I think the hardest part of any writing endeavor will always be the ending. Say what you will about the importance of introductions, the presentation of information – the opening moments – are relatively easy. It doesn’t take much to get a reader interested. For the most part, the fact that they’ve opened the book is generally enough for at least a couple of pages. Obviously you then need to develop something, but again, as readers, we’re generally pretty easy to please.
Remember, I did say “relatively.”
If you think about it in double-entendre terms, it’s not that hard to get to some sort of climax (Note: guy writing this). It is the afterwards (the Afterward, if you will) that is so often disappointing. While the author is patting himself on the back for bringing off the plot to spectacular fruition, the reader is left thinking: are we done? It takes a great writer, like a great lover (I wasn’t sure if you were with me on my double-entendre train), to make sure all parties involved are satisfied.
What I’m presenting you was not a great lover.
In the world of literary accomplishment, it’s usually quite an honor for a British (Commonwealth) writer to be on the short-list for the Man Booker Prize. Essentially an English Pulitzer, it’s also a bit high on its own pretensions. Case in point: Mister Pip.
This is not a bad book. I want to make that clear right now. Lloyd Jones does something imaginative with the post-colonial genre, namely, re-appropriate a classic, canonical text to serve as both a plot-device and centering point for the novel. For those of you not quite on the allusion wave-length, Mister Pip is referring to Philip Pirrip, or Pip, from Charles Dickens’ Great Expectations.
The story is about an island somewhere in the South Pacific where the people live in what begins as peaceful semi-isolation. Although not completely disconnected (Mathilda, the young girl who is the narrator, mentions her father, like many other men, have gone to Australia to work), they are basically unconcerned about what’s going on around them. Much of that could be because of our narrator being so young, but the picture we get is a peaceful, happy community.
But then war comes. War brings an end to power, an end to packaged food, and an end to medicine. In their place, it brings the beginning of a school led by Mr. Watts, a.k.a. “Popeye,” the lone white man left on the island. Admitting that he’s not the greatest teacher, Mr. Watts does his best impression of Danny DeVito in Renaissance Man and decides to read to them. Instead of Hamlet, however, Mr. Watts reads Great Expectations.
This is the clever part. This is where the allusions and juxtapositions take place, just as the misinterpretations and word-play (as he tries to explain difficult words to the children who have no context for the world of Pip) come alive. This is the post-colonial moment at its best, where West meets Other, and a new world comes alive.
Yet, it’s also a forced moment, especially as it gets carried out as you move along in the story. When the redskins come and demand to meet Mr. Pip, it seems preposterous that they couldn’t explain the situation even without the aid of the book as proof. It seems equally odd that, with the information, the redskins – with their clearly superior technology – could easily find out about Charles Dickens if they were really so concerned. Perhaps we’re supposed to assume the cruelty of the redskins (and, I have to admit, I’m lost as to who Jones is referring to here), but I think that’s assuming a great deal on his part. The motivations that lead up to the problems are not very believable.
But even with all that, it’s still not a bad novel. Like so many teaching stories, the best moments are the interactions between the students and the teacher. It is only after the violence, the supposed climax, that the reader is left questioning what the deal is with this book. For if the climax was abrupt, then what follows is practically lethargic. After the violence (which isn’t graphic, and therefore not exactly shocking), I just have no more “me” to give except that I know there’s only a few more pages, so I might as well finish. That’s not what I would consider a great recommendation.
Too many things happen that don’t help resolve the climax. The flood – it’s either too symbolic or too cheesy; I can’t decide. Mathilda going to visit Mr. Watts’ home in Wellington – accomplishes little by means of explanation. The reunion with her father is probably designed to be anti-climactic, but it feels even less important when on top of everything else. The one thing that maybe works is that Mathilda feels the compulsion to make her life’s work Dickens. After the connection she makes with the book and the impact it had on her life up to her escape, this makes sense.
I just had stopped caring at that point.
Because, the story wasn’t about Mathilda. It was the story of the island, and, to a lesser degree, Mr. Watts. Mathilda was the narrator and the focalizer, but she wasn’t the protagonist. Not until the very end, after all the other protagonists were left to the wayside, does she become the most important person in the book. Maybe that’s something neat or interesting to do with a novel, but I have to say it leaves me unsatisfied because Jones ends up concluding a story that isn’t the same one that we read.
If you have to choose a book to read, stick with the inspiration, and leave Mister Pip to win its award.
That’s an ending we can all be happy with.
Tuesday, September 25, 2007
Wednesday, September 19, 2007
Your Vote Means Nothing
In a world that is dominated by a President, it is odd that we have turned away from our long-standing reliance on precedent. America is, if anything, a traditional country, one that adheres greatly to a concept of history, legality, and documentation. Even during that radical moment when some of the greatest minds of the time gathered together in Philadelphia, they were not attempting something so radical that it was, to them, necessarily treasonous. They were simply trying to come together to proclaim their rights as Englishmen, and, when that failed, proclaim their rights as humans. That is the American tradition, and that is the precedent I’m calling for today.
Just like the Declaration of Independence, what the American people is demanding for is not exactly a dissolution of ties, but rather a codification of grievances that make it clear exactly why we can no longer tolerate the current situation.
It is partially our own fault. Like it or not, we put this President into power. Oh, you might say “I didn’t vote for him,” but you also didn’t rally against him. Was John Kerry the banner to take into battle? No, of course not. How can you draw out voters if it looks like a non-decision? No, the ballot box has been a dismal failure in this regard. Just look to the results of the 2006 Congressional elections. The Democrats, riding the dissatisfaction, took both the House and Senate, only to sit on their hands. And I’m not talking about the war. Say what you will, but the war is almost a non-issue right now, because the war is a problem with no clear-cut solution. We have tied a Gordian Knot centered on Baghdad, and no legislative process will create a positive result.
That is not to say that the Democrats didn’t (don’t) have options. The House – the branch most directly connected with the populace (at least in theory) – has the powers it does because of that tie. The first, and essentially the most powerful, is the power of the purse. Cut off funding, end the war. It really would be as simple as that. But the problem is that this is portrayed as a political solution, which paints it as distasteful. It doesn’t take a genius to oppose such a plan with an “abandoning the troops” attack-campaign. What it does take is a genius – a leader – to do it anyway. To rally his troops in Congress to take control of what the Constitution gives them control over. But that person was no where to be found. Rhetoric gets you elected. Bold moves rarely get you re-elected.
The other power is even more stigmatized, and that is because it has only been used for purely political reasons. Both Andrew Johnson and Bill Clinton were impeached not because they had committed “high crimes and misdemeanors,” but because the opposition saw an opportunity and used the system to try to exploit it. This is not the case today. Bush has broken the law. He has broken it knowingly – and flaunted it – or unknowingly, meaning he’s been criminally negligent. The NSA wire-tapping alone is a cut-and-dried example of him illegally suspending habeas corpus and violating both the Fourth and Fifth (and some might argue First) Amendments. And yet, because of the perceived political nature (and the unfortunate reality that “political” is almost entirely bereft of positive meaning today), no one is brave enough to put it to a vote. It’s not as if, like two years ago, the Republicans controlled the Ways and Means Committee, thus shelving any such call. It is the Democrat’s Congress, and they have failed us in their pledges from a year ago.
So what’s that leave? Precedent.
Just like the Continental Congress, or the militias at Lexington and Concord, or even the saboteurs of the Boston Tea Party, it is time for civil disobedience.
But not protesting. Protesting is simply standing and talking. It is not action. We are past talk. We are past petition and bargaining. We are past all that, because they are rusted weapons in our ever-depleting arsenal. If a political problem can not be solved in a political manner, then it is incumbent on the people – it is not only our right, but our duty – to secure what has been taken from us.
So what do I propose? After reading Garret Keizer’s essay “Specific Suggestion: General Strike” in the October issue of Harper’s, I was inspired. His call for a general strike – a power of the purse that we can actually effect – seemed both radical and yet beautiful in its simplicity. And yet, even Mr. Keizer seems to admit that to organize such a strike would be a logistical nightmare. It’s not so much that it would be painful to go through, but that to spread the word, and put it into effect just doesn’t seem feasible. I enjoy the sentiment, but I just can’t see it happening. It requires too much from too many people to all do the same thing, and for a country not inclined to vote, such a political action screams of idealism. Coupled with the mutterings of communism and socialism, and you might be surprised how those concepts still bring a rise out of people. What I’m offering is akin to the strike, but much easier to do.
All you have to do is nothing.
Or rather, a specific nothing: don’t pay your taxes.
Let April 15 roll around, and don’t send in your W-2’s or your 1040’s. Don’t gather your receipts and don’t stress out about being audited. Simply don’t.
Because here’s the thing: it’s not so much the cutting off of funds (although there is a bit of that, most of us get our taxes taken out of our paychecks already). It’s more the logistical nightmare it creates for the government. Think of the economic chaos the potential of not receiving the taxes the government planned on (banked on) collecting. Do you think China, which holds a great deal of our debt in their banks, would not rumble about calling in the loans? Do you think the stock markets wouldn’t shudder at the possibility? This is pure supply-and-demand. In its beautiful irony, it is a free-market solution to a problem predicated on free markets.
The best part about it is that it is the threat that works. And it doesn’t rely on the entire population, either. If one percent of the population didn’t send in their taxes, the problems would be enormous. If ten percent didn’t, it would be catastrophic. Now imagine the entire Democratic Party got their act together? Or the cities of San Francisco, New York, Seattle, Los Angeles, and Portland? There’s simply no way they could possibly muster the man-power to do anything about it. The reason it's feasible, too, is because people don't want to pay their taxes in the first place. By relieving them of a chore they don't want to do, you make it easy for them to act on it. During the Civil Rights movements, they boycotted racist businesses.
I say lets boycott our criminal government.
Sure, they could say that we are only hurting ourselves, that they will have to cut funds from education and health care. But that is a lie. Because all they need to do is sell one of our fighter jets to whatever lovely dictator we want to keep in power (Saudi Arabia has a nice, poetic feel, doesn’t it), and we can keep our programs going. Or we could call in all those no-bid contracts that don’t seem to producing what our tax money (our tax money) is paying for.
In the end, though, it doesn’t matter. Yes, there might be hardship. Civil disobedience is not about comfort. But it is about results. The fact of the matter is that, although it’s wonderful to look towards the future and say “One more year and he’s gone,” it’s the same as saying “I’m going to just going to let this disease run its course.” Does that make sense, when you can, with a little effort, take some medicine? Moreover, is it prudent to think the disease will run its course? I’m not sure about you, but I’m not willing to bet my future on it.
I also think we don’t have to.
Just like the Declaration of Independence, what the American people is demanding for is not exactly a dissolution of ties, but rather a codification of grievances that make it clear exactly why we can no longer tolerate the current situation.
It is partially our own fault. Like it or not, we put this President into power. Oh, you might say “I didn’t vote for him,” but you also didn’t rally against him. Was John Kerry the banner to take into battle? No, of course not. How can you draw out voters if it looks like a non-decision? No, the ballot box has been a dismal failure in this regard. Just look to the results of the 2006 Congressional elections. The Democrats, riding the dissatisfaction, took both the House and Senate, only to sit on their hands. And I’m not talking about the war. Say what you will, but the war is almost a non-issue right now, because the war is a problem with no clear-cut solution. We have tied a Gordian Knot centered on Baghdad, and no legislative process will create a positive result.
That is not to say that the Democrats didn’t (don’t) have options. The House – the branch most directly connected with the populace (at least in theory) – has the powers it does because of that tie. The first, and essentially the most powerful, is the power of the purse. Cut off funding, end the war. It really would be as simple as that. But the problem is that this is portrayed as a political solution, which paints it as distasteful. It doesn’t take a genius to oppose such a plan with an “abandoning the troops” attack-campaign. What it does take is a genius – a leader – to do it anyway. To rally his troops in Congress to take control of what the Constitution gives them control over. But that person was no where to be found. Rhetoric gets you elected. Bold moves rarely get you re-elected.
The other power is even more stigmatized, and that is because it has only been used for purely political reasons. Both Andrew Johnson and Bill Clinton were impeached not because they had committed “high crimes and misdemeanors,” but because the opposition saw an opportunity and used the system to try to exploit it. This is not the case today. Bush has broken the law. He has broken it knowingly – and flaunted it – or unknowingly, meaning he’s been criminally negligent. The NSA wire-tapping alone is a cut-and-dried example of him illegally suspending habeas corpus and violating both the Fourth and Fifth (and some might argue First) Amendments. And yet, because of the perceived political nature (and the unfortunate reality that “political” is almost entirely bereft of positive meaning today), no one is brave enough to put it to a vote. It’s not as if, like two years ago, the Republicans controlled the Ways and Means Committee, thus shelving any such call. It is the Democrat’s Congress, and they have failed us in their pledges from a year ago.
So what’s that leave? Precedent.
Just like the Continental Congress, or the militias at Lexington and Concord, or even the saboteurs of the Boston Tea Party, it is time for civil disobedience.
But not protesting. Protesting is simply standing and talking. It is not action. We are past talk. We are past petition and bargaining. We are past all that, because they are rusted weapons in our ever-depleting arsenal. If a political problem can not be solved in a political manner, then it is incumbent on the people – it is not only our right, but our duty – to secure what has been taken from us.
So what do I propose? After reading Garret Keizer’s essay “Specific Suggestion: General Strike” in the October issue of Harper’s, I was inspired. His call for a general strike – a power of the purse that we can actually effect – seemed both radical and yet beautiful in its simplicity. And yet, even Mr. Keizer seems to admit that to organize such a strike would be a logistical nightmare. It’s not so much that it would be painful to go through, but that to spread the word, and put it into effect just doesn’t seem feasible. I enjoy the sentiment, but I just can’t see it happening. It requires too much from too many people to all do the same thing, and for a country not inclined to vote, such a political action screams of idealism. Coupled with the mutterings of communism and socialism, and you might be surprised how those concepts still bring a rise out of people. What I’m offering is akin to the strike, but much easier to do.
All you have to do is nothing.
Or rather, a specific nothing: don’t pay your taxes.
Let April 15 roll around, and don’t send in your W-2’s or your 1040’s. Don’t gather your receipts and don’t stress out about being audited. Simply don’t.
Because here’s the thing: it’s not so much the cutting off of funds (although there is a bit of that, most of us get our taxes taken out of our paychecks already). It’s more the logistical nightmare it creates for the government. Think of the economic chaos the potential of not receiving the taxes the government planned on (banked on) collecting. Do you think China, which holds a great deal of our debt in their banks, would not rumble about calling in the loans? Do you think the stock markets wouldn’t shudder at the possibility? This is pure supply-and-demand. In its beautiful irony, it is a free-market solution to a problem predicated on free markets.
The best part about it is that it is the threat that works. And it doesn’t rely on the entire population, either. If one percent of the population didn’t send in their taxes, the problems would be enormous. If ten percent didn’t, it would be catastrophic. Now imagine the entire Democratic Party got their act together? Or the cities of San Francisco, New York, Seattle, Los Angeles, and Portland? There’s simply no way they could possibly muster the man-power to do anything about it. The reason it's feasible, too, is because people don't want to pay their taxes in the first place. By relieving them of a chore they don't want to do, you make it easy for them to act on it. During the Civil Rights movements, they boycotted racist businesses.
I say lets boycott our criminal government.
Sure, they could say that we are only hurting ourselves, that they will have to cut funds from education and health care. But that is a lie. Because all they need to do is sell one of our fighter jets to whatever lovely dictator we want to keep in power (Saudi Arabia has a nice, poetic feel, doesn’t it), and we can keep our programs going. Or we could call in all those no-bid contracts that don’t seem to producing what our tax money (our tax money) is paying for.
In the end, though, it doesn’t matter. Yes, there might be hardship. Civil disobedience is not about comfort. But it is about results. The fact of the matter is that, although it’s wonderful to look towards the future and say “One more year and he’s gone,” it’s the same as saying “I’m going to just going to let this disease run its course.” Does that make sense, when you can, with a little effort, take some medicine? Moreover, is it prudent to think the disease will run its course? I’m not sure about you, but I’m not willing to bet my future on it.
I also think we don’t have to.
Friday, September 14, 2007
It's Been a Long Time/Since I Left You/With a Dope Beat to Step To
It’s been a while, hasn’t it folks? (Anyone who knows who originally rapped that lyric gets a prize).
I apologize. It’s not easy being me: so much demand, so little time.
All lying aside, I’ve got a lot to say, but perhaps not the most time to say it in, so these might come off as a bit condensed today.
To begin, let me discuss what will undoubtedly be the most quoted movie on college campuses this year. I’m of course speaking about War.
Actually, I’m talking about Superbad, the latest installment from producer Judd Apatow, the man who brought us The 40-Year-Old Virgin and Knocked Up. I haven’t seen Knocked Up, but I hear it’s very good. I have seen the other two, and I think they might be two of the funnier movies ever made.
That said, I will hold off placing Superbad on the uber-pedestal for just a second. Why? Because, let’s face it: we’ve seen this movie before. As funny as it is, as clever as it is, this is by no means an original story. Let’s see, where else have I seen a teen sex-comedy that get’s interrupted by a series of wacky adventures?
How about:
Dazed and Confused
The Trojan War
Can’t Hardly Wait
Harold and Kumar Go to White Castle
Hell, you could probably throw Go into the mix, too.
The fact is, the one-night-to-make-it-happen shtick is all well and good, but it is not exactly a genius move. No matter what, though, those comparisons (and really, watch The Trojan War, Dazed and Confused and Harold and Kumar and tell me you don’t see similarities with Superbad) are rather arbitrary when it comes down to the fact that Jonah Hill is a hilarious clown and Michael Cera might possible be the most perfect Everyman since Michael J. Fox. Hell, Fox was probably more obviously charming than Cera; Cera’s gift is that he is disarming.
And then he talks nonchalantly about porn while eating his breakfast.
Still, the best parts of the movie revolve around the cops and McLovin. Although definitely more implausible than any other aspect of the movie, the relationship between the three works so well, and the ultimate reveal in the bedroom makes it come back down to Earth enough to work.
Personally, I’d recommend The 40-Year-Old Virgin over Superbad. The chest-waxing scene might possibly be the single funniest scene in American cinema – not sure why I’m singling out “American” cinema, but maybe it’s because so many foreign films come across as unintentionally funny (see Bollywood for examples). But it is also a poor comparison to make. Yes, I believe in the body of Apatow’s works, one outshines the other, but these are both incredibly funny (and funny because they generally “real” – the comedy comes from believing in the characters as being legitimate) movies. I’m sure once Knocked Up comes out on DVD, I’ll say the same thing about it.
In another medium, we enter the audio realm. Some of you may have heard of the “feud” between 50 Cent and Kanye West. If you haven’t, here’s a quick summary:
Both albums came out on September 11 (it’s a Tuesday; albums come out on Tuesday; don’t think too much about the significance of the date), and before they did, 50 Cent said that if Kanye sells more albums than him, he (50) would retire.
Before the albums dropped, I implored people to go out and buy Kanye’s album. Not because I think 50 Cent is a bad rapper (which I do), but more because I wanted 50 to be a liar – and have nobody care.
Let’s face it: do we really believe when celebrities say they are going to “retire?” Heck, even athletes, people who have physical timelines on their careers, have reneged on retiring: Michael Jordan and Roger Clemens are two of the more prominent examples. More close to home for 50 is Jay-Z, who after his phenomenal Black Album, announced his retirement, only to come out a few years later with the rather un-spectacular Kingdom Come.
The point is, a guy named 50 Cent should know it’s all about the money. As such, if you know you can sell millions of dollars worth of records, there’s no way you’re going to walk away from that because of a “bet.” Especially if it takes seemingly little effort on your part (more on this in a moment) to create said album. Mr. Cent, no one is buying your bravado.
The fact remains that I also think he’s a bad rapper (I think I might have mentioned this before). In rap, there are certain things I think make someone successful. First and foremost are beats. Except for the single “In da Club,” not one of his singles really strikes me as having incredible hot beats. Some of them are “all right,” but nothing jumps out at me as being “ooo, I have to download that.” Right after beats, you have flow. Some might say lyrics would go here, but flow, being a musical element, is more about initial connection than lyrics. The first time you hear a song, you normally don’t “hear” all the lyrics. You are too busy absorbing the beat, absorbing the hook, to be truly immersed in the words. Flow, the rate and syncopation of the wording, is something a bit more tactile and elementary. 50’s flow is rather mundane. Yes, I’ve heard him rap relatively fast (relative to Twista or Big Pun, for instance), on the single “She Wants It” for example, but because his voice is slurred and monotone, it comes off as lacking emotion, and therefore a sense of speed.
And clearly voice is an important component, too. With his lazy sound (resulting from being shot a few times), you wonder how into the words he’s singing he really is. Which brings us to lyrics. Perhaps I’m overly sensitive here, but rap should be about word play. Simply rhyming is for Dr. Seuss. The ability to craft clever phrases, to write those “Oh!-lines” (as in “Oh shit! Did you hear that?”), helps separate the boys from the men.
50 simply doesn’t do any of this for me. Yes, “In da Club” was a hot song. But I’m pretty sure if I had Dr. Dre giving me one of his greatest all-time beats, I could write a Number One single.
Seriously.
If you doubt this, take Jay-Z’s last hit, “Show Me What You Got.” Listen to that song (with the amazing Just Blaze beat), and then listen to Li’l Wayne freestyle over it.
Wayne kills it.
Which leads me to Kanye’s album.
Kanye, if you don’t know, was a producer before he became a rapper. After his first album, College Dropout, came out, though, no one doubted the guy could rap. His own great beats, combined with good flow, clever lyrics, and catchy hooks created a unique and exciting sound.
And an ego to match.
But he followed up on his success well, and his second album, Late Registration, was equally as good, if not in some cases better. His ability to wrap the intelligence, hubris, and humor all together combined well with an oddly preppy persona to turn him into a superstar.
Which might be why Graduation, his third album, doesn’t achieve the same greatness. I think he kind of mailed it in. Now, I’m sure he’ll say it’s a great album, but, with all due respect, he would be kidding himself. It starts off well, giving you single-quality songs for pretty much the first half. And then, all of a sudden, it’s like the music stops. Not the album, but the musicality of the songs. By the time you get to a good beat again, you’re wondering what has been happening, and then you hear the lyrics, and it’s essentially Kanye alternating between giving Jay-Z the finger and giving him a blow job.
All of this makes me feel like maybe I’m doing a disservice to 50 Cent. But no, I think I’m right in saying you shouldn’t buy his album.
I just don’t think you should buy Kanye’s, either. Download “Stronger,” “Can’t Tell Me Nothing,” and “Champion,” and save yourself at least 10 dollars (depending on where you buy music and/or download it).
To take a little turn to the audio left (or right, there’s nothing inherently symbolic about which direction the turn is), there is one musical moment that struck me as being very well done.
Now, as I expect titters from the immature amongst you, remember: I like it anyway.
That said, I just wanted to mention that I saw Justin Timberlake’s “FutureSex/LoveShow” on HBO, and it was amazing.
I’m not being hyperbolic here. It is “amazing.”
Timberlake, as a performer, is a cornball. He’s a ham, he’s goofy, and he’s kind of a dork.
But that’s only when he’s not singing and dancing. Because boy can that kid sing, and boy can that kid dance.
It’s one thing to say: Oh, he was in ‘N Sync, so he’s just a studio musician. Everything is doctored. I hate to disillusion you, but he is a seriously talented person, and his live performance proves that.
What works for him so well is that he doesn’t sing outside himself. In other words, he knows his limitations, and he doesn’t try to go past them. That’s not to say he has a ton of limitations to begin with, but it just shows how he has brought himself to be technically sound with is craft.
Perhaps just as impressive is the fact that, in addition to singing and dancing, he also plays three different instruments. Granted, how high the levels on his particular instrument was (as compared to those of his band) is left to be seen, but it certainly looks like he’s playing the right notes (if you look at where his fingers are in relation to the two other guys when he’s playing the keyboard-guitar – that’s right, he rocks out on the keyboard-guitar – and you’ll notice they are all playing the same keys).
More than that, though, it’s simply the fact that his two solo albums have some fantastic songs on them. Whether it was him or others who wrote them is beside the point: he performs them well. It also helps that he’s clearly having a good time on stage. He’s not just “going through the motions.” He definitely has chemistry with the dancers, with the band, and with his background singers. The people click, the music is good, and everything seems to work.
My only complaint is that, knowing the show was going to be on HBO, and the fact that it was performed in New York, wasn’t there any way he could have gotten T.I. and/or Clipse to come do their verses on “My Love” and “Like I Love You,” respectively? I know he doesn’t have them on the tour, but it’s not unheard of to have special guests show up – and you have to think HBO might be willing if it makes the show better. Maybe they were busy, though. Still, it would have made a great show even greater.
So, if you feel the need, check your man-hood at the door and watch this concert. Remember this: guys used to go to Michael Jackson concerts. That’s what this is like, in that Timberlake is an artist of that caliber. Sure, he appeals to the ladies, but should that stop you from enjoying a good show? Because if that’s your argument, than by the same token you wouldn’t watch a movie with Brad Pitt in it, including Fight Club (a male-oriented movie if there ever was one).
And that’s just super gay.
I only wish he would have sung “Dick in a Box” . . .
I’d like to finish on a short but serious point:
I have not read everything you have. I have not seen all the same movies as you. I have not been to all the museums you’ve been to.
This does not make me a bad person. In fact, I’ve probably read many books, seen many movies, and viewed numerous pieces of art that you’ve never experienced. What this means is not that either one of us is deficient in our cultural attainments, but rather that there is so much out there to explore and enjoy and discuss.
So, the next time you are talking with someone and when a book is brought up that they haven’t read, don’t get exasperated. Don’t act shocked. Because it’s not that big of a deal. I haven’t not read it to spite you; I simply haven’t read it. It doesn’t mean I won’t read it. It’s just that at this moment in time, my life-path has diverged from yours.
This is a good thing. We should all be different. In the end, if it’s meant to be a meaningful relationship, we’ll find other commonalities. If not, we can just be two people who haven’t read the same things. But, again, it’s not that big of a deal. It happens.
I’ll fucking get to reading it when I get to it.
Okay?
I apologize. It’s not easy being me: so much demand, so little time.
All lying aside, I’ve got a lot to say, but perhaps not the most time to say it in, so these might come off as a bit condensed today.
To begin, let me discuss what will undoubtedly be the most quoted movie on college campuses this year. I’m of course speaking about War.
Actually, I’m talking about Superbad, the latest installment from producer Judd Apatow, the man who brought us The 40-Year-Old Virgin and Knocked Up. I haven’t seen Knocked Up, but I hear it’s very good. I have seen the other two, and I think they might be two of the funnier movies ever made.
That said, I will hold off placing Superbad on the uber-pedestal for just a second. Why? Because, let’s face it: we’ve seen this movie before. As funny as it is, as clever as it is, this is by no means an original story. Let’s see, where else have I seen a teen sex-comedy that get’s interrupted by a series of wacky adventures?
How about:
Dazed and Confused
The Trojan War
Can’t Hardly Wait
Harold and Kumar Go to White Castle
Hell, you could probably throw Go into the mix, too.
The fact is, the one-night-to-make-it-happen shtick is all well and good, but it is not exactly a genius move. No matter what, though, those comparisons (and really, watch The Trojan War, Dazed and Confused and Harold and Kumar and tell me you don’t see similarities with Superbad) are rather arbitrary when it comes down to the fact that Jonah Hill is a hilarious clown and Michael Cera might possible be the most perfect Everyman since Michael J. Fox. Hell, Fox was probably more obviously charming than Cera; Cera’s gift is that he is disarming.
And then he talks nonchalantly about porn while eating his breakfast.
Still, the best parts of the movie revolve around the cops and McLovin. Although definitely more implausible than any other aspect of the movie, the relationship between the three works so well, and the ultimate reveal in the bedroom makes it come back down to Earth enough to work.
Personally, I’d recommend The 40-Year-Old Virgin over Superbad. The chest-waxing scene might possibly be the single funniest scene in American cinema – not sure why I’m singling out “American” cinema, but maybe it’s because so many foreign films come across as unintentionally funny (see Bollywood for examples). But it is also a poor comparison to make. Yes, I believe in the body of Apatow’s works, one outshines the other, but these are both incredibly funny (and funny because they generally “real” – the comedy comes from believing in the characters as being legitimate) movies. I’m sure once Knocked Up comes out on DVD, I’ll say the same thing about it.
In another medium, we enter the audio realm. Some of you may have heard of the “feud” between 50 Cent and Kanye West. If you haven’t, here’s a quick summary:
Both albums came out on September 11 (it’s a Tuesday; albums come out on Tuesday; don’t think too much about the significance of the date), and before they did, 50 Cent said that if Kanye sells more albums than him, he (50) would retire.
Before the albums dropped, I implored people to go out and buy Kanye’s album. Not because I think 50 Cent is a bad rapper (which I do), but more because I wanted 50 to be a liar – and have nobody care.
Let’s face it: do we really believe when celebrities say they are going to “retire?” Heck, even athletes, people who have physical timelines on their careers, have reneged on retiring: Michael Jordan and Roger Clemens are two of the more prominent examples. More close to home for 50 is Jay-Z, who after his phenomenal Black Album, announced his retirement, only to come out a few years later with the rather un-spectacular Kingdom Come.
The point is, a guy named 50 Cent should know it’s all about the money. As such, if you know you can sell millions of dollars worth of records, there’s no way you’re going to walk away from that because of a “bet.” Especially if it takes seemingly little effort on your part (more on this in a moment) to create said album. Mr. Cent, no one is buying your bravado.
The fact remains that I also think he’s a bad rapper (I think I might have mentioned this before). In rap, there are certain things I think make someone successful. First and foremost are beats. Except for the single “In da Club,” not one of his singles really strikes me as having incredible hot beats. Some of them are “all right,” but nothing jumps out at me as being “ooo, I have to download that.” Right after beats, you have flow. Some might say lyrics would go here, but flow, being a musical element, is more about initial connection than lyrics. The first time you hear a song, you normally don’t “hear” all the lyrics. You are too busy absorbing the beat, absorbing the hook, to be truly immersed in the words. Flow, the rate and syncopation of the wording, is something a bit more tactile and elementary. 50’s flow is rather mundane. Yes, I’ve heard him rap relatively fast (relative to Twista or Big Pun, for instance), on the single “She Wants It” for example, but because his voice is slurred and monotone, it comes off as lacking emotion, and therefore a sense of speed.
And clearly voice is an important component, too. With his lazy sound (resulting from being shot a few times), you wonder how into the words he’s singing he really is. Which brings us to lyrics. Perhaps I’m overly sensitive here, but rap should be about word play. Simply rhyming is for Dr. Seuss. The ability to craft clever phrases, to write those “Oh!-lines” (as in “Oh shit! Did you hear that?”), helps separate the boys from the men.
50 simply doesn’t do any of this for me. Yes, “In da Club” was a hot song. But I’m pretty sure if I had Dr. Dre giving me one of his greatest all-time beats, I could write a Number One single.
Seriously.
If you doubt this, take Jay-Z’s last hit, “Show Me What You Got.” Listen to that song (with the amazing Just Blaze beat), and then listen to Li’l Wayne freestyle over it.
Wayne kills it.
Which leads me to Kanye’s album.
Kanye, if you don’t know, was a producer before he became a rapper. After his first album, College Dropout, came out, though, no one doubted the guy could rap. His own great beats, combined with good flow, clever lyrics, and catchy hooks created a unique and exciting sound.
And an ego to match.
But he followed up on his success well, and his second album, Late Registration, was equally as good, if not in some cases better. His ability to wrap the intelligence, hubris, and humor all together combined well with an oddly preppy persona to turn him into a superstar.
Which might be why Graduation, his third album, doesn’t achieve the same greatness. I think he kind of mailed it in. Now, I’m sure he’ll say it’s a great album, but, with all due respect, he would be kidding himself. It starts off well, giving you single-quality songs for pretty much the first half. And then, all of a sudden, it’s like the music stops. Not the album, but the musicality of the songs. By the time you get to a good beat again, you’re wondering what has been happening, and then you hear the lyrics, and it’s essentially Kanye alternating between giving Jay-Z the finger and giving him a blow job.
All of this makes me feel like maybe I’m doing a disservice to 50 Cent. But no, I think I’m right in saying you shouldn’t buy his album.
I just don’t think you should buy Kanye’s, either. Download “Stronger,” “Can’t Tell Me Nothing,” and “Champion,” and save yourself at least 10 dollars (depending on where you buy music and/or download it).
To take a little turn to the audio left (or right, there’s nothing inherently symbolic about which direction the turn is), there is one musical moment that struck me as being very well done.
Now, as I expect titters from the immature amongst you, remember: I like it anyway.
That said, I just wanted to mention that I saw Justin Timberlake’s “FutureSex/LoveShow” on HBO, and it was amazing.
I’m not being hyperbolic here. It is “amazing.”
Timberlake, as a performer, is a cornball. He’s a ham, he’s goofy, and he’s kind of a dork.
But that’s only when he’s not singing and dancing. Because boy can that kid sing, and boy can that kid dance.
It’s one thing to say: Oh, he was in ‘N Sync, so he’s just a studio musician. Everything is doctored. I hate to disillusion you, but he is a seriously talented person, and his live performance proves that.
What works for him so well is that he doesn’t sing outside himself. In other words, he knows his limitations, and he doesn’t try to go past them. That’s not to say he has a ton of limitations to begin with, but it just shows how he has brought himself to be technically sound with is craft.
Perhaps just as impressive is the fact that, in addition to singing and dancing, he also plays three different instruments. Granted, how high the levels on his particular instrument was (as compared to those of his band) is left to be seen, but it certainly looks like he’s playing the right notes (if you look at where his fingers are in relation to the two other guys when he’s playing the keyboard-guitar – that’s right, he rocks out on the keyboard-guitar – and you’ll notice they are all playing the same keys).
More than that, though, it’s simply the fact that his two solo albums have some fantastic songs on them. Whether it was him or others who wrote them is beside the point: he performs them well. It also helps that he’s clearly having a good time on stage. He’s not just “going through the motions.” He definitely has chemistry with the dancers, with the band, and with his background singers. The people click, the music is good, and everything seems to work.
My only complaint is that, knowing the show was going to be on HBO, and the fact that it was performed in New York, wasn’t there any way he could have gotten T.I. and/or Clipse to come do their verses on “My Love” and “Like I Love You,” respectively? I know he doesn’t have them on the tour, but it’s not unheard of to have special guests show up – and you have to think HBO might be willing if it makes the show better. Maybe they were busy, though. Still, it would have made a great show even greater.
So, if you feel the need, check your man-hood at the door and watch this concert. Remember this: guys used to go to Michael Jackson concerts. That’s what this is like, in that Timberlake is an artist of that caliber. Sure, he appeals to the ladies, but should that stop you from enjoying a good show? Because if that’s your argument, than by the same token you wouldn’t watch a movie with Brad Pitt in it, including Fight Club (a male-oriented movie if there ever was one).
And that’s just super gay.
I only wish he would have sung “Dick in a Box” . . .
I’d like to finish on a short but serious point:
I have not read everything you have. I have not seen all the same movies as you. I have not been to all the museums you’ve been to.
This does not make me a bad person. In fact, I’ve probably read many books, seen many movies, and viewed numerous pieces of art that you’ve never experienced. What this means is not that either one of us is deficient in our cultural attainments, but rather that there is so much out there to explore and enjoy and discuss.
So, the next time you are talking with someone and when a book is brought up that they haven’t read, don’t get exasperated. Don’t act shocked. Because it’s not that big of a deal. I haven’t not read it to spite you; I simply haven’t read it. It doesn’t mean I won’t read it. It’s just that at this moment in time, my life-path has diverged from yours.
This is a good thing. We should all be different. In the end, if it’s meant to be a meaningful relationship, we’ll find other commonalities. If not, we can just be two people who haven’t read the same things. But, again, it’s not that big of a deal. It happens.
I’ll fucking get to reading it when I get to it.
Okay?
Wednesday, August 29, 2007
My Political Manifesto
They fell down, and the world went numb.
It’s strange when you grow up with so much going on. The Chinese have their infamously mis-translated quote about growing up in “interesting times,” and for most of my life I had been blessedly able to avoid that curse. But those ubiquitous planes, those no-longer towers made life interesting, much like the Holocaust made Europe “interesting” sixty years ago.
This was all after the fact, though. Before all the excitement, my life was the product of a political dichotomy that too often plagues the over-informed. Or, rather, those with delusions of knowledge. When I was little, I had been pegged as gifted, and although unaware such a peg would fit, I nevertheless accepted the title. It’s a nice feeling, being singled out for something good. Also, how else could I explain how emotionally disturbed I was? Insomnia and nightmares, hallucinations and daymares.
Sensitive, I believe they called it. They did tests to find answers, but I was never privy to the actual results. Odd, crying, and alone, I wondered why I wasn’t a normal kid, all the while never considering myself abnormal. Yet there I was, absorbing facts without context, formulas without theory. As most precocious youth are wont to do, I disseminated my knowledge with aplomb, startling (or amusing – you can never be quite sure with adults) those around me. More often than no, it wasn’t “How do you know that?” but “Why do you know that?” Because it was fascinating. And, because the delight of thinking you “know” is a powerful narcotic. Huge ego and low self-esteem is an odd combination, and yet it somehow found a home in me. It was unsettling and appealing.
That’s how politics struck me – not as in that’s how I perceived politics, but how I was brought into that world. In my first, great moment with politics, I was a seven-year-old trying to choose between Bush and Dukakis. Never mind the fact that I had no idea why I would take on such an endeavor: it was simply something we were doing in our second-grade class. Sure, I vaguely comprehended the importance of the President. He was the big guy, the most important man in the country. As far as I knew, he created the laws and ran the government. As far as I knew, Reagan was a great man, and Bush or Dukakis would be the next great man. The more I think about it, second-grade is probably the perfect moment to enter politics, because the decisions are arbitrary, much like how elections seem to work today.
For some reason, I took a flyer on Bush. It might have had something to do with my parents’ politics, but if so, the message must have came to me subliminally. I can’t recall my parents being excessively or overtly political during that election – or really any election throughout my childhood – so I have a feeling it was more a matter of having to make a choice and going with Bush. Far more likely than my parents influence was the fact that my best friend at the time – a boy significantly more “gifted” than myself – found his allegiance sitting with Dukakis. Well, as we were not only friends but friendly rivals, my opposition to the Governor from Massachusetts seemed inevitable.
Besides, I had read Bush’s lips and was pretty sure “no new taxes” was a good thing, even at the age of seven.
Is that how one becomes political? Is that how one sets their flag on Right or the Left? I remember my decision to root for the Yankees was directly tied to my older brother’s belief in the Mets. But are politics and sports the same thing? Can one simply flip a coin and adhere to a platform, like choosing a sports team to support. It seems ridiculous.
Four years later, though, my mind more developed (sixth grade!) and my understanding slightly improved, I was once again barking “Bush!” What’s the economy to a sixth-grader? “Recession” is a buzz-word you hear in passing and although you know it is a negative, compared to the subtle patriotism, the ingrained respect for the Presidency, there was no contest. How could it be? At that age, when questioning authority is still at odds with a conservative Catholic upbringing, wasn’t the man who stopped Saddam Hussein worth much more than a governor from a state whose chief industry is poultry farming? It was around this time that I could see a pattern emerging and my decisions, if not consciously Republican, were certainly find themselves pointing in that direction.
As I grew older and information came – and was understood – more readily, my politics definitely coalesced to the point where I didn’t think it would be possible for me to not identify as Republican. Foremost in this was probably the emergence of my father’s political opinions. As I got more interested in the process and policy, dinner-table discussions brought out a pragmatic Republican: a card-carrying NRA member who wanted little government interference in daily affairs, lower taxes, and a social welfare program based on need but doled out for merit. As a young person, despite the apparent trappings of a Long Island suburbanite, I could still realize that we were a working-class, lower middle-class family. Both my parents didn’t go to college – not for lack of opportunity or ability, but rather for the desire to begin a family.
Did that one decision radically change how I was to perceive the political situation in our country? My father was too young to worry too much about being drafted into Vietnam, so his was the first generation who almost universally lived without war-experience. A generation that was learning that high school no longer guaranteed a great job; that college was slowly making itself known as a way to reach middle class – if not upper classes – that produced results much quicker than simple hard work. It wasn’t that one couldn’t find work, or even a good job, out of high school, but the world was definitely moving progressively towards a college-based work-force, coinciding quite nicely with the export of manufacturing jobs in favor of a service-based economy.
College also exposed the sons and daughters of the World War II and Korean War veterans to an experience almost universally dedicated to a liberal education. College had long been an “out” for those against the war, and many professors were active in establishing minds that id not simply adhere to a status quo: the government was not placed on a pedestal; the First Amendment was regaining its primacy. (Please realize that I am not denigrating those who went to college instead of war – or feel I’m suggesting that all students went to college to avoid the war. This is just a common conception of the time period by those of my generation, for good or for ill).
If this meant opportunity for those exposed to that mindset, it also was an exposure to a guilt-complex so inherent in liberal policies: Why should we retain our wealth when others go without? Yes, we worked hard, but do our efforts equate to being well-off, when others are in poverty?
This is a noble sentiment, but it seems to be a natural off-shoot of a specific lifestyle. Take, for example, the other side of the coin: The working class man who feels he has done what was necessary to achieve what he has. Through labor, through the Puritan work-ethic, he has been able to carve out a slice of the American dream. Who, then, is the government to tell me I have to give my money to someone who hasn’t worked as hard? Nothing was handed to me, and now you want me to give away my efforts, to the detriment of my own family?
Is that greed? Or is that a logical rationale? Is it cold and compassionless, as it seems Conservatives are so often called?
These are excellent and valid questions. I would have to think race certainly plays its role – you get a job at the factory (or these days, office) where you old man worked, because they think his good traits run true. It probably just so happens being white led to that situation in the first place. I would also say that starting-social status also plays a role. Poor people aren’t necessarily poor because they don’t work hard; they are poor because of a confluence of factors that all add to a lack of opportunity and inability to find a way out.
But try explaining that to someone who went from working two crap jobs so that he could support his family. To him, there is a pride in his ability, as well as the idea that, Hey, if I can do it, can’t everyone? This may seem illogical, but I’m sure you can name at least one person you know like this: a self-made man or someone who lifted himself up by his bootstraps.
Does that a conservative make? While I’m not convinced it’s the only factor, I’m fairly certain it was that philosophy which aided my affiliation with the Right.
But then I went to college. And I found myself in a situation where as much as it pained me to listen to, I heard the liberalism nonetheless. The anti-Bush rhetoric. The anti-American sentiment. The anti-Imperialist project. It seriously irked me. For starters, I was at a public university. I also found it ironic to be asked to approach things like literature and history objectively when clearly what I was hearing was not. As this progressed, I found myself being that guy who questioned professors – and amazingly learned something because of it.
As I started to really get into politics (the end of high school; beginning of college), I had always found myself arguing with my friends on their decidedly liberal ideas. In that manner, I thought it was obvious that I was conservative. But when I started to grapple with my professors (who, for all their “faults” politically, were incredibly smart), I started to understand that maybe it wasn’t so much that I was conservative, but rather that I was predisposed to want to challenge concrete opinions. And that’s when I realized: politics are opinions. Again, a simple idea, but one I don’t think too many of us are consciously aware of. We see politics as a black-and-white thing, and that was bothersome. It wasn’t that my friends were arguing for liberal policies, but that they were positive that said policies were absolute.
In the end, I did receive a liberal education, but in the sense that I learned so much and in variety. With my friends, I was Conservative, but with my father, I was most certainly Liberal. Together, I was using the adherence of those around me to hone my own opinions (politics) to try to figure out which policies actually made sense. With my friends, I tried to point out that their notions about Red Staters were usually built around stereo-types – and generally false. I was amazed by how often supposedly open-minded people were so narrow in their ideas and use of generalizations. With my father (and brother), it was the opposite. I was perplexed by their adherence to policies that didn’t seem to mesh with the morals that he has always espoused. He isn’t cold or compassionless in any sense. But his politics are based on a rationality, a common-sense approach that indicates that big government doesn’t work.
Which is what I’ve always thought, myself. But I’ve learned that while on a whole it probably isn’t a good thing, large government can have positive effects, as long as kept reasonable (a requirement almost impossible to attain, I’ve noticed).
What I never thought, though, was that one should disrespect our elected leaders. Naïve, I know – and quite probably hypocritical, considering the way Republicans treated (and I might add, to a degree, rightly) Clinton – but I always had a strong aversion to the way people railed against Bush, Jr. It just seemed wrong to me that someone could actively take shots at the President of the United States. So when I recently read someone who compared Bush to Stalin, Hitler, and (ironically) Saddam, my immediate response was to scoff. But was I right?
I think, all-in-all, I was. And yet there are many similarities that are worth pointing out: a highly charismatic, almost ego-maniacally obsessed leader who ignores public opinion to run roughshod over civil liberties, both home and abroad. But he’s never engaged in an active campaign of genocide, and so, despite the similarities, I find it a little egregious to compare him (faults and all) with those three despicable people. This, in turn, makes me have to side with someone I don’t necessarily want to be associated with. As I recently pointed out to one of my friends: “Why do you make me have to defend these people?!”
I am certainly not (I’m not sure if I ever was, but I’d be willing to say “no longer”) a fan of Bush. I will say this: He sent Colin Powell to the U.N., and we all thought Saddam had weapons of mass destruction. However poorly he managed 9/11, however poorly he spoke (speaks) in public, as long as I thought he was telling the truth (and come on – it was Colin Powell!), I was willing to respect the office. It is only after-the-fact, where everything that emanated from that office was tainted, did my mind change. But the fact is: my mind changed. And it changed because the facts (literally) changed.
That’s what has been so frustrating, though (yes, the lies have been frustrating, but I’d say that’s a given). No, what has bothered me so much is that I’ve always felt I’m arguing against brick walls. Politics has become a faith for so many people, that to question their beliefs is not an intelligent discussion, but a personal affront. Just as Christians can not stand alternate theories about Jesus (or the dissemination of alternate gospels), both Liberals and Conservatives cling to their ideals with a zeal approaching dogma. You hear about a separation of church and state: well, for so many, the state is the church.
Am I a Conservative? Probably not. But I’m also certainly not a Liberal. I’m sure one could call me a moderate, but what would such a label mean? In the end, I hope that I can eschew these kinds of labels. Like most, I wish to be open-minded – although I know that most of my open-mindedness can only occur in hindsight. Shouldn’t that be the way, though? Doesn’t it make more sense to “sleep on it” or “let cooler minds prevail?” I think so. That’s why, if I had to label myself, I’d say I am a pragmatist. A realist. Because I like to explore the options, play Devil’s advocate, and then discuss solutions. To me, any other approach is the equivalent of dream-talking. I’m pretty sure that wasn’t what our system was designed to do.
I began this essay talking about the Twin Towers. I’m going to end it with them too: Go beyond Ground Zero. I’m not saying forget the day – I would never (could never) suggest that. But we have allowed a single moment in time stagnate our society. Name a single major policy that has come about that isn’t tied to 9/11 in one way or the other. Moreover, consider that all the inaction is similarly tied in. If individual people can be narrow-minded in their person politics, and that’s harmful, then what is the result of a political system that has narrow-mindedly adhered to a single notion? If you allow me the hyperbole, our political parties have been co-opted by the terrorists. I’m not sure if that will open up any minds, but I do hope it will open some eyes.
Of course, I could be wrong.
It’s strange when you grow up with so much going on. The Chinese have their infamously mis-translated quote about growing up in “interesting times,” and for most of my life I had been blessedly able to avoid that curse. But those ubiquitous planes, those no-longer towers made life interesting, much like the Holocaust made Europe “interesting” sixty years ago.
This was all after the fact, though. Before all the excitement, my life was the product of a political dichotomy that too often plagues the over-informed. Or, rather, those with delusions of knowledge. When I was little, I had been pegged as gifted, and although unaware such a peg would fit, I nevertheless accepted the title. It’s a nice feeling, being singled out for something good. Also, how else could I explain how emotionally disturbed I was? Insomnia and nightmares, hallucinations and daymares.
Sensitive, I believe they called it. They did tests to find answers, but I was never privy to the actual results. Odd, crying, and alone, I wondered why I wasn’t a normal kid, all the while never considering myself abnormal. Yet there I was, absorbing facts without context, formulas without theory. As most precocious youth are wont to do, I disseminated my knowledge with aplomb, startling (or amusing – you can never be quite sure with adults) those around me. More often than no, it wasn’t “How do you know that?” but “Why do you know that?” Because it was fascinating. And, because the delight of thinking you “know” is a powerful narcotic. Huge ego and low self-esteem is an odd combination, and yet it somehow found a home in me. It was unsettling and appealing.
That’s how politics struck me – not as in that’s how I perceived politics, but how I was brought into that world. In my first, great moment with politics, I was a seven-year-old trying to choose between Bush and Dukakis. Never mind the fact that I had no idea why I would take on such an endeavor: it was simply something we were doing in our second-grade class. Sure, I vaguely comprehended the importance of the President. He was the big guy, the most important man in the country. As far as I knew, he created the laws and ran the government. As far as I knew, Reagan was a great man, and Bush or Dukakis would be the next great man. The more I think about it, second-grade is probably the perfect moment to enter politics, because the decisions are arbitrary, much like how elections seem to work today.
For some reason, I took a flyer on Bush. It might have had something to do with my parents’ politics, but if so, the message must have came to me subliminally. I can’t recall my parents being excessively or overtly political during that election – or really any election throughout my childhood – so I have a feeling it was more a matter of having to make a choice and going with Bush. Far more likely than my parents influence was the fact that my best friend at the time – a boy significantly more “gifted” than myself – found his allegiance sitting with Dukakis. Well, as we were not only friends but friendly rivals, my opposition to the Governor from Massachusetts seemed inevitable.
Besides, I had read Bush’s lips and was pretty sure “no new taxes” was a good thing, even at the age of seven.
Is that how one becomes political? Is that how one sets their flag on Right or the Left? I remember my decision to root for the Yankees was directly tied to my older brother’s belief in the Mets. But are politics and sports the same thing? Can one simply flip a coin and adhere to a platform, like choosing a sports team to support. It seems ridiculous.
Four years later, though, my mind more developed (sixth grade!) and my understanding slightly improved, I was once again barking “Bush!” What’s the economy to a sixth-grader? “Recession” is a buzz-word you hear in passing and although you know it is a negative, compared to the subtle patriotism, the ingrained respect for the Presidency, there was no contest. How could it be? At that age, when questioning authority is still at odds with a conservative Catholic upbringing, wasn’t the man who stopped Saddam Hussein worth much more than a governor from a state whose chief industry is poultry farming? It was around this time that I could see a pattern emerging and my decisions, if not consciously Republican, were certainly find themselves pointing in that direction.
As I grew older and information came – and was understood – more readily, my politics definitely coalesced to the point where I didn’t think it would be possible for me to not identify as Republican. Foremost in this was probably the emergence of my father’s political opinions. As I got more interested in the process and policy, dinner-table discussions brought out a pragmatic Republican: a card-carrying NRA member who wanted little government interference in daily affairs, lower taxes, and a social welfare program based on need but doled out for merit. As a young person, despite the apparent trappings of a Long Island suburbanite, I could still realize that we were a working-class, lower middle-class family. Both my parents didn’t go to college – not for lack of opportunity or ability, but rather for the desire to begin a family.
Did that one decision radically change how I was to perceive the political situation in our country? My father was too young to worry too much about being drafted into Vietnam, so his was the first generation who almost universally lived without war-experience. A generation that was learning that high school no longer guaranteed a great job; that college was slowly making itself known as a way to reach middle class – if not upper classes – that produced results much quicker than simple hard work. It wasn’t that one couldn’t find work, or even a good job, out of high school, but the world was definitely moving progressively towards a college-based work-force, coinciding quite nicely with the export of manufacturing jobs in favor of a service-based economy.
College also exposed the sons and daughters of the World War II and Korean War veterans to an experience almost universally dedicated to a liberal education. College had long been an “out” for those against the war, and many professors were active in establishing minds that id not simply adhere to a status quo: the government was not placed on a pedestal; the First Amendment was regaining its primacy. (Please realize that I am not denigrating those who went to college instead of war – or feel I’m suggesting that all students went to college to avoid the war. This is just a common conception of the time period by those of my generation, for good or for ill).
If this meant opportunity for those exposed to that mindset, it also was an exposure to a guilt-complex so inherent in liberal policies: Why should we retain our wealth when others go without? Yes, we worked hard, but do our efforts equate to being well-off, when others are in poverty?
This is a noble sentiment, but it seems to be a natural off-shoot of a specific lifestyle. Take, for example, the other side of the coin: The working class man who feels he has done what was necessary to achieve what he has. Through labor, through the Puritan work-ethic, he has been able to carve out a slice of the American dream. Who, then, is the government to tell me I have to give my money to someone who hasn’t worked as hard? Nothing was handed to me, and now you want me to give away my efforts, to the detriment of my own family?
Is that greed? Or is that a logical rationale? Is it cold and compassionless, as it seems Conservatives are so often called?
These are excellent and valid questions. I would have to think race certainly plays its role – you get a job at the factory (or these days, office) where you old man worked, because they think his good traits run true. It probably just so happens being white led to that situation in the first place. I would also say that starting-social status also plays a role. Poor people aren’t necessarily poor because they don’t work hard; they are poor because of a confluence of factors that all add to a lack of opportunity and inability to find a way out.
But try explaining that to someone who went from working two crap jobs so that he could support his family. To him, there is a pride in his ability, as well as the idea that, Hey, if I can do it, can’t everyone? This may seem illogical, but I’m sure you can name at least one person you know like this: a self-made man or someone who lifted himself up by his bootstraps.
Does that a conservative make? While I’m not convinced it’s the only factor, I’m fairly certain it was that philosophy which aided my affiliation with the Right.
But then I went to college. And I found myself in a situation where as much as it pained me to listen to, I heard the liberalism nonetheless. The anti-Bush rhetoric. The anti-American sentiment. The anti-Imperialist project. It seriously irked me. For starters, I was at a public university. I also found it ironic to be asked to approach things like literature and history objectively when clearly what I was hearing was not. As this progressed, I found myself being that guy who questioned professors – and amazingly learned something because of it.
As I started to really get into politics (the end of high school; beginning of college), I had always found myself arguing with my friends on their decidedly liberal ideas. In that manner, I thought it was obvious that I was conservative. But when I started to grapple with my professors (who, for all their “faults” politically, were incredibly smart), I started to understand that maybe it wasn’t so much that I was conservative, but rather that I was predisposed to want to challenge concrete opinions. And that’s when I realized: politics are opinions. Again, a simple idea, but one I don’t think too many of us are consciously aware of. We see politics as a black-and-white thing, and that was bothersome. It wasn’t that my friends were arguing for liberal policies, but that they were positive that said policies were absolute.
In the end, I did receive a liberal education, but in the sense that I learned so much and in variety. With my friends, I was Conservative, but with my father, I was most certainly Liberal. Together, I was using the adherence of those around me to hone my own opinions (politics) to try to figure out which policies actually made sense. With my friends, I tried to point out that their notions about Red Staters were usually built around stereo-types – and generally false. I was amazed by how often supposedly open-minded people were so narrow in their ideas and use of generalizations. With my father (and brother), it was the opposite. I was perplexed by their adherence to policies that didn’t seem to mesh with the morals that he has always espoused. He isn’t cold or compassionless in any sense. But his politics are based on a rationality, a common-sense approach that indicates that big government doesn’t work.
Which is what I’ve always thought, myself. But I’ve learned that while on a whole it probably isn’t a good thing, large government can have positive effects, as long as kept reasonable (a requirement almost impossible to attain, I’ve noticed).
What I never thought, though, was that one should disrespect our elected leaders. Naïve, I know – and quite probably hypocritical, considering the way Republicans treated (and I might add, to a degree, rightly) Clinton – but I always had a strong aversion to the way people railed against Bush, Jr. It just seemed wrong to me that someone could actively take shots at the President of the United States. So when I recently read someone who compared Bush to Stalin, Hitler, and (ironically) Saddam, my immediate response was to scoff. But was I right?
I think, all-in-all, I was. And yet there are many similarities that are worth pointing out: a highly charismatic, almost ego-maniacally obsessed leader who ignores public opinion to run roughshod over civil liberties, both home and abroad. But he’s never engaged in an active campaign of genocide, and so, despite the similarities, I find it a little egregious to compare him (faults and all) with those three despicable people. This, in turn, makes me have to side with someone I don’t necessarily want to be associated with. As I recently pointed out to one of my friends: “Why do you make me have to defend these people?!”
I am certainly not (I’m not sure if I ever was, but I’d be willing to say “no longer”) a fan of Bush. I will say this: He sent Colin Powell to the U.N., and we all thought Saddam had weapons of mass destruction. However poorly he managed 9/11, however poorly he spoke (speaks) in public, as long as I thought he was telling the truth (and come on – it was Colin Powell!), I was willing to respect the office. It is only after-the-fact, where everything that emanated from that office was tainted, did my mind change. But the fact is: my mind changed. And it changed because the facts (literally) changed.
That’s what has been so frustrating, though (yes, the lies have been frustrating, but I’d say that’s a given). No, what has bothered me so much is that I’ve always felt I’m arguing against brick walls. Politics has become a faith for so many people, that to question their beliefs is not an intelligent discussion, but a personal affront. Just as Christians can not stand alternate theories about Jesus (or the dissemination of alternate gospels), both Liberals and Conservatives cling to their ideals with a zeal approaching dogma. You hear about a separation of church and state: well, for so many, the state is the church.
Am I a Conservative? Probably not. But I’m also certainly not a Liberal. I’m sure one could call me a moderate, but what would such a label mean? In the end, I hope that I can eschew these kinds of labels. Like most, I wish to be open-minded – although I know that most of my open-mindedness can only occur in hindsight. Shouldn’t that be the way, though? Doesn’t it make more sense to “sleep on it” or “let cooler minds prevail?” I think so. That’s why, if I had to label myself, I’d say I am a pragmatist. A realist. Because I like to explore the options, play Devil’s advocate, and then discuss solutions. To me, any other approach is the equivalent of dream-talking. I’m pretty sure that wasn’t what our system was designed to do.
I began this essay talking about the Twin Towers. I’m going to end it with them too: Go beyond Ground Zero. I’m not saying forget the day – I would never (could never) suggest that. But we have allowed a single moment in time stagnate our society. Name a single major policy that has come about that isn’t tied to 9/11 in one way or the other. Moreover, consider that all the inaction is similarly tied in. If individual people can be narrow-minded in their person politics, and that’s harmful, then what is the result of a political system that has narrow-mindedly adhered to a single notion? If you allow me the hyperbole, our political parties have been co-opted by the terrorists. I’m not sure if that will open up any minds, but I do hope it will open some eyes.
Of course, I could be wrong.
Tuesday, August 21, 2007
Baby, It's Cold Out There
After what’s probably been years of harping by my friend, I got around to reading John le Carré’s classic novel, The Spy Who Came in from the Cold. I can see why my friend liked it so much. This is not the James Bond spy we have grown to love. Hell, it’s not even the slightly more realistic Jason Bourne. No, le Carré’s spy is probably more akin to the real thing than anything else. How so? Because it is wrapped in the mundanities of human life. Spying is an act – you don’t really “spy on” someone. Spying is a way of life – you become a spy, you live a life that is both your own and someone else’s . . . and yet still your own.
The spy in question is Alec, whose last mission failed and now he’s in it for one last try before he’s “brought in from the cold.” A British agent, he had been in charge of the Berlin office in the 1950s, but his contacts all became compromised, tracked down and murdered by a vicious East German agent.
What this does is provide the perfect cover for Alec – assigned to a desk job back in London, he becomes despondent and irritable, until he can no longer take it. Poor and miserable, he beats up a grocery clerk and gets sent to prison. He ruins his life – on purpose – to make a clean break from the Service, and of course this draws the attention of the Communists. Sure enough, he’s contacted, and he’s soon back on the Continent, “divulging” information and leading the questioner to the point he was meant to reach: that the vicious East German officer is actually a double agent – and needs to be eliminated.
And that’s essentially it. The simplicity of it, the lack of mystery is almost tastefully boring. The crucial scenes are that of talk, of Alec playing the part of someone both disgusted with his country and himself, but desperate enough to gain his 30 pieces of silver. There is some action, some scuffling and fighting, but for the most part, that’s ancillary to the story. It’s the conversation that is the action, and le Carré does an excellent job of not only creating an organic interrogation, but maintaining a subtle menace over the whole thing. While perhaps not a page-turner, it is riveting and thrilling nonetheless.
Which is probably why my friend loves it so much. He’s the same person who found himself enjoying the detestable Phantom Menace because of the political machinations of Emperor Palpatine. Hell, that might not be the most ringing endorsement concerning my friend’s judgment (or his sanity, for that matter), but I assure you that if there was something redeemable about that movie, it was that sub-plot. And so you can trust me when I say I trust him.
However, as well as le Carré writes the “realistic” spy novel, he’s still not the greatest writer. Pacing is definitely an issue here, as is the rather flimsy love pretext (which is very important to the plot). Once Alec is engaged with the East Germans, you can appreciate the pages you read that led up to the meetings, but it comes almost half-way into the book. If le Carré is trying to show that spying is mostly boring, he does it brilliantly. And it’s not as if it’s a snore-bore (I’m not sure if “snore-bore” is clever or gay, but I’m leaving it). It’s just not what one would expect if went to the “spy novel” section of their local book store (which is probably a national chain, and which probably also doesn’t have a “spy novel” section, but you get the idea).
The joy is in the realism. Even the love story is explained in a way that, while not exactly satisfying, isn’t a complete farce. And the end is excellent. Will I read any more by le Carré? Probably not. I had read his latest book, which I reviewed a while back (The Mission Song), and I read this one, and I think I’ve had my fill. But if you have never read him, I think you would do well to put him on you “to read” list. Between him and Ian Fleming, they developed a genre that now does extremely big box-office. If there’s such a thing as a canonical spy novel, The Spy Who Came in from the Cold is definitely on that list.
The spy in question is Alec, whose last mission failed and now he’s in it for one last try before he’s “brought in from the cold.” A British agent, he had been in charge of the Berlin office in the 1950s, but his contacts all became compromised, tracked down and murdered by a vicious East German agent.
What this does is provide the perfect cover for Alec – assigned to a desk job back in London, he becomes despondent and irritable, until he can no longer take it. Poor and miserable, he beats up a grocery clerk and gets sent to prison. He ruins his life – on purpose – to make a clean break from the Service, and of course this draws the attention of the Communists. Sure enough, he’s contacted, and he’s soon back on the Continent, “divulging” information and leading the questioner to the point he was meant to reach: that the vicious East German officer is actually a double agent – and needs to be eliminated.
And that’s essentially it. The simplicity of it, the lack of mystery is almost tastefully boring. The crucial scenes are that of talk, of Alec playing the part of someone both disgusted with his country and himself, but desperate enough to gain his 30 pieces of silver. There is some action, some scuffling and fighting, but for the most part, that’s ancillary to the story. It’s the conversation that is the action, and le Carré does an excellent job of not only creating an organic interrogation, but maintaining a subtle menace over the whole thing. While perhaps not a page-turner, it is riveting and thrilling nonetheless.
Which is probably why my friend loves it so much. He’s the same person who found himself enjoying the detestable Phantom Menace because of the political machinations of Emperor Palpatine. Hell, that might not be the most ringing endorsement concerning my friend’s judgment (or his sanity, for that matter), but I assure you that if there was something redeemable about that movie, it was that sub-plot. And so you can trust me when I say I trust him.
However, as well as le Carré writes the “realistic” spy novel, he’s still not the greatest writer. Pacing is definitely an issue here, as is the rather flimsy love pretext (which is very important to the plot). Once Alec is engaged with the East Germans, you can appreciate the pages you read that led up to the meetings, but it comes almost half-way into the book. If le Carré is trying to show that spying is mostly boring, he does it brilliantly. And it’s not as if it’s a snore-bore (I’m not sure if “snore-bore” is clever or gay, but I’m leaving it). It’s just not what one would expect if went to the “spy novel” section of their local book store (which is probably a national chain, and which probably also doesn’t have a “spy novel” section, but you get the idea).
The joy is in the realism. Even the love story is explained in a way that, while not exactly satisfying, isn’t a complete farce. And the end is excellent. Will I read any more by le Carré? Probably not. I had read his latest book, which I reviewed a while back (The Mission Song), and I read this one, and I think I’ve had my fill. But if you have never read him, I think you would do well to put him on you “to read” list. Between him and Ian Fleming, they developed a genre that now does extremely big box-office. If there’s such a thing as a canonical spy novel, The Spy Who Came in from the Cold is definitely on that list.
Saturday, August 18, 2007
Have You Ever Heard of These "Potter" Books?
Obviously I read this the week it came out, but I haven’t had time to actually write it up. In fact, I wasn’t sure if I wanted to write it up. Why not? Because it’s been the most hyped tome since Jesus’ boys penned a little tract called “The New Testament.”
Maybe you’ve heard of it?
Is Potter Jesus? No. Anyone who blows a character out of proportion like the throngs of pre-teens at Barnes and Noble in Union Square needs to know this: fiction = lies. That said, there is some truth to the connection that these people (and lets’ be honest folks: there were some slightly “elder” folk in the midst) have with the characters. And that’s a testament to the genius that is J.K. Rowling.
I’ve had this argument with my more literary-minded friends before, thinking that they’re just kid-books. Or, worse yet, “sci-fi/fantasy” books. Hell, when I talked to my geek/nerd friends when the first books became popular in the U.S., they thought it was the gayest thing in the world to read Harry Potter (because it was “wack; not like The Lord of the Rings – there’s a great episode of “South Park” that echoes this sentiment).
Here’s the problem with both arguments. To begin: What’s wrong with science fiction or fantasy? How much of great literature actually falls under this category? Oh, that’s right, a whole bunch. Shall we do a little list of authors?
Orwell
Bradbury
Asimov
Tolkien
Verne
Sir Arthur Conan Doyle
How about perhaps more of a stretch:
William Golding
Toni Morrison
James Joyce
Cormac McCarthy (who just won the Pulitzer)
Philip Roth
Fantastical elements are part and parcel of much of these latter authors' writing, and yet they aren’t classified in a specific “genre” so as not to denigrate their attempts. But it’s there nonetheless.
Magic is magic, boys and girls.
And there’s nothing wrong with that! In the September 2007 issue of Harper’s, an essay from Ursula Le Guin (a canonical sci-fi author – and I love the idea of canonical sci-fi) makes this point abundantly clear when she writes:
“Could he [Michael Chabon] not see that Cormac McCarthy – although everything in his book (except the wonderfully blatant use of an egregiously obscure vocabulary) was remarkably similar to a great many earlier works of science fiction about men crossing the country after a holocaust [speaking of his prize-winning novel, The Road] – could never under any circumstances be said to be a sci-fi writer, because Cormac McCarthy was a serious writer and so by definition incapable of lowering himself to commit genre?”
I’m not saying she thinks that McCarthy holds that opinion, but it’s pretty clear she thinks that the people who read him believe he isn’t “science fiction.” Le Guin’s highly sarcastic essay points out quite clearly the nature of the literary community, in it’s pedestal-placement of “high literature,” as totally ignoring the fact that if you’re going to sneer at “genre,” make sure your Ivory Tower isn’t built on it in the first place!
Moreover, by immediately placing something in a category, you are immediately shutting down any sort of constructive and objective facilities you might have. Considering that the first Potter book, The Sorcerer's Stone, is essentially a mystery novel that incorporates magic shows that it doesn’t easily fit into any genre, per se. It also helps that Rowling is an incredible writer.
Is “incredible” or “genius” too grand of terms? Maybe. But consider these two things: She’s a billionaire and you can read one of her 750 page novels in a day.
I don’t think I’m stretching those words too much.
What makes her so successful? Obviously, I wish I knew the formula, because then I’d be living in a castle in Scotland, too (although, I don’t actually have a desire to live in a castle in Scotland, but if that’s where all the billionaire authors hang out, that’s where my U-Haul will be pulling up to). Instead, though, you can point to a number of things. First, ease of reading. This is fiction at its best, because it is eminently readable. The sentences are not overly complex, the dialogue is natural and flows well, the explanations are short and yet provide information to complex ideas, and the story moves quickly.
Second (and obviously tied to the first) is that it works as YA literature – which I’ve discussed a few times. By being readable and appealing to a wide age-group, she created an audience virtually unparalleled in literature. Think of it this way: Ulysses, often considered the greatest novel ever written, is read by very few people, and understood by even less. You virtually can’t read it for deep understanding without guidance. On the flip-side, an 11-year-old girl can read Harry Potter, and not only get through it without difficulty, but probably give an adult insights they hadn’t even thought of. I’m sorry, but that’s genius.
I recently was speaking with my friend, and she asked me where I thought Potter would rank alongside The Chronicles of Narnia and The Lord of the Rings. I honestly think they will surpass them in terms of literary stature. They have characters that are more readily identifiable. The stories don’t carry any blatant religious overtones or subtexts. And, in an age of instant access, children are growing up with these books. People about to have children are reading these books. And millions and millions of copies are circulating, as well as concurrent movies (something Lewis and Tolkien did not have the luxury of). They have the immediacy of being in the minds of a huge audience, and they have a universality that shouldn’t have any trouble enduring. I love Lewis, and I appreciate Tolkien (I like the story, but I’m not thrilled with the execution), but I think Rowling has taken their tradition and brought it to a whole new place. Because unlike Lewis, her seven books tell one story, and unlike Tolkien, she wrote a populist text.
Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows is an excellent finale to an excellent series. I think it satisfies everything that a fan could want, despite some protestations I’ve heard to the contrary. Rowling was unafraid to make strong decisions regarding characters (some die). Better yet, she answers the questions raised by the series (especially books 5 and 6), and she ends it in a way that leaves very little possibility for there to be more in the Potterverse.
And that’s a good thing.
Imagine you have the ability to write a winning lottery ticket whenever you want. But imagine doing so would destroy something beautiful each time. That’s what Rowling has the ability to do. By ending the last book the way she does, though, she pretty much closes down any future Harry Potter novels. What this means is that there won’t be any Superman IIIs or Batman and Robins or Rocky Vs. In other words, beloved franchises were ruined because of the desire to make more money. It may be over, and that may be sad, but it means the story is complete, and in time I think that’s for the best. I’d rather read all seven and be upset that there’s no more than read an eighth book and hate it.
Like I said, she’s a genius. And I’m willing to go toe-to-toe with anyone who disagrees.
I’m sure I can find a couple of people who might back me up.
Maybe you’ve heard of it?
Is Potter Jesus? No. Anyone who blows a character out of proportion like the throngs of pre-teens at Barnes and Noble in Union Square needs to know this: fiction = lies. That said, there is some truth to the connection that these people (and lets’ be honest folks: there were some slightly “elder” folk in the midst) have with the characters. And that’s a testament to the genius that is J.K. Rowling.
I’ve had this argument with my more literary-minded friends before, thinking that they’re just kid-books. Or, worse yet, “sci-fi/fantasy” books. Hell, when I talked to my geek/nerd friends when the first books became popular in the U.S., they thought it was the gayest thing in the world to read Harry Potter (because it was “wack; not like The Lord of the Rings – there’s a great episode of “South Park” that echoes this sentiment).
Here’s the problem with both arguments. To begin: What’s wrong with science fiction or fantasy? How much of great literature actually falls under this category? Oh, that’s right, a whole bunch. Shall we do a little list of authors?
Orwell
Bradbury
Asimov
Tolkien
Verne
Sir Arthur Conan Doyle
How about perhaps more of a stretch:
William Golding
Toni Morrison
James Joyce
Cormac McCarthy (who just won the Pulitzer)
Philip Roth
Fantastical elements are part and parcel of much of these latter authors' writing, and yet they aren’t classified in a specific “genre” so as not to denigrate their attempts. But it’s there nonetheless.
Magic is magic, boys and girls.
And there’s nothing wrong with that! In the September 2007 issue of Harper’s, an essay from Ursula Le Guin (a canonical sci-fi author – and I love the idea of canonical sci-fi) makes this point abundantly clear when she writes:
“Could he [Michael Chabon] not see that Cormac McCarthy – although everything in his book (except the wonderfully blatant use of an egregiously obscure vocabulary) was remarkably similar to a great many earlier works of science fiction about men crossing the country after a holocaust [speaking of his prize-winning novel, The Road] – could never under any circumstances be said to be a sci-fi writer, because Cormac McCarthy was a serious writer and so by definition incapable of lowering himself to commit genre?”
I’m not saying she thinks that McCarthy holds that opinion, but it’s pretty clear she thinks that the people who read him believe he isn’t “science fiction.” Le Guin’s highly sarcastic essay points out quite clearly the nature of the literary community, in it’s pedestal-placement of “high literature,” as totally ignoring the fact that if you’re going to sneer at “genre,” make sure your Ivory Tower isn’t built on it in the first place!
Moreover, by immediately placing something in a category, you are immediately shutting down any sort of constructive and objective facilities you might have. Considering that the first Potter book, The Sorcerer's Stone, is essentially a mystery novel that incorporates magic shows that it doesn’t easily fit into any genre, per se. It also helps that Rowling is an incredible writer.
Is “incredible” or “genius” too grand of terms? Maybe. But consider these two things: She’s a billionaire and you can read one of her 750 page novels in a day.
I don’t think I’m stretching those words too much.
What makes her so successful? Obviously, I wish I knew the formula, because then I’d be living in a castle in Scotland, too (although, I don’t actually have a desire to live in a castle in Scotland, but if that’s where all the billionaire authors hang out, that’s where my U-Haul will be pulling up to). Instead, though, you can point to a number of things. First, ease of reading. This is fiction at its best, because it is eminently readable. The sentences are not overly complex, the dialogue is natural and flows well, the explanations are short and yet provide information to complex ideas, and the story moves quickly.
Second (and obviously tied to the first) is that it works as YA literature – which I’ve discussed a few times. By being readable and appealing to a wide age-group, she created an audience virtually unparalleled in literature. Think of it this way: Ulysses, often considered the greatest novel ever written, is read by very few people, and understood by even less. You virtually can’t read it for deep understanding without guidance. On the flip-side, an 11-year-old girl can read Harry Potter, and not only get through it without difficulty, but probably give an adult insights they hadn’t even thought of. I’m sorry, but that’s genius.
I recently was speaking with my friend, and she asked me where I thought Potter would rank alongside The Chronicles of Narnia and The Lord of the Rings. I honestly think they will surpass them in terms of literary stature. They have characters that are more readily identifiable. The stories don’t carry any blatant religious overtones or subtexts. And, in an age of instant access, children are growing up with these books. People about to have children are reading these books. And millions and millions of copies are circulating, as well as concurrent movies (something Lewis and Tolkien did not have the luxury of). They have the immediacy of being in the minds of a huge audience, and they have a universality that shouldn’t have any trouble enduring. I love Lewis, and I appreciate Tolkien (I like the story, but I’m not thrilled with the execution), but I think Rowling has taken their tradition and brought it to a whole new place. Because unlike Lewis, her seven books tell one story, and unlike Tolkien, she wrote a populist text.
Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows is an excellent finale to an excellent series. I think it satisfies everything that a fan could want, despite some protestations I’ve heard to the contrary. Rowling was unafraid to make strong decisions regarding characters (some die). Better yet, she answers the questions raised by the series (especially books 5 and 6), and she ends it in a way that leaves very little possibility for there to be more in the Potterverse.
And that’s a good thing.
Imagine you have the ability to write a winning lottery ticket whenever you want. But imagine doing so would destroy something beautiful each time. That’s what Rowling has the ability to do. By ending the last book the way she does, though, she pretty much closes down any future Harry Potter novels. What this means is that there won’t be any Superman IIIs or Batman and Robins or Rocky Vs. In other words, beloved franchises were ruined because of the desire to make more money. It may be over, and that may be sad, but it means the story is complete, and in time I think that’s for the best. I’d rather read all seven and be upset that there’s no more than read an eighth book and hate it.
Like I said, she’s a genius. And I’m willing to go toe-to-toe with anyone who disagrees.
I’m sure I can find a couple of people who might back me up.
Thursday, August 9, 2007
The Long and Intersting Blog of Dave
Have you ever picked up a book, read it, put it down and gone: What the hell did I just read? And, more importantly, did I like it?
Welcome to my recent book-choice, The Brief and Frightening Reign of Phil. With almost no background and/or context, George Saunders (a man who knows how to throw down a title like it’s nobody’s business) throws the reader into a world in which two countries battle each other for sovereignty of Inner Horner. Here’s where it gets weird.
You see, Inner Horner is tiny – it has a population of six, and when the land settles due to geological reasons, they all of a sudden find parts of their bodies on Outer Horner land.
So Phil declares they are being invaded, and takes matters into his own hands.
Part of the problem with him taking things into his own hands is that it’s not quite clear if Phil has hands. You see, all the inhabitants of Inner and Outer Horner are weird amalgamations of machine and organic beings. For instance, Phil’s brain is some sort of rack and not too securely. When it occasionally falls out, it causes Phil to go from a logical being to a pedantic megalomaniac. He rapidly gains control of Outer Horner and is well on his way to destroying Inner Horner when things just as quickly turn on him.
The novel is short, being only 130 pages long with illustrations. But it is also a complete novel: the characters are developed, the setting is defined, the conflict is introduced, and the resolution isn’t forced. Although probably considered a novella, it is not a short story – there is a complete progression here that feels more extensive than a simple short story. For instance, there’s more than just scenes, there are distinct acts. They’re just very, very short.
And the thing is, for all its “weirdness,” it’s also completely hysterical. The President alone is worth reading, being the perfect combination of 1850s political cartoonishness, gasbag, and senility. All the characters are so ridiculously over the top, but considering they are half-robots, half-men who live in a world that seems to have a population of 20, that’s not exactly a huge surprise.
As a fun, quick read, I definitely say check it out. The ending is a bit of a disappointment (a little too easy, in my opinion), but overall, I think it’s solid. Maybe not a classic, but certainly a book you’ll be glad to read.
About 10 years ago, one of the best rappers released an excellent album, Internal Affairs. Pharoahe Monch has probably some of the best flow of any rapper, and a word-play that complements that flow to create innovative rhymes that aren’t simply guns, drugs, and ho’s. Unfortunately, his best song on that album, “Simon Says,” just so happened to sample the theme from Godzilla. And, in the best hip-hop tradition, apparently he didn’t get the permission, and so he kind of got sued . . . a lot. Enough, so, that all the success his album had was pretty much washed away.
It also made it so that he had trouble getting a record label willing to sign him, and so one of the great rap artists sat on the bench for a long time. Yes, he did some collaborations – such as “Oh No” with Mos Def and Nate Dogg, “Ya’ll Know the Name” with The Executioners, and “My Life” with Styles P.
But now he’s finally been able to get back in the drivers seat, and if album titles are any indication of what the artist is feeling, than Desire is probably pretty apt.
While it doesn’t have the break-out single that “Simon Says” was, it is an overall solid album. With excellent production and his ability to craft rhymes, he is assuredly back. Maybe he won’t ever be the commercial, Hot 97 success that Jay-Z or TI is, but for those who appreciate artistry, pick up Desire.
On a much different musical note (I’d say about an F-Sharp . . . ba dum dum – that’s like a four-hit music-pun combo), I just want to mention I also recently got Sara Bareilles’ self-titled album. She’s kind of hard to classify, musically, with a kind of Fiona Apple/Sara McLachlan feel, but I think it’s good that she doesn’t fit into a particular mold. I won’t say the whole album is fantastic – the songs are good, but they’re not all incredibly innovative. They are folk-rocksy and indy-rocksy (I’m digging this “rocksy” word), but not exactly exciting.
Except for a few stand-outs. Foremost is the first song on the album, “Love Song.” With such a creative title, you might be ready to dismiss it, but the music is fantastic, and the lyrics show the beautiful, beautiful irony in naming it “Love Song.” It’s quickly making its way into the I-listen-to-this-song-too-much-I’m-going-to-hate-it territory.
On a map, it’s right next to Wyoming.
In addition to “Love Song,” “Bottle It Up” and “Love on the Rocks” (might be a theme here . . .) have definite single potential. But it’s clear that “Love Song” is not just Bareilles’ best song, but I’m going to say one of the best songs this year.
Go ahead – disagree with that in an objective manner.
Welcome to my recent book-choice, The Brief and Frightening Reign of Phil. With almost no background and/or context, George Saunders (a man who knows how to throw down a title like it’s nobody’s business) throws the reader into a world in which two countries battle each other for sovereignty of Inner Horner. Here’s where it gets weird.
You see, Inner Horner is tiny – it has a population of six, and when the land settles due to geological reasons, they all of a sudden find parts of their bodies on Outer Horner land.
So Phil declares they are being invaded, and takes matters into his own hands.
Part of the problem with him taking things into his own hands is that it’s not quite clear if Phil has hands. You see, all the inhabitants of Inner and Outer Horner are weird amalgamations of machine and organic beings. For instance, Phil’s brain is some sort of rack and not too securely. When it occasionally falls out, it causes Phil to go from a logical being to a pedantic megalomaniac. He rapidly gains control of Outer Horner and is well on his way to destroying Inner Horner when things just as quickly turn on him.
The novel is short, being only 130 pages long with illustrations. But it is also a complete novel: the characters are developed, the setting is defined, the conflict is introduced, and the resolution isn’t forced. Although probably considered a novella, it is not a short story – there is a complete progression here that feels more extensive than a simple short story. For instance, there’s more than just scenes, there are distinct acts. They’re just very, very short.
And the thing is, for all its “weirdness,” it’s also completely hysterical. The President alone is worth reading, being the perfect combination of 1850s political cartoonishness, gasbag, and senility. All the characters are so ridiculously over the top, but considering they are half-robots, half-men who live in a world that seems to have a population of 20, that’s not exactly a huge surprise.
As a fun, quick read, I definitely say check it out. The ending is a bit of a disappointment (a little too easy, in my opinion), but overall, I think it’s solid. Maybe not a classic, but certainly a book you’ll be glad to read.
About 10 years ago, one of the best rappers released an excellent album, Internal Affairs. Pharoahe Monch has probably some of the best flow of any rapper, and a word-play that complements that flow to create innovative rhymes that aren’t simply guns, drugs, and ho’s. Unfortunately, his best song on that album, “Simon Says,” just so happened to sample the theme from Godzilla. And, in the best hip-hop tradition, apparently he didn’t get the permission, and so he kind of got sued . . . a lot. Enough, so, that all the success his album had was pretty much washed away.
It also made it so that he had trouble getting a record label willing to sign him, and so one of the great rap artists sat on the bench for a long time. Yes, he did some collaborations – such as “Oh No” with Mos Def and Nate Dogg, “Ya’ll Know the Name” with The Executioners, and “My Life” with Styles P.
But now he’s finally been able to get back in the drivers seat, and if album titles are any indication of what the artist is feeling, than Desire is probably pretty apt.
While it doesn’t have the break-out single that “Simon Says” was, it is an overall solid album. With excellent production and his ability to craft rhymes, he is assuredly back. Maybe he won’t ever be the commercial, Hot 97 success that Jay-Z or TI is, but for those who appreciate artistry, pick up Desire.
On a much different musical note (I’d say about an F-Sharp . . . ba dum dum – that’s like a four-hit music-pun combo), I just want to mention I also recently got Sara Bareilles’ self-titled album. She’s kind of hard to classify, musically, with a kind of Fiona Apple/Sara McLachlan feel, but I think it’s good that she doesn’t fit into a particular mold. I won’t say the whole album is fantastic – the songs are good, but they’re not all incredibly innovative. They are folk-rocksy and indy-rocksy (I’m digging this “rocksy” word), but not exactly exciting.
Except for a few stand-outs. Foremost is the first song on the album, “Love Song.” With such a creative title, you might be ready to dismiss it, but the music is fantastic, and the lyrics show the beautiful, beautiful irony in naming it “Love Song.” It’s quickly making its way into the I-listen-to-this-song-too-much-I’m-going-to-hate-it territory.
On a map, it’s right next to Wyoming.
In addition to “Love Song,” “Bottle It Up” and “Love on the Rocks” (might be a theme here . . .) have definite single potential. But it’s clear that “Love Song” is not just Bareilles’ best song, but I’m going to say one of the best songs this year.
Go ahead – disagree with that in an objective manner.
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