Charles Tansley that ‘women can’t paint, women can’t write.’ Her timidity aside, it’s clear that Lily is the closest thing to a representation of Woolf herself in this novel, the female artist struggling in a male world with a knowledge that the time is right for change.
If I’ve favoured the book’s structure and messages over detailing its plot, it’s because there’s very little plot to speak of in Woolf’s story, which she preferred to label an ‘elegy’ for wont of a more appropriate term. The Ramsay children repeatedly ask to be taken to the lighthouse, and are repeatedly denied this by their father, while Mrs. Ramsay takes care of the meal and tries to re-live her youth by match-making a couple of young friends. While the first part of the elegy, sub-titled ‘The Window,’ is dominated chiefly by Mrs. Ramsay and her old fashioned view of a world facing imminent change, the third, definitively called ‘The Lighthouse,’ belongs to Lily Briscoe as she finishes her portrait. This section finally sees the gulf between Mr. Ramsay and his adult children narrowed as they set about on their long-awaited journey, while Lily contends with the ghosts and demons in her own mind to complete her work.
This is not a novel that would translate well to film, and I’m surprised to see that this has indeed been attempted. In terms of a script adaptation, the majority of dialogue is secondary to the characters’ thoughts revealed in the narration, and often either contradictory to their true feelings or simply inconsequential and not revealing of very much at all, meaning that without a significant re-write, an authentic film version would need to freeze frame on a character’s troubled expression for five minutes while they provide a voice-over. It’s an interesting observation of the difference between what people say and what people think, and although it all stems from Woolf’s ideas of what men and women are like, the book’s admitted semi-autobiographical basis indicates that she probably has a fair grasp of what she’s doing.
As a major work of modernist literature still read and studied today, Woolf’s novel (or elegy) is an effective analysis of the emergence of women’s rights and independence facilitated by the Great War, and an interesting enough statement of her artistic ideals through Lily, such as her arbitrary rearrangement of scenery into a form that looks more pleasing as opposed to a steadfast reproduction of ‘the truth,’ that it can be enjoyed by readers who aren’t quite so eager to delve into Woolf’s essays. Just like in the earlier ‘Mrs. Dalloway,’ the long, multi-comma’d sentences take some time getting used to, much like those in my reviews that I’m quite aware of, and the focus on middle class characters is sure to annoy some idiots who feel Virginia Woolf should have tried instead to write intimately about a type of people she had less familiarity with. I was surprised how much I enjoyed this book, having struggled through ‘Mrs. Dalloway’ a year earlier, but the creative structure and historical significance lead to me recommending this book to anyone interested in experimental fiction, even eighty years after its original publication.
Advantages: An interesting study of psychology and art.
Disadvantages: Takes some perseverance, and not the most riveting plot.
The occasionally literary odyssey ceased at the end of 2007, as the site changed its payment model to favour quantity over bulk and I switched to an album review production line until I got a proper job and lost interest. My tome testimonies continued in somewhat briefer form from 2015.
I should get back into writing the five-page book review. As long as I get my 50p.
Lost reviews
Ken Follett, The Pillars of the Earth *****
