"I am at a loss to conceive how a man should permit himself to write anything that would be truly disgraceful to a woman, or why a woman should be censured for writing anything that would be proper and becoming for a man."
Showing posts with label literature. Show all posts
Showing posts with label literature. Show all posts

26 October 2013

Dracu-ugh (Episode 1)

Alright. Now that I’ve sobered up from downing an entire bottle of wine in the span of an hour during the initial broadcast of the Dracula premiere, let’s get a bit more specific as to the reasons which caused me to consume an absurd amount of alcohol in such a short time frame.


We open with a couple of dudes seemingly Indiana Jones-ing their way into a crypt in Romania in 1881. As any logical person knows, things entombed in crypts this difficult to get to (and with bodies in caskets that have spikes driven through them) were buried so that no one would open them. People in vampire stories -- not logical. Also, not reliable as business partners as it’s only a moment until one of them is getting their throat slashed to awaken our Big Bad Vampire Daddy, and we have the first misinterpretation of a quote from the book, “The blood is the life.”
Cue transformation of stabnated corpse into Bloodface Rhys-Meyers… which quickly cuts to bathing, shirtless, dripping, sexy JRM surrounded by candles and by this point I assume the creators are hoping the female viewership just gave up caring about anything else other than gazing at tasty manflesh. His dressing is filmed like a Jaguar commercial -- close-up highlighted body parts and tailoring.
 
 
 

Finally the costume porn spell is broken by Dracula speaking to Renfield, presumably acting as a creepy voyeur butler to this costume erotica. (Also, I’m only going to say this once: changing up Renfield’s race to still make him Dracula’s bitch is not culturally inclusive. It is straight up racist.) Dracula casually asks Renfield if all his guests will be photographed on entrance as requested, as though we’re supposed to think that’s deviant yet acceptably weird. It’s not. It’s creepy -- and not in an ‘I vahnt to suck their blood’ way. In a ‘I’m planning who to systematically destroy based on their appearance -- kind of like Hitler’ way. There is a talk of a demonstration, then a casual jab at 1896 Americana as Renfield exits and Dracula ‘eases’ into his slightly Southern, slightly Midwest, slightly off American accent and introduces himself to… himself, as Alexander Grayson.
Cue carriages, grandeur, and ballroom dancing as we’re introduced to the young trio of Mina, Jonathan, and Lucy. Neither girl is wearing a dress even remotely era-appropriate and obviously designed to make them stand out. Lucy is immediately set up as vain, petty, flippant, condescending, and man-crazy. So there’s an immediate character assassination (and I think at this point I finished my second glass of wine).*
Jonathan and Mina express their disdain to each other at being brought to a fancy event where the likes of a journalist and scientist-in-training aren’t likely to find anything in common with the obscenely rich. Especially since the rich in this time period have more propriety than to kiss their not-yet-fiancees in public.
And yet, don’t think that Jonathan and Mina’s poo-poo-ing of the grandeur is only middle-class jealousy. The wealthy aristocracy, business barons, and their nose-up ladies are all a-chatter about how obscene this very American display of wealth is. They’re even surprised so many have come to this ridiculously decadent event… except it’s 1896 in London and at this point the city may as well have been renamed Decadence Central.
Renfield appears on the stairs to introduce the master of Carfax Manor (I hear the creators giggling at their clever book insert), mister Alexander Grayson. While everyone may think he’s an eccentric American making an obscene display of his wealth, that won’t stop them from clapping enthusiastically at his appearance. He saunters down some stairs, takes a cocktail, and then sees Mina. And the world around him disappears. And Mina senses it, too. And I sense a sudden urge to violently hurl my laptop out the window. There’s a flashback or flashforward or insight into their mind-melding or some ridiculous overly-romantic bullshit sequence of them cuddling and caressing in bed before we’re snapped back to the now, and I’m about to snap some writer’s neck.

We mangle Dracula’s initial greeting to ‘fit’ a roomful of people, and yet when his little moment is done, he goes back to staring at Mina. Like no one’s going to notice that. Oh, but wait. Lucy does. And so does Jonathan. And so does Mina. But does Alexula stop there? Nope, he saunters right over to Renfield and demands he find out everything about her and Jonathan.
Alexula’s first official introduction is to a woman named Jayne Weatherby, whose hair color is impossibly blonde, and eyebrows impossibly shaped. With her is her ‘friend’ Herr Kruger, who Alexula basically insults as a mask to hide that he probably hates continental Europeans with Germanic last names for reasons only someone who knows about vampire lore would gather.
Alexula then makes directly for some imperialist business-lords who chair a company he would like to obtain patents from. Stunned by his blatant talk of business in front of women, Alexula is shot down and his American status insulted. They leave him and we get the first shot of Alexula’s “I’m going to slaughter some bitches tonight” face.
Jonathan’s been observing this little moment and strolls up to offer Alexula some advice and dirt on the insulting lord, and is then joined by Mina. Alexula introduces himself to Jonathan, who introduces Alexula to Mina who is now gaping at Alexula like most female reporters currently gape at Tom Hiddleston (which I would, too, in their position). 


Mina apologizes for her behaviour by starting to say she thinks they’ve met before, but Alexula finishes that thought for her. Which is, you know, a pretty creepy thing to hear from a guy you’re just meeting even if he does look like JRM. Renfield cockblocks further interaction (as I have a feeling will become habit with him) by telling his master “It’s time.”
Somehow in the ninety seconds that have elapsed, Renfield has found out Jonathan’s name, job, leading traits, and boxing schedule for the month, as well as Mina’s name, lineage, degree program, favorite color, and status as a Byron fangirl.
A dramatic boom enters the music, as does OMG BEN MILES ILY SO MUCH! (I’m sorry, but I tend to fangirl horribly over any cast member from Coupling). 

He and his immaculately coiffed hair observe the same lords and ladies Alexula did, but before we can find out any more about him, Renfield announces it is time for the demonstration. He then saunters down to Jonathan and while initially chiding him for being a member of the press at a strictly no-press event, he quickly recovers by offering him an exclusive interview with Alexula, tomorrow, at the house, alone, no garlic necklaces allowed.
Now it’s time for the demonstration as Alexula hands out lightbulbs during a speech about the dark ages, war, and how not-evolved we still are, but may be with the help of his new invention -- magnetic power that can provide wireless electricity. Somewhere deep beneath the manor (one assumes), stage one is begun with lots of shouting men and steam and levers being thrown (because that’s how you dramatic science). The business-lords, now joined by Patrick Maitland (I’m sorry, but that’s what you get when you’re Ben Miles), are instantly concerned for their petroleum interests, but Patrick tells them not to worry. Meanwhile, nothing is happening yet, so to stage two we must go. More steam, more yelling, more levers. Then, like magic, Mina’s light bulb alights first. Then another, then another, then the room. Alexula gives his best maniacal laugh, but everyone is so awed by the lights that apparently I’m the only one who notices how creepy and over-the-top his reaction is. However, after a few seconds, things start to go wrong downstairs. Sparks are flying, men are getting zapped from a Tesla-coil-esque machine, and demented doubles of Hugh Jackman start appearing. The foreman requests to cut the power, but Alexula, through Renfield, demands a few more seconds to revel. So a couple more explosions happen and the coolant expels itself all over until the foreman does the intelligent thing and shuts everything off.
Alexula soothes the disappointed crowd by making a horrible pun with a long pause. He makes a beeline back to Mina but Lucy thrusts her hand out and introduces herself before he can flirt. Alexula chats to each of them in turn, and pretty much leaves them all enthralled. Jonathan notes that he seems quite taken with Mina, and Lucy is quick to second his assessment, while still being petty and insulting. Then she’s off for cordials. (Seriously, can we please stop making Lucy into a petulant debutante?)

The mysterious Lady Jayne slinks around a corner behind Dracula and comments on his extraordinary display, and his immediate retort is that he didn’t hear her approach -- and yet I heard the distinct sound of a heel hitting stone, so Alexula’s obviously deaf, as are the sound mixers. They walk, they insult-flirt, she invites him to the opera so he can get into her box… yes, really. Did I mention this woman is wearing a feathered choker? She departs and we get Alexula’s “I think I’ll sex that one before I kill her” face.
The ball ends with vague threats from one of the business-lords, and if you didn’t see the blinking ‘dead meat’ sign over his head, the music and Alexula’s expression should have clued you in.

Jonathan is typing with his photo of Mina beside his typewriter. His accented-roomie schools him to ask for Mina’s hand before someone else does, which segues directly into Mina and Lucy’s slumber party where Lucy is taunting Mina about the weirdo American leering at her, and yet seems to hold him in a better light than Jonathan whose biggest character flaw is being ‘boring.’ (And I want to cry with rage.) Mina begs Lucy to talk about something other than her dislike of Jonathan. Then there’s a random ‘whooshing’ sound that apparently all of London hears, except the drunk soon-to-be-dead lord, who gets yanked away from his doorstep and whose arterial spray splashes artfully on his numbered pillar.

Alexula justifies to Renfield ripping the man apart basically because he was rude (I think we just found Hannibal’s bff) as Renfield tosses the lord’s photo into the fireplace. Now we’re on to discussing Alexula’s plans to destroy the corrupt and powerful and entitled Order of the Dragon. The crux of it is they’re an elitist war council that murders, pillages, rapes, degrades in the name of… we’re not really told. Basically Alexula is planning a holy war against a group that engages in their own nebulous holy war. It’s really convoluted because it tries to both entangle itself with the actual Order of the Dragon while muddling everything that had to do with the actual Order’s real purpose -- especially the fact that the main inspiration for Dracula was a member of this Order, as were other members of his family. And let’s not forget the burning of peasants flashback. Alexula’s big plan however, is to stop their reign by directing the future of world power from petroleum to magnetic, and, you know, killing every member he can sink his fangs into.
At this point I’m drunk, angry, frustrated, and wondering how such perfect portraits of every person entering that party were taken.

It’s a foggy night in London town, and the dead lord’s house is being broken into by the Herr and his neck checked for signs of bite marks. Rather than make a thorough home exam, Kruger cuts off the lord’s head, carries it in a hatbox through town, and drops it off to Lady Jayne. Because obviously no one’s opening that man’s coffin again and won’t notice his head’s gone…
Lady Jayne brings the head to Patrick, all stuffed with garlic, onions, and sage, ready for roasting on a spit. There’s talk of the last time a vampire ravaged London and they had to cover it up -- 1888, which, for those not in the know, they illuminate us was the year of Jack the Ripper. Yup. The Ripper was a vampire. Because THAT’S original…
They decide to put Kruger on patrol to watch over the other business-council-lords, so long as, Patrick stipulates, no one knows he’s around -- because unexpected Germans make Brits nervous for some reason… (too soon?) And the official explanation for ‘unexplained’ death? Dog attack.
We enter a classroom where students are learning science via reading the tabloids. Mina covers for her male chatterboxes to their professor for reasons I don’t pretend to understand.
Meanwhile, Jonathan is waiting for Alexula and opens a giant shutter where sunlight then streams in. Alexula arrives and Jonathan extends a hand to shake, directly into the beam of light. Alexula hesitates, then gives a firm shake and gestures Jonathan to a chair. Alexula turns away to get a drink, and we see his hand is burnt. (At this point I am a) infuriated that Dracula is not sun-resistant and b) questioning his rationale in picking the house, room, and time of day to meet Jonathan knowing full well he could burst into flame.)

After Alexula casually pushes his chair out of direct sunlight, they have an interesting chat about why Alexula is here and the basic message is that Alexula is claiming to look out for the future of humanity by encouraging scientific developments while acknowledging his lineage as a member of the ‘old world’ privileged class. And while this is totally out of canon character for Dracula, it’s a well crafted moment, and my biggest annoyance was actually that Jonathan’s notes aren’t in shorthand. I don’t give a shit what his personal assessments of Alexula are, as we’ll likely get those when his story is published. I do care that he has journalistic integrity and knows how to properly notate for the time period.

We’re back with Mina at school where she’s meeting her professor in his very dark office. She’s concerned about being able to become her prof’s research assistant after exams. She’s by far the most intelligent in class, but she sucks at hands-on surgical work because cutting people makes her squeamish. So we’ve built Mina up as incredibly bright and engaging in a professional course not afforded to 95% of women at this point in time… only to strip all that away in saying that she’s a great scholar and bookworm but when she sees blood she practically faints.**
Her professor tells her to suck it up and have confidence while also giving her cryptic advice about the heart never lying. She leaves and goes outside, being passed by her male classmates all saying goodnight as she stands around waiting for who the fuck knows. Apparently we’re not supposed to think this is odd as Alexula creeps around pillars watching her with his coat collar turned up. Yes, really. 

She stands alone, reading a book in the dark as he stalks all around her, disappearing when she finally senses something. Then, a female (apparently a friend) comes up and murmurs something about sorry for being late and they walk off into the dark together. Another woman crosses past them, notices Alexula, and gives him flirty sex eyes. And since he can’t get his rocks off with Mina yet, it’s time for a quick fondle-bite-kill with this girl.
And now to the opera, where Alexula has donated his box for the evening to Jonathan and Mina (who is dressed like Belle for some reason). Lady Jayne hip-wags to her own box, the opera begins, and look who decided he wanted into her box after all. And look, her box is directly across from where Jonathan and Mina sit. So Alexula can sex up Lady Jane while looking longingly across the opera house at Mina. (And as gorgeous and enchanting as JRM is, the fact that we’re supposed to root for this guy to be with Mina is insulting.)

The Order lords are gossip-bitching about Alexula taking control of their dead buddies assets, though the elder one isn’t terribly concerned. Alexula stalks the younger from the rooftops when suddenly Kruger shoots him in the leg. What ensues is an insanely ridiculous semi-slow-mo fight between the two of them that predictably ends with Kruger suffering from a bad case of katana to jugular. (Yes, Dracula owns, carries, and fights with a katana.) 

Alexula can’t suppress the urge to speechify to him before he dies, though, promising to kill everyone in the Order.
Meanwhile, Lady Jayne twirls katanas of her own in a practice arena complete with punching bags she slices up (which is just a waste of good punching bags), and a caged female vampire. Jayne wants to know who her sire is, but the vamp won’t tell. So Jayne coos all about her known methods of torture to get vampires to talk. The vamp girl is unimpressed and there is a stalemate.
Back at Castle Carfax, Alexula tries to drink away his anger (because that always works), and into the room swans Professor Van Helsing… and this is where I downed the last ¼ bottle of wine. Basically, Dracula is on Van Helsing’s leash, and Van Helsing is the one leading and directing the crusade against the Order because they killed his family. Van Helsing is the brains, Dracula is the brawn. And my desire for vengeance against the creators of this show is almost as strong as theirs against the Order.




So what did I like?
I like the completely fabricated character Ben Miles is playing. Partially for his cool collectedness, and partially because it’s Ben Miles.
I liked the interview scene (aside from aforementioned attention to proper journalism note taking), because even though it takes Dracula in a completely non-canonical direction for why he’s in London, it’s one that does actually make sense in context of the show.
I like most of the cast, even when I can’t stand their character (or what’s being done with their character).


As a final note, I’m just going to keep track of how many people Dracula kills every week -- and what that total is when Mina finally, inevitably, falls for him.
Week one kill count: 3


* No offence to Katie McGrath. I genuinely adore her and really hope her character gets something more to do than is indicated in this episode. But I fear she’ll fall into the same trap set up for Morgana in Merlin (beyond season 3) where she’s written into a corner and has to find her own way in an increasingly poorly written role.


** If this is how you inject feminism into a character you didn’t think was feminist to begin with -- FUCK YOU. Canon Mina may hold to the strict, patriarchal ideals of her time, but she is intelligent, resourceful, brave, strong, compassionate, does not shy away from danger or blood, and is more modern than she would even think to give herself credit for. She also doesn’t fall in love with a mass murderer.

23 September 2013

Come out and take your medicine!

Re-read The Shining before Doctor Sleep comes out, I said.
You'll want the refresher, I said.
Don't pay any attention to the terrifyingly accurate depictions of addiction, I said.
You won't be emotionally traumatised by the concept that Danny Torrance succumbs to alcoholism as an adult despite his absolute horror of it as a child, I said.
The relationship between Jack, Wendy, and Danny will not emotionally destroy you as it has the previous three times you've read this book, I said.

I'm an effing moron.

02 October 2012

You couldn't be that small.

October Read #1: Hell House - Richard Matheson

With the exception of the adapted Dracula for Marvel comics, which I have not read though I've read the novel dozens of times, this is the only 're-read' on my list. I've read Hell House probably four to five times over the past several years. Each time I read it I find more to like about it, more that gets under my skin, and more that makes me excited to read it again.
Hell House is a true American ghost story, building on the base of the traditional and adding to it the exploration (and in some cases, the breakdown) of science, sexuality, faith, and personality. As a reader you're rather left to your own preconceptions to decide if the psychology of the house and how it affects people is caused by their own ideologies, or by paranormal entities. Each character has their individual ideas, and each seems plausible in the face of how situations are posed to us. The fact that their own beliefs cause (and cloud) their judgment makes each one an unreliable narrator several times through the course of the narrative and it's only in the last twenty pages that we are let in on the definitive answers.
It's not a story without loss, as no horror story really ever achieves acceptance in its genre without it, but the losses are incredibly calculated and important. It's not the body count which is important, it's the timing, the effect, and the reasoning which make them impactful. Matheson doesn't always excel at character development, but in this instance there is beautiful detail and specificity to each character. And I'm just going to say it now: I love Ben Fischer. If anything, he is the core of this novel and in a lot of ways the closest lens the reader gets to a 'typical' person being trapped in that environment. Yet he is truly anything but typical in his abilities.
Overall, the story is engaging, horrific, detailed, and insightful. It's also not a long, complex read. Clocking in at just over 300 pages, it doesn't talk down to the reader in terms of its scientific and parapsychological terminology, yet remains accessible. It's creepy and cool, with a resolution that doesn't feel cheated or forced, and will keep you thinking after completion without making you want to sleep with the lights on for a week.

26 September 2012

October is "Read More, Bitch" Month

...and update your blog more, too.

I need to read more. Again. My mind has once again become stagnant and dulled. It begs for life to be breathed into it and at best I've been able to manage a weak sigh.
So last night I sat down, took out a fake Sharpie and a piece of construction paper (because sometimes for important lists you have to be eight... that's just how it is), and wrote down a short-ish list of book to read for next month. Seeing as how it's going to be October, and I love all the fallishness (or what I remember of it, since southern California doesn't have seasons) and Halloween funtimes that go with it, it's a pretty Gothic-centric list.
However, to keep myself on task, I'm tacking on the added challenge of blogging a review of these once a week, hopefully on Tuesdays. That way I satisfy two goals in one, and help my poor story-starved brain recover from its lack of imaginative air.

If you want to peek in every week to check my progress, please do so -- and if you want to know what I might will be reading, here's the list:

Hell House - Richard Matheson (re-read)

Northanger Abbey - Jane Austen

The Vampyre  - John Polidori

Roald Dahl's Ghost Stories - Roald Dahl

Dracula (graphic novel) - Bram Stoker / Marvel Comics*

Bonus Book TBA

*The Dracula graphic novel review will actually show up over at The Comics Observer, likely on 10/29, but I'll post a lil' tidbit and lingage here on that date.

Read along with me... IF YOU DARE. MUAHAHAHAHAHHAAAAAA!
(See. Halloween. Love it.)


11 June 2012

If It's Been Done Well, Leave It Alone

*deep breaths before diving into a hot button issue with me*

Articles and speculation about adapting classic literature (and literature in general) always draw my attention and, sometimes, my ire. I am not one of those Every Book Is A Holy Canon Which Should Not Be Altered For Screen people. I'm a writer, and I have flaws. I've written for the screen, and have flaws. No writer is perfect and no medium of expression is perfect in conveying what one medium already covered. My issues with adaptations are not rooted in that base problem, they are rooted in this: when one creator crafts a story and characters, it is the responsibility of someone later coming along to adapt that work to at least stay true to the overall tone and message of the source, as well as its characterization -- or change the g-d name! You change plot points? As long as we get to the same eventual conclusion, fine. You combine or omit characters? As long as it makes a stronger narrative and doesn't mess up essential moments in the story, fine. You alter a major character motivation, changing who they are on a fundamental level? NOW I have an issue, and my outrage will be rantalicious unless you give damn good support for your change or, you know, CHANGE THE G-D NAME. (Noticing a trend?)

My only other gripe with adaptation (and why I pretty much never take issue with Shakespeare films because he's the one writer out there whose work we never quite get right), is that once a well done, faithful adaptation is accomplished it's time to close the book, so to speak, and remove it from the realm of stories up for grabs. In my hasty youth, I didn't even extend this to previous film works. I thought, hey, if you can update a classic film well, then go for it! I've wizened and grown curmudgeonly in recent yeas, however, and now see the error of my ways. And if ever I need a reminder, I think of High Society (yeah, Hollywood was pulling that even during its Golden Age, so we can't heap all the blame on ourselves for the current state of stagnant original ideas). It's fine to have a vision of someone else's story in your head. If you're lucky enough to be allowed the chance to craft that story in another medium, then kudos to you -- you're already achieving one of my biggest dreams. Just... don't eff it up. And if you do and then someone else comes along later and hits the marks where you missed them, then at least you had that chance. However, if someone beats you to your dream (and I swear I will probably resort to every known tactic of undermining human success if this happens to me -- yeah, I can get competitive when I need to be), accept their success and find a new dream for yourself. The idea that once a good, faithful adaptation has been crafted someone else can come along with a new interpretation that will make the successful one shudder in shame is ridiculous. Improving a work from one medium to another is one huge accomplishment. Don't tempt fate by trying to improve the adaptation -- find something different or original to make, or CHANGE.THE.G-D.NAME.

What spurred my current eruption of emotion about adaptations? Well, it's been sort of a slow burn recently between varying reports of remaking IT, a clustermess of issues in season two of Game of Thrones (many of which end up as just sloppy storytelling -- and making strong characters into idiots), and culminating in the top news of this article about directors who were born for certain adaptations. The article itself is intriguing and has some interesting (and some, really, very safe) choices in the roster. What made my head do a Linda Blair was the news which sparked this article: that Guy Ritchie is doing an adaptation of Treasure Island.
Now, I don't necessarily doubt that the movie will be a fun romp with cool action sequences, quippy dialogue, and a sassy Long John Silver. There's just two issues with this equation. First, that concept is not going to end up being Treasure Island. Second, there already exists a near perfect adaptation of the book -- we don't need another.
Addressing issue the first: Guy Ritchie's already proven this is his MO with the Sherlock Holmes movies. Those guys bashing around the world solving mysteries are not Holmes and Watson. What Ritchie crafted is a set of cool Victorian buddy movies, with two men who happen to share names with and few characteristics of two of the most compelling characters in literature. You want to really see Holmes and Watson on screen? Watch the BBC series Sherlock. It's a modern setting, yes, but it IS Sherlock Holmes. I enjoy the movies, but I told myself about fifteen minutes into the first one that this was a Victorian buddy movie, not a Sherlock Holmes movie. In my head, I CHANGED THE G-D NAME, and then it was fine.
Now on to issue the second: already a near perfect adaptation of Treasure Island? Yep. I've never seen that... you think. No, you probably haven't. Yet it exists. It's a very good film, and it is one of the best examples in existence of how to adapt literature for screen. It's faithful to the tone, style, feel and majority of the plot. The characterization is spot on with a stellar cast. It's not a perfect movie, but Treasure Island is not a perfect book. It is however proof that when you maintain the core of a novel as your guiding star you can make not only a good film but a truly faithful adaptation of a work which deserves that treatment. Yet, people are still making Treasure Island... except no other adaptation I've seen really is remotely close to actually being Treasure Island, thus the crux of this whole entry: if you're going to keep remaking something and yet deviate drastically from the source -- CHANGE.THE.G-D.NAME.

10 March 2011

Quite right, too…

Some evenings you have to let go of the internal push to write or edit or create. Sometimes you just need to emote. Sometimes that emoting equates to crying yourself into a pool of tears on your sofa. It’s cleansing and oddly fulfilling to release whatever tensions block you from progress.
We each have our own way of inviting these waves of emotion, and I’m not going to out anyone I know who has divulged theirs. However I am going to say that for me, the quickest route to an emotional purging is usually an emotionally affecting piece of TV, or a film. Music can work wonders as well, but it takes a while (usually) to build up to the release. Certain video works, when the conditions are right, can take all of two minutes… sometimes less.
Last night was one of those nights. From the depths of whatever internal oceans inside me, I felt a sudden need for release. Still, I’m a busy gal with things to accomplish, so the slow burn approach was not going to cut it. I went right for the tear-duct jugular: Doctor Who.
Over the past couple years it has become increasingly clear that should I ever be fortunate enough to find someone who wants to spend the rest of his life with me (and I desire the same), he’ll have to be someone I feel comfortable being this emotional blob around. I don’t intend to be, or even to intentionally expose this aspect of myself unless necessary, but I need to know he can handle it when it arises. And really, if we’re going to be together he’ll need to be a New Whovian which means sooner or later he’ll have to see this side of me unless I ban him from watching certain episodes in my presence.
It may not be everyone’s kind of litmus test for security, but anyone (friend or significant other or whatevs) who can handle the puddle of emotion I become while watching, say, “Doomsday,” rates pretty high on my scale of Personal Comfort With Another Human.
And anyone who breaks down with equaled emotion may just be my emotional soul mate.

The residual effects of this are making me a bit shaky today. I’ve gone to some pretty deep and vulnerable places this week when on my own, only to require the Mask of OK to be firmly replaced very quickly and sustained around others. Still, in order to access my productive and creative side I need a little exploration of self, which tends to get pretty messy.

It’s either that or find me some opium and trip out until I compose a sequel to Kubla Kahn.

On Gallifrey did the Lonely God
A stately citadel inhabit...

21 February 2011

Why Are All My Relatives Such... Twats?

Having recently finished Jane Goes Batty (which I may rant/rave about soon), and with the timely-yet-unexpected random inspirational quote from one of my dear friends, I find myself compelled to follow in the footsteps of scholars and fans far more deserved than I to explore the realm of what many consider the anti-Brontë: Jane Austen.
One might surmise that my overall disdain for two-thirds of the Brontë sisters would create an automatic enjoyment of all works Austen. Sorry to disappoint, dear quick-to-judge readers, but I find Miss Jane flawed as well, though admittedly not with the kind of vehement passion I aim at her Byronic successors. Still, on the whole (and though I have not read all their works), I do gain more personal enjoyment and find more intriguing and worthwhile in Jane's writing than in Charlotte's or (*hurk*) Emily's.
The quote which helped spur on this Austen topic quite took me as both accurate and bitingly amusing:
Apparently to have an Austen-esque romance, your family must be filled with twats.
(Texts from my friends are not, I think, like most people's texts... also, at least in my circle, 'twat' seems to be making a much needed comeback.)

While at first glance the assessment holds true to the 'it's funny because it's true' adage, both for works of Austen and those who hunger to emulate her, on reflection it caused pondering of classic feminine literature in general and how applicable this statement may be.
First, with Austen, it rather amuses me that by all accounts her own family was quite stable and satisfactory, if a little wanting for financial stability. Yet the heroines in most of her novels must deal with family (or those who may become family) who exemplify twattiness while on their individual journey to personal (and matrimonial) bliss.
Obviously Lizzie has to put up with not only her own but Darcy's atrocious relations (I'm looking at you, Aunt Lady Catherine de Twatourge). Twatilicous Lydia even ends up marrying a complete asshat, and I still wonder who got the worst end of that deal: her or Wickham. Even the almost nauseatingly perfect Jane and Bingley must contend with Charles' complete twat of a sister. No wonder Caroline so longs to be in Darcy's family -- she and Aunt Twatty would be the Twats of the Town. And in an informal facebook poll, my friends unanimously crowned Mr. Collins as the King Twat of Pride & Prejudice.
Then we have poor Fanny whose own immediate family pawns her off on her rich relatives at an age where her female cousins can be expected to shat on her like their pet puppies do on the front lawn. Then of course we have the Twat Twins who seduce various members of the Bertram family and end up exposing the fact that Edmund and Fanny are about the only respectable people in that circle -- and even they almost get duped and seduced by the Cunty Crawfords (yeah, I said it).
Similar patterns of familial twattery appear in Emma, Sense & Sensibility and (at least the parts I've read) of Northanger Abbey. The only Austen work which I am almost completely unfamiliar with is Persuasion but I would wager the twat theme queefs mightily in that novel as well.

Still, on my brief contemplation of female literature in general, Jane is not exempt from familial twatishness as a plot device. Miss Charlotte created an epic family of twats with the Reeds, and even the boorish Emily ensured her characters would never see happiness due to their über-twat relatives (of which Heathcliff and Catherine both suffer from and then become themselves). Yes, even my Brontë goddess Anne enlisted the family twat device in The Tenant of Wildfell Hall (though Gilbert's family of twats pales in comparison to Helen's husband and Lord Twat, Arthur Twatingdon).
While not 'feminine' literature, She Who Has More Money Than Everyone Else In The World Combined (aka Jo Rowling) excels at using FamTwat. Though young adult literature is steeped in twat tea, few families twat it up as well or as much as the Dursleys or the Malfoys (when your parents' names are Lucius and Narcissa, you're pretty much guaranteed a twatty childhood and thus becoming a top class twat yourself).

Obviously this is not a plot epidemic limited to female authors (Shakespeare was king of family twats), but from one little text I find yet another way to examine feminine literature and authors. I know Familial Twats: Exploring Twatticism in Post-Colonial British Female Authors probably won't garner me any academic accolades or grant money, but it is very interesting as a topic and damn fun to write about... or maybe I just like finding new ways to use 'twat.'

Coming Soon:
Coping with Twats Leads to Bliss? -- how the twatty behaviour of literary families correlates to the ultimate happiness of their protagonist relatives.

Fiction Battle

Or: Why snobbery in any form only makes you look like a douche...

The Death Flu cramped my writing for over a week, no doubt about it. While my brain functioned on occasion and I wrote more than before I caught the Death Flu, little of it felt substantive to me. With the exception of the migraine rant, I wrote because I felt I needed to but the passion behind the writing, the drive that keeps me going, was simply lost in the sea of a mind clouded with phlegm.
I’d like to thank Joe Hill for breaking me of my malaise. After a series of tweets which delivered the right amount of snark and disdain for an article on literary versus genre fiction (in which he advised readers not to seek out the originating article), I caved and followed the desire to seek out this supposed atrocity.
To say that it bothered me would be a bit of an understatement. It’s not entirely the content of the article but the tone that drives me to imaginings of strangling this writer with his own pompous ascot, which I envision he wears just to keep his inflated head from floating off his body. Yes, I resorted to cheap jibes. I suppose I’m just not ‘literary’ enough to appreciate his pompous, condescending, insulting tone as it relates to the general reading populous.
However, in reading this article I found my way to this one which, while it doesn’t entirely refute Mr. Pompousity does point out that readership and acceptance is a two-way street. Just as an article slamming all fiction that isn’t literary makes one seem like a giant douche, a retort which only serves to praise the mass consumption of Grisham and Steel books and casts aspersions on meriting works of literary fiction for being too high-brow makes that critic seem like the giant douche’s hillbilly cousin – who’s still descends from the family of Lord and Lady Douchebag.
The writer of the second article sees merit in both types of literature, and the problems inherent in either side dismissing the other for either pandering to the common folk or targeting only the upper echelon that sneers at the fiction of the plebes.
I understand that everyone has different tastes, but there is no pride in ignorance of literary fiction. Genre writers can learn from literary fiction, just as literary writers can learn from genre fiction. There's a middle ground.
Now that is an anti-snobbery statement I can stand behind.

I won’t pretend that I do not place labels on certain types of fiction based on my own personal tastes. However, I will say that for me great fiction, regardless of status, is about a compelling story, engaging characters, and a mark of creativity. A lack in any one of these areas does not discount the book for me as an example of poor writing or storytelling because each of those qualifiers contains no small amount of subjectivity. Still, if my interest is not captured you’re probably going to lose my investment in your writing – and even high-brow writers of the highest caliber get props from me even if your writing (and subsequent acceptance into the bourgee canon) frustrates this little pixie because all I got from your story was an intense need to throw your book across the room. Unless you’re Emily Brontë, even a violent reaction still merits note because it provoked thought. I’m not a huge fan of LitFic, but I’d rather be incensed at your pompous popularity than bored to tears by your drivel.

Still, if you want my respect, be a good writer, a good critic and an anti-snob. In simple words: Don’t be a douche.

07 October 2010

Based on the books on your bookshelf, what conclusions would people draw about you?

Well, I'm not in the habit of pretending to be other people... or at least not assuming what their thoughts might... OK, even I couldn't make it through that sentence. I'm very much in the habit of imagining what other people think, it's just a matter of whether or not I care.

In the case of my bookshelves and their contents, it depends on the bookcase. Our downstairs by-the-telly case contains my small non-fiction collection and a smattering of general fiction & mysteries. One book in particular garners a lot of attention, and I will admit that's why I put it there. I haven't read it yet, but considering there are about 100 books on my shelves at any given time which haven't been given even a perusal yet, this means little in the grand scope of my reading habits.
One shelving unit upstairs, which acts as an additional headboard/room divider, contains more non-fiction (most of these related to 'the biz,' writing and how to keep hold of money), all my sheet music and instructional piano materials, a gothic-horror section, an historical fiction section, and my American Lit section... with a topper of myths, fairytales and huge anthologies.
The final bookshelf, my favorite shelf in terms of placement and scope, contains many, many books divided by subject per shelf. Top shelf is theatre, poetry, journals and spill from the shelf below which is... British Literature. Below that, at eye-level-for-my-midget-self, sit every copy of Dracula I own plus research books, related vampire novels, etc. Next is the King family shelf: Uncle Stevie, Tabby, Joe and Owen. Down one more, at rugrat level, are my youth novels (the entire Harry Potter & Lemony Snicket series, plus half a dozen Roald Dahl books and the Inkheart trilogy included). Bottoming out in the best way, the last shelf holds my Tolkien & Jasper Fforde collections, along with gothic mysteries/adventures by Louis Bayard, Matthew Pearl, Ellis Peters and Arturo Perez-Reverte.

I think 'eclectic' and 'voracious' are choice terms for my shelves on first glance. Anyone who pays particular attention will notice a trend towards darker, gothic, macabre fiction (hello Dracula and King family shelves), but not slasher-fic. It's also a collection of books for book lovers with a slant towards historical and fantasy fiction -- but not high-fantasy. There's a lot of epic/series collections included as well.
So what would other people think? Generally?
This bitch has a shit ton of books.

And they'd be right.

05 October 2010

Welcome to the company, Mary Poppins...

Always attempted and always failed. I doubt this year will be different, yet I still keep trying. The goal is: each day during the month of October to watch one horror movie or show. I have plenty of stock, and now with DVR even more to choose from. I've never been able to succeed at every day, and I know this year won't be any different, but progress tracking seems as though it may be helpful.

Day one: Jekyll.

This is one of the first series I remember watching on BBCAmerica once I had DirecTV installed in my very first, very own place.

Every time I watch it I find something new to entertain, frighten, enlighten, amuse and inspire. Right now I'm invigorated by the clippy dialogue, brilliant industrial-meets-Glass-horror score, and Michelle Bloody Ryan. I mean, damn, that is one gorgeous woman. Then again, my girl crush and adoration fades as soon as she's off screen and James Nesbitt gets to go full on let's-play-lions crazy. I'll get to Nesbitt and his brilliance at a later time.
Michelle Ryan captures a perfect balance between intelligent, professional, strong young woman and yet emotionally vulnerable and a victim of unrequited love with the 'sane' persona of her bosses. And yeah... she's smoking hot.
The music alternates between an eerie choral motif and an industrial, yet sometimes piano-driven, creepfest. It's deceptively simple and affecting in the moment -- one of those scores you think works at the time but you won't ever think of again. That's what the music wants you to believe. I've dreamt about this music, had delicious nightmares fueled by it. If there's one thing I love about music in British series, it's that they don't muck around with it. It's as much a part of the production as plot, writing, casting, directing, editing, etc. This makes for some truly amazing British compositions in their shows, and for horror-drama scores it's hard to beat this one.
The writing is... well, I'm biased when it comes to Steven Moffat. However, there's a solid, strong reason for that: he's a brilliant writer. The whole arc of this series screams of genius, but added to that is some incredible character development and stunning dialogue. While I can't imagine any other actors in the main roles on this show, I know that even competent performers could make gold with these words -- it's just that well done.
For now, let me say that if you have not seen this revitalization of Stevenson's tale and world, you are missing out on one of the best horror re-imaginings out there. I haven't yet been able to see Moffat's recent Sherlock Holmes adaptation, but with Jekyll as his maiden voyage into this genre I'm very excited for it. I know that to talk this up so much only sets it up for failure in the sense that not everyone views the universe, the horror genre, or British television as I do. Yet I have trouble believing that anyone who enjoys the Brits, twisted dark humour, classic horror themes, solid acting, great writing and/or psychopaths who slaughter lions with their bare hands and then sing "The Lion Sleeps Tonight" might dislike this series...

"Ever killed anyone before, Benjamin?"
"Not personally. I have people."
"You're missing out. It's like sex only there's a winner."

30 September 2010

Snobby Pontificators and the Societal Zombie Plague

This article both inspires and infuriates me: Are Our Writers As Lousy As Our Bankers?

Within my fury comes the desire to counter and respond, because while I agree with the assessment of the current psuedo-intellectual trend in literature and art that ultimately is devolving 'high art,' it assumes the only art IS high art. Yet in order to define that which is 'high' from that which is (to use the phraseology of dear Uncle Stevie's mother) 'trash,' you place on a pedestal your own assumptions of what constitutes genius, and willfully dismiss anything that does not fit into your narrow-minded ideal of artistic mecca.
I do love the title 'Urban Intellectual Fodder' and agree with the style it describes, and the type of people who devour it. I also agree that art as a whole is on a downslide, a fact that can be attributed to a world with a disparate polarity between those who don't want to think and those who only think they want to think -- and trapped in a suffocating underworld, those who want to think AND feel and are being pressed down into near oblivion.
However, where I take issue is the assumption that one person's thought and emotion mean less, or have less long-reaching social impact, than someone else's. The Beatles were once little more than the 'NSync of their day. Bergman, while brilliant, is not perfection. Faulkner... well, let's just say I understand the appeal, but for me he's a pompous, over-wordy snob (this from someone whose favorite writing era is Victorianism). Yet he did write with passion, which counts for a lot.
This is where the analysis of 'real art' in this article's argument falls apart for me, because what strikes someone in the emotional chest, makes them gasp or scream, and/or makes them rethink the world, is different for everyone. Creating your own arbitrary standard of 'real art' only applies to you, and perhaps a group of others who have a similar aesthetic. Not that groups of people embracing their ideas about art, literature and culture should not be formed and encouraged, but doing so to the exclusion of all other forms of creative material adds to the detriment of art as much as Urban Intellectual Fodder.
Granted, I give the writer credit for admitting scruples and snobbery, but the intensity of feeling which accompanies such snobby opinions ultimately lends itself to turning away people who the 'true intellectuals' and 'appreciators of real art' deem as having lower cultural standards than themselves. While 'high' art and literature certainly has its place in society, and a much needed one, it is not necessarily the most valuable form of art. Some of what is now considered in some circles to be the best, most brilliant and affecting works of all time were either completely ignored in their time OR considered to the the 'pop' art of their period.
Now, if you want to make an argument that popular arts have taken a dive, I'm pretty much on that bandwagon. I also agree (to an extent) that high-brow forms of art have disintegrated, for the most part, into Urban Intellectual Fodder. I also agree there are many projects floating around out there which could, potentially, be incredible works but cannot get the funding or attention needed to come to fruition -- this can be blamed on the overarching attitude of 'whateverness' of our culture, and the concept that people want to be seen as supportive of the arts and art funding until it's a project which requires them to think or feel or express beyond their comfort zone -- or that of the drooling, teeming masses who only want more escapist 'reality' TV or to be instructed what to read by Oprah or plunk down $20 on popcorn and a remake that's a shadow of its source material, because none of those options require effort from us.
We're zombiefying ourselves with 'art' and the cultural height of said art is less relevant than the fact that we're training ourselves to not think or feel.

07 July 2010

Slay Me, Please

Whilst delving into my newest read (Jane Slayre), I find it appropriate to discuss the recent influx of paranormal-centered re-imaginings, rewrites, 'sequels' and such of both 'classic' literature and historical figures.
Sure, everyone's heard of Pride and Prejudice and Zombies, and (like its Austen counterpart) the not-quite-as-popular Sense and Sensibility and Sea Monsters. P&P&Z author Seth Grahame-Smith has metaphorical tentacles (I hope they're metaphorical, I haven't actually seen the man in person, so who knows?) stretching into the historical zone as well with Abraham Lincoln Vampire Hunter. However, are you aware of Mansfield Park and Mummies? How about Queen Victoria Demon Hunter? Or the dueling Alcotts, Little Women and Werewolves vs. Little Vampire Women? Lest I forget, there's also the Austen-centered vampire mania of Jane Bites Back and Mr. Darcy, Vampyre.
Obviously I have more than a passing interest in these books or I wouldn't be writing about them. Yes, I've read several. Several others stir in me conflicting emotions of being equal parts morbidly curious and more-than-slightly nauseated at the (to an English major) blasphemous nature of these stories. What probably would offend purists and English major snobs most is that eventually my morbid curiosity will overtake the appalled nausea and I'll end up reading the ones I haven't already.
So why this new-found obsession/fascination/fanaticism with the supernatural and classics? Sure, it's a post-modern hallmark to reinvent and retell past stories in a new way. Sure, the young adult section of your local bookstore has turned into the paranormal-pseudo-bodice-ripper section thanks to Stephenie Meyer. Sure, it's easier in some respects to bastardize adapt someone else's work than create your own. Yet the influx of this style hints more at a cultural shift than a bunch of copycats trying to make a quick buck (though there's plenty of that, too -- and I'm not saying there's anything inherently wrong with that, either).
For one, in my non-snob-ish opinion, while I'm all about people reading as much as possible to further the general idea that reading = essential to life, I also think some of this writing is popular because it's like the supernatural cliff-notes to books 'normal' people don't want to read in the first place (read: people who hear the term 'classic literature' and flinch while running off to find the latest trendy bestseller) . However, now that it has become acceptable in our culture to enjoy the more, shall we say 'macabre,' forms of entertainment (and boy is that a rant for another day), toss a few zombies or vampires or werewolves... or a robot into Anna Karenina, and suddenly it's more accessible to the masses. (Seriously a rant for another day: how/why/when vampires, zombies, and other assorted night-creature miscreants rose to the height of popular entertainment.)
In the case of Austen, re-writing and expanding her work is nothing new, in the relative sense that people have been doing it for decades. I suppose it's only natural that she really be the first to have her works re-vamped to fit present trends (pun intended). One could draw a comparison between Austen's work and the many interpretations, sequels and the like, and those of Shakespeare -- who himself is no longer above joining the ranks of the undead. Though in the Austen re-imaginings her characters and tone are more or less honored in a way that Shakespeare's frequently are not.
While I'm only at the beginning of Jane Slayre, I'm already intrigued by the concept of what possibilities lie ahead for young Jane as she discovers her slaying capabilities while still dealing with the tumultuous emotional fires stirred by Rochester. Granted, I'm not much of a fan of the original novel, or its author (Anne got all the sense in that family), though I have developed a respect for it over the years. From my personal perspective this particular book could use a little spicing up.
However, I think that's the inherent problem in the cavalcade of this type of writing: the assumption that a work, or figure, which has been worthy of accolade for decades, perhaps centuries, can be 'improved upon' or 'made more interesting' by adding some supernatural beings, violence and, in some cases, steamy scenes. I'm not saying we don't sometimes like a little more pepper or garlic in our classic dishes, but if a person's initial introduction to such culinary delights indulges some spices to the point where the flavor of the original dish is tempered and lost, they may never be able to truly relish the first bite of the 'real' meal...
Granted, I have just spent several paragraphs repeatedly saying I don't take much issue with the existence of these kind of books. I take issue more with the idea that people are reading these before and instead of their source material, and fear that in doing so when (or if) they eventually read the original it will seem 'too boring' or 'bland' or 'too hard to follow' or any number of a dozen excuses many of these books already get without the hack-and-slash treatment current popular fiction is giving them.

To sum up a long-winded rant, when someone who is as voracious about reading as I am sees each of these books, I get both exhilarated and queasy. Sea Monsters don't really interest me, so I won't be going down that road, but mummies invading Mansfield Park sounds fun. My biggest hope is that someone unfamiliar with the original stories and lives now presented in glorious alternate universe gore will be able to one day return to the zombie-less Pride and Prejudice and enjoy it on its own far more considerable merits.*



(*I spent the better part of this entry praising the talents and longevity of Jane Austen. A certain former English professor of mine would be so proud...)

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