Movie Review: Sinister

It’s hard to get a really good feel for exactly what this movie is about from the previews.  There are videos of rather disturbing things that are freaking Ethan Hawke out.  There’s some kind-of demon who may or may not live in the images depicting it.  There’s a little girl who sees… dead children?  And there’s a seemingly possessed child unfolding itself backwards out of a cardboard box while screaming.  Just pictures, moments and little snippets of information that don’t form any kind of story line.  This is the first step in making a great horror movie.  (Because one of the worst feelings is getting to the end of a movie and realizing that all the scary moments were in the trailer.)

The second step is mystery and Sinister starts out with a lot of that.  The very first thing you see is some old Super 8 footage of a family being murdered.  It’s disturbing enough to make you wonder what exactly happened.  Enter the main character Ellison Oswalt (Hawke) who gives my alma mater a bad name by showing up in a Bennington College t-shirt and acting like a dick.  He’s just moved his family- largely against their will- to this new house in suburban Pennsylvania so that he can write his new book.  He’s investigating the film we saw in the very beginning.  Apparently there’s a missing child in addition to the murdered family.  And no sooner does he console his wife that they’re not living a few doors down from the crime scene (“like last time”) than we see him look out the window to the backyard at the exact location from the video.

What this video was is quickly explained as no sooner does he go up to the attic to put a box away but finds another one containing a projector and reels of Super 8 film like the video we saw- seemingly home movies with harmless labels like “Pool Party ‘66” and “BBQ ’79”.  Being an investigative writer, he sets right off to find out what these movies are all about.  The first one he watches is that film from the beginning of the movie with a family being murdered. 

As he continues to watch these films (which get more and more disturbing), strange things start happening around the house.  His son who suffers from night terrors has some pretty unsettling nocturnal behaviors.  There are strange and dangerous creatures showing up.  The projector keeps turning on by itself.  True to typical horror movie style he ignores these things and moves himself- and his family- further into harm’s way.

The actual plot becomes clear by about the half way mark and even though you sort-of see the ending coming it’s still deeply, deeply satisfying.  I left the theater feeling confident that although the movie scared the piss out of me I would sleep perfectly well since usually the only things that really get me are zombies and there are none in this film.  I knew it was a good movie when I woke up at 5:30am and had to turn on the light to look around the room and make sure I was alone.  I didn’t get back to sleep that morning.

In the reviews I’ve read, many people complain that the majority of the scares are “cheap” in that they’re those classic horror movie false scares where something jumps out at you but ends up being nothing.  I’m fine with those since they usually elicit short, excited screams and jumps from me.  But by about the halfway mark, the cheap screams are replaced with distrubed gasps as the terrible truth becomes clear and the movie answers all of the questions that its main character asked when he started investigating.  In the end, you’re left with the feeling that this is the kind of thing that urban legends are based on, and possibly much older legends originally reported.

I have almost nothing bad to say about this film.  It worked for me on just about every level, even without the zombies.  And my boyfriend got a great movie-going experience since I screamed and flailed at every scare.  I’ve commented before on how I’m the best person to see a horror movie with.  Suffice it to say I still am.

The only thing that’s annoying is what is annoying about all horror movies- that scary, unsettling things happen and the main character ignores them, rationalizes them, excuses them until it’s too late.  But the writers of this film even address that since they create a real enough character that you can kind-of understand what would drive him to keep himself and his family in this situation that is so clearly wrong.  There’s a couple of moments where you actually feel bad for the guy cause it seems clear that he really is at the end of his rope and truly can’t help himself. 

That being said, the ending is still delicious.  And if I ever move into a house and find a box of family home movies on Super 8 film in the attic I’m converting and moving into a monastery.

The Moment Before

As he made his way up the hill, two sets of very hungry eyes watched his ascent.  He was distracted from his audience by the small, flickering shadow moving about the bushes.  Was it a humming bird?  A squirrel?  A chipmunk?  He hastened to investigate, heaving his overloaded backpack further up his small back as he ran.

When he arrived at the front of the house he looked into the cluster of dying plants and twisted vines where he’d seen movement but found no furry, feathered or otherwise covered creature that might’ve attracted him.  He searched above and then got on his knees but found nothing in the underbrush aside from an earthworm and spider’s web.  And there’s wasn’t even a spider in it. 

He groaned disappointment as he straightened himself and brushed the dirt off his knees.  He noticed his sneakers light up as he moved.  He looked closer- there were small lights in the soles that twinkled and burst as he stepped.   That was so cool.  He was too excited to wonder why he’d started walking up the hill in the first place.

His eyes stayed glued to his feet as he climbed the steps to the front door, nearly colliding with the knocker as he did.  Then he looked up at the thing he’d nearly bumped his head on.  A twisted, evil-looking smirk on a bat-like gargoyle met his gaze and he stepped back.  Suddenly he was drowning in confusion.  Where was he?  Why had he come here? 

Then an overpowering urge to see what was on the other side of the door hit him and he felt himself involuntarily step forward.  His sneakers lit up as he did.  He knew with sudden clarity that the family who had given him those shoes was not on the other side of that door.  He turned and ran down the hill so fast that his backpack left bruises on his spine that lingered for weeks afterward.

“Damn it!  We had that one!  I thought you said the spell would work!”

“Sshhh- here’s comes another one!”  A long crooked finger pointed towards the small figure slowly coming up the hill.

She stepped up the long, sloping driveway with confidence.  This had to be the place.  She looked around at the dreary, neglected landscape, the broken shutters, the peeling paint.  “You’d think you’d at least try to hide what you are if you’re hunting children,” she thought to herself.  But she wasn’t here to judge, and right now she could feel the two watching her every step so she had to act the part.

She stopped and kneeled down as if to tie her shoe.  She could feel them react, their anxiety prickling along her skin like needles.  It was deliciously satisfying to toy with them and she lingered there, fumbling with the laces as a child would.  She straightened herself again and hoisted her backpack up the way she had when she was growing too quickly to carry her heavy kit comfortably.  She sensed them settle and their hunger rumbled through her like thunder on the horizon.

She projected the energy she’d knew they’d be looking for: youth, single-mindedness, ignorance and just a touch of fear.  She slowed her walk, drawing out the last few steps up to the door, meandering as if she didn’t know quite where she was or how she’d gotten there.

There were many moments in the life of a witch hunter she’d come to love over the years but none were more delectable than this one.  The moment just before the chaos, the fight, the kill.  The moment of wonder before the arsenal of magic was unleashed.  The moment of silence before the world exploded around her.  She breathed it in and then exhaled, smiling.

She pushed the door open and it groaned like an old man trying to get out bed, echoing through the large foyer.  “Hello?” she asked the empty space, and waited.

The Field

It was just a field. Just a spot of grass off the road.  There was nothing special or significant about it.  For all she knew it might have been a landfill not long ago.   But for just that one moment, it was all she needed.  The sunlight radiating off the golden grass, the flies floating through the pollen just above the ridge, the sound of crickets growing louder as the sun crept slowly behind the horizon.  She exhaled and closed her eyes with a silent prayer of thanks to whatever deity had blessed her with the moment.

Oral Contract

Champagne, chandeliers and coat tails, it made him smirk.  He couldn’t help it.  Greg made his way around the circuit, smiling his dazzling smile and shaking hands with the high-end society peoples.  He went through his mental encyclopedia- John just remarried for the third time, his new wife who was 40-plus years his junior was named Claire… or Clarice?  He tried the later, it took.  Her young eyes sparkled at him and he could tell by the way she was eyeing his frame that the rumors about John’s virility were true.  He shook the old man’s hand that much more vigorously.  The old man laughed.

“What are we all so jolly about?” Chet said, sliding his way over to the trio with cheeks too red for his claims of moderation.

“Your stock portfolio after next Tuesday,” Greg laughed.

“Oh come now, I think you’ll find that going public is the best thing for our little start-up,” Chet said, smiling more than the response called for.

It was bullshit, Greg knew.  He’d discovered the scheme well before it was fully hatched and secretly invested, knowing full well that when the company tanked they’d all make a bundle while the average suburban dad would lose his nest egg.  What was that phrase?  Something about dogs eating each other?

He excused himself, desperate to catch two seconds of quiet before the circus began.  He’d planned it for years, now, this merger.  All the strings he’d been pulling behind the scenes would tie together and he’d be the puppet master.  A warm feeling in his chest overtook him at the thought but he pushed it back down, determined to stay focused on the next step.

Outside the cold air was a breath of life and he filled his lungs with it, flushing out the stench of cigars and suits.  He looked out across the darkened lawn and reviewed the next step in his mind.  The handshake, that’s what it was all about.  Him and the CEO of the merging company smiling for the cameras and proclaiming a new era of fiscal responsibility.  He closed his eyes and let the image fill his thoughts, securing it into place.

Then he heard the voice he’d convinced himself was only a dream and his heart stopped.

“Well, well.  It seems like just yesterday I left you wandering in the muck and now here you are, rubbing elbows with nabobs of all shapes and sizes.  How the words do make you.”

Greg turned to look at the man even though a voice in his head was screaming at him to run the other direction.  He knew the form immediately- the sharp, angular chin, the raised temples.  If he squinted he could almost see a plateau left from cleft horns still lingering under the surface of smoothed skin.  “Get a hold of yourself, psycho” he chastised himself.  “They’re just junkie dreams.”

“Excuse me?” Greg asked, trying hard to be polite even as he struggled to breath.

“Come now, Greg- don’t pretend.  We understand each other better than that.  You didn’t really think that all your failures came from those needles.  Or that all of this-“ he waved a well-manicured hand towards the bright ballroom behind them, “came from just getting clean.”  The man smiled at him, his dark eyes stripping away the last reassurances.

Greg felt the mask he’d been wearing for the past 7 years fall away and in an instant he was the razor sharp mercenary he had been.  “What do you want?”

“Oh, Greg.  Is that any way to greet an old friend?”

“You are not my friend.”  He glared at him and did his best to be imposing.  It was stupid, of course, but reflexive.

“True enough, I suppose- though I think these meaningless pleasantries are a dying art that should preserved, for the record.  But the wise say that business partners cannot be friends and we do have business to attend to,” the man sighed.

“What business?”  He kept his responses short lest the charlatan spin his words into a netting with which to catch him.  He remembered that about the man, or whatever he was.  The power with which he could manipulate the mind and turn impulsive thoughts into incontrovertible beliefs.

“The terms of our agreement,” the man said.

Greg said nothing but tried to remember.  The memory floated up to him out of a fog.  The cardboard bed in the darkened alleyway, the shape above him as he took what he thought would be his last breath… it was too blurry, his mind had been so dark.  Then it came to him.  The offer of a new life, all the power he’d always dreamed of, the words he had uttered…

“Ah, now you remember,” the man smiled.  It was the smug, satisfied smile of a spider watching a fly struggle against tightening silk.

Greg turned and ran back into the party.  Logic dictated that this wasn’t something he could escape from but panic had taken over.  He nearly collided with a fat man that stank of old scotch and expensive cologne.

“There you are, we were just wondering where you’d gone off to.  Here we go, right this way-“ he said as he forcefully ushered him up the stairs to the balcony overlooking the floor.  Greg tried to fight him off, his mind cart wheeling as he searched the crowd behind them for the man. But the fat man pushed him upstairs with surprising strength and a second later he was waiting for the handshake he’d envisioned.

He forced himself to look behind him at the man the crowd below was applauding.  It was him.  It wasn’t, of course, it was the same man he’d sat with in that board room only a month ago.  But somehow the eyes had changed, the smile was his- the man who’d come to collect.  The man walked up to him with an unnatural confidence and took his hand in his.

“I think this will be a very fruitful partnership.”

And Now For Something Completely Different

Earlier this year I wrote a brief homage to Mr. Charles Dickens on the 200^th anniversary of his birth and indicated that some of his works were on my shelf, waiting patiently to be read.  One of those patient books, which has been sitting on my book shelf for more years that I can recall, is Nicholas Nickleby. 

There’s a couple of reasons I’m reading this now.  First, I realized recently that this is the 8^th month of the year.  Ergo there’s only 4 months left for me to finish up my very long reading list and one of those months (November) will be so dominated by writing that it will have to be occupied by a very short read so I’d better knock out the longer ones now while I have time.  Secondly, my dear friend recently asked his readers to vote on the most despicable antagonists in fiction and who else should top that list but two of Dickens’ characters.  (Granted, those characters are both from Bleak House.  But I don’t have a copy of that sitting on my shelf, I have a copy of Nickleby so he gets read first.)

It’s been a long while since I dove into Dickens’ world of poor houses, law offices and evil school masters and it’s going to be interesting to see how quickly I remember his trademark style and fall in love with these characters.  I’m looking forward to it.

You Suck: The Review

I love Christopher Moore.  I love him because he writes in a very sparsely populated genre: fantasy humor.  I love him because while his books are very smartly written they don’t leave me feeling like a total idiot for not getting the writing.  (To be fair, I’m very insecure and this is not a hard feat.)  I love him because his characters are quirky and endearing and truly loveable in a rabid fan girl sort-of way.  And I love him for giving me what I really want when I seek out other forms of vampire fiction: vampires in love (*Squee!*) that are actually written well (*gasp*).

As the all-important second book in the trilogy, You Suck accomplishes what Empire did for Star Wars: it’s better than the original and it solidifies the main characters in your heart.  Not only are the main characters more adorable but the new characters are absolutely squeal-worthy.  (Seriously, Abby Normal is my favorite goth girl, EVER!)  And it moves the plot forward overall while still being relatively self-contained, which is hard to do.

The plot, for those of you not following along, is this: Jody (who was a brand-spanking new vampire at the beginning of Bloodsucking Fiends) has just turned her live-in lover Tommy into an undead creature of the night.  While initially appalled he soon comes to dig it enough that the two could have some fun together if they weren’t due to get the hell out of Dodge before two San Francisco cops come to arrest them.  Moving is difficult if you can only walk around during the day so they set out to get a new minion and end up with Abby Normal (who is the most wonderfully written little goth girl you could ever hope to meet and steals the entire show).  Things get complicated when Tommy’s old crew return from a massive blow-out in Vegas interested in getting more money to sustain their new lifestyle, end up being lead back to the vamp who turned Jody due the guidance of their new smurf-colored gal pal, are turned into a small horde of terribly clueless undead and get Tommy and Jody into a whole lot of trouble.  Confused?  Yeah, I’m no good at writing synopses.

At any rate, what makes You Suck brilliant are the same things that made its prequel so great: the characters, the seemingly effortless writing, and the laugh out loud moments proliferating nearly every page.  As much drama, romance and vampire stuff as there is in this story Moore’s ultimate interest is humor and this serves as the glue which holds the rest of it together and keeps the reader hooked.  Are you concerned that the big bad vamp may come back and kill our hero and heroine?  Yeah, but they’re gonna make you laugh every moment until he does.  Do you get the feeling that Jody and Tommy really love each other?  Yeah, but it’s crazy, quirky vampire love not schmaltzy emo love (*cough* twilight *cough*).

An important point here: romance often involves the writing of sex scenes and this can make or break an author.  If you write graphic sex scenes then you’re that kind of author and will never be removed from that category.  If you don’t write any at all, there can be a sense that something is missing.  Moore walks the tightrope by doing what movies did back when sex was still considered indecent to show to a general audience: he writes cigarette scenes.  Like in old black and white movies where it was implied that the two people on screen had just had sex because they were lying in bed smoking cigarettes?  Moore does that by painting a scene of hastily tossed clothing, turned-over furniture and sweaty bodies in need of a shower.  There’s no actual sex but you know it happened off screen and you get the feeling it was passionate.  And most importantly, Moore keeps the humor going by having our young lovers refer to what they just did as “crazy monkey sex”.  I don’t know any other author who can do this.

Another important point here: secondary characters are just as important to love stories as the leads.  Moore’s secondary charters are fleshed out to the point of making you think they are leads.  Abby Normal, the greatest addition, has the language of a valley girl who reads too much Byron (if you have a hard time picturing that it’s because it’s never been done before, to my knowledge) and is so unimaginably great that I can’t put it into words.  The Animals are just as funny as vampires as they were as clueless stock boys.  Blue seems terribly realistic as a former cheese queen looking for a leg (literally) up and the Emperor and his two faithful soldiers become more endearing every page that they’re on.  (I was delighted to learn, BTW, that the Emperor is a homage to a real life celebrity and Moore’s writing of him follows in the lines of great writers like Mark Twain and Robert Lewis Stevenson who both revived the man as characters in their stories.)  It’s a great ensemble cast and the main characters would be nothing without them.

In the end, I have nothing but wonderful things to say about this book, the trilogy it’s progressing and the author who masterminded all of it.  And I’ll be reading the final chapter (in which my dear Abby is the main character) very soon.

Movie Review: Brave

There seems to be a deep dichotomy between viewers of Pixar’s 2009 feature Up: those who loved it and those who hated it.  Being a member of the later camp my expectations for Brave were guarded at best.  I think it is because of this that I enjoyed it as much as I did.

This isn’t to say that Brave wasn’t good in it’s own right.  As an animated movie that is marketed to children it’s very enjoyable to an older audience.  It contains a lot of references to timeless fairy tales that I think today’s youth don’t get anymore.  And the overall theme is much more mature than the mindless drivel featured in other children’s films.  My disappointment is based on the fact that Pixar has set the bar so incredibly high with past films like WALL-E (my favorite), Monsters Inc. and the like that they now struggle to reach that bar.

First, here’s what’s good about Brave: it’s definitely catered to a more mature audience.  As an adult, I appreciated the vaguely Hans Christian Anderson feel of the fairy tale.  I understood the message about the complex relationship between mothers and daughters and it hit home on a very real level since I took my mom to see it.  Like all great dramas, the primary conflict is one caused and rectified by the main character herself- there’s no real bad guy in this so the story arc is more meaningful.  And on a simpler level, it’s about damned time that Pixar featured a female protagonist.

And Pixar does treat its first female with the respect she deserves.  Yes- she’s a great archer and she is, of course, brave.  But in the end what shines in her are the same traits that females throughout history have exemplified: her oratory abilities, the care she takes in keeping the family together and her ability to bring peace to the hot-headed men who might start a war without the calming influence of their wives and daughters.  (And her sewing skills prove pretty damned valuable, too!)  She’s a great heroine, not a great girl beating guys at their own macho games.  That's a vitally important distinction that I think other films (Mulan, anybody?) have missed.

Also, as a love song to Scottish culture it does ok.  I loved the Scottish brogues, the music, the kilts, the beautiful countryside, the Highland games, the tapestries (one of which serves as a main plot point), even the infamous haggis makes an appearance.  And will-o’-the-wisps have never looked cuter, I’m just waiting for those stuffed animals to pop up in the Disney store.

But here’s where Brave fails where WALL-E and others have succeeded: it’s forgettable.  It’s not that a robot experiencing human emotions and yearning to be loved was so radical, but the way that WALL-E brought it to life sticks with you in your soul.  And it’s not that a monster with a heart of gold is brand new (though I would argue the universe in which that monster lived certainly was); but Boo and Sulley made a permanent imprint on my heart.  (BTW, how excited was I to see a preview for the prequel featuring Mike and Sulley’s antics in college?!?  I will SO be seeing that!)  These movies made an impact on me that have lasted for years (maybe forever). 

It’s the elusive Pixar magic that other companies have tried and failed to reproduce (though Illumination, the company that created Despicable Me, may be taking the helm on that) and Brave just doesn’t have it.  It was cute, it was whimsical and it had a good message for mature audiences (at least mature audiences who love their mothers but are driven crazy by them).  But it lacked the Pixar magic that made previous movies so amazing and at the end of the day that will confine it to a less stellar line-up of films.  However, to be fair let me conclude by saying this: if the worst thing you can say about a Pixar film is that it wasn't as mind-blowingly wonderful as WALL-E, that's not too bad.

Insert Catastrophe Here

“I told you this was gonna happen.”

“No you didn’t!”

“Yeah, I did I sa-“

“No, you said you had ‘a bad feeling about’ it or some other vaguely ominous sounding bullshit but you most certainly did not tell me that this was going to happen!”

“Whatever.  I warned you, is all I’m saying.”

“Yes, and you can see now how incredibly helpful that was.  I’m so freakin’ indebted to you.”

“I’m just saying-“

“I know what you’re saying and I’m telling you to shut the hell up!”

“Ok, ok, I’m sorry.  Sheesh.  Can’t even say ‘I told you so’ without getting your head bit off around here.”

“Motherfu- Just shut up.”

The Battle of WoW

“Wooooo-hoo!  Yes!  Yeah, man!!  Did you see that?!  Woooo!”

“Uh… dude?”

“That was like, EPIC!  Like myths and folklore and minstrels singing about it EPIC!  Right?”

“Dude.”

“They’re all like ‘Hey!  We’re a mob on infernals come to destroy your entire existence!” and I’m all like, ‘You… shall-not… pass!!!’ Boo-ya!!!”

“DUDE!”

“What?!?”

“Uh, want to take a look at your screen for a second?”

“Oh, shit.  When did you die?”

“Somewhere around the time that you started shouting smack-talk about balrogs- which they so weren’t.”

“Damn dude- what happened?”

“I was casting my ass off and instead of protecting me like you were supposed to you went all berserker and left me to die!”

“Well, you shouldn’t be so… killable.”

“Uh-huh, it was my fault.”

“Look- I was just-“

“Totally ignoring the battle plan and doing whatever the hell you felt like, yeah- I noticed.”

“Sorry.”

“Yeah, well.  The least you can do is bury me so I don’t end up as one of the mindless undead.”

“Bury you?  No way, man!  Hell, you’re lucky I don’t skull-fuck your sorry ass into oblivion.”

“That’s it!”

“Woah- what the hell was that?”

“That- was me- haunting you- for being- such- a giant- DICK!”

“Wow!  You’re a ghost!”

“Yup!” 

“Dude, my controller’s vibrating out of my hands!”

“Yep, Suck it!”

“How the hell are you doing this?”

“New expansion pack.”

“Seriously?  So there’s like a whole other bunch of quests and stuff you do as a ghost?”

“Yep.”

“That’s so cool.  I wanna die!”

“You will, I’ve been sucking your health this whole time.”

“Seriously?”

“Yep.”

“Dude, I’m totally dead!  Fuck you!”

“Haw-haw!”

Big, Fun and Scary 2012 Update

Last night I did two activities that are both very, very good for me and both of which I haven’t done for a long, long time.  I’m not entirely sure what prompted me to suddenly pack my after-work schedule full of self-care activities but I do know that I felt so drastically better afterwards that it made me think about why it had been so long since I’d done these things.  The most immediate insight was simply that I haven’t been taking very good care of myself lately.

This led me to review my challenge for this year to see how it ties in.  For those of you who don’t remember, it was to accept.  The primary idea being that acceptance would rid me of the judgment which shrouds me in a thick cloak of negativity.

After the night I just had and some other thoughts I’ve been bouncing around lately, I feel that I need to amend that.  Because lately, I have been accepting too much.  I’ve accepted that there’s nothing wrong with a day off from exercising or reading or writing or any of the other activities that are so important to my self care regiment.  I’ve accepted myself for sitting on the couch in front of the tv and just vegging because I had a tough day or was really tired or totally stressed out.  In short, I’ve accepted a whole bunch of things that are not good for me.

The problem with acceptance in the context I’ve been employing it is that it allowed me to shirk my responsibilities.  And that’s what karate and reading and writing and exercise are- responsibilities.  Basic hygiene.  Not for my mouth or my B.O. but for my mental health.  These activities keep me sane, plain and simple.  And when I don’t do them things tend to go very poorly for me.

Now, re-reading that entry on acceptance it’s clear to me that what I’ve been doing is not at all what I intended.  I talked about all of these great activities that I wanted to do with the hope that doing them without judgment would lead me to excel at them.  I didn’t talk about accepting a lack of action on my part and just excusing what is ultimately me being lazy about my own self care.

So I need to clarify the goal for myself.  Acceptance is nothing without accountability.  Because regardless of how tired or pissed off or headachey or just plain-old BLAH I’m feeling I still have to do what I have to do to take care of myself.  I have to hold myself accountable for my own, personal responsibilities.

Accountability is what has kept me at karate year after year when I would far sooner just go home and “relax”.  Accountability is what got 211 blog posts out of me last year.  Accountability is what has gotten me to spew forth word counts greater than I could possibly imagine every November.  Accountability is what has kept me plugging away at my reading challenge for this year.  And in a broader context, accountability is what makes me get my sorry ass out of bed every morning and go to work- it keeps me employed.

So this is me making a new goal for myself in the year to come: To push myself with all my energy and intentions and accept the result of that.  Because things will still go as they go, crap will still happen, there will still be stress and worry and emotionally taxing moments and I have to accept that.  But the basic day to day necessities that keep me mentally and emotionally healthy are prime responsibilities- and if I don’t have them then I don’t have a chance in hell of accepting the rest of it.

Next Up...

Last year one of my top reads was Bloodsucking Fiends by Christopher Moore.  I am way overdue to read the sequel.  I am currently working on rectifying this.  Stay tuned.

Book Review: Heat Wave

Heat Wave was not a serious read so I'm not going to give it a terribly serious review.  I will simply say that, much like it's originating series, it was a lot of fun.

A few simple things that I absolutely loved: there is a doppelganger for every series regular and they all have the same quirks, use the same banter, and do the same moves so it feels right at home.  And the Castle doppelganger?  His name is Rook.  How great is that?  It's so obvious but it made me so happy, I can't even tell you.

It doesn't play out exactly like an episode of Castle; there are a few key differences.  Number one: Castle goes a lot quicker so the cases aren't as complicated.  Because this story had an entire book with which to play out the action there was a lot more going on: more suspects, more murders, more cases that end up being involved and more false endings.  The general line-up was the same in that the first suspect you meet is never the person who did it and the climax involves a life-threatening situation that is happily resolved; but there was a lot more detail to this case then you generally find in a Castle ep.  (Though I could easily see it as a two-parter.)

My main beef is that I imagine Castle to be a better writer than the writer of this book seems to be.  Or at least a more crime-focused writer.  This story had the tell-tale signs of a crime novel but it lost me in the romance department.  First off, it took Castle four full seasons just to get a steamy kiss in with his ingenue.  And secondly, the sex scene that the book jumps right into is straight out of a harlequin romance novel complete with firey metaphors and overly dramatic language.  Bleh.  There's also a lot more fluttering hearts and body-tightening glances than I can stomach and I wonder if maybe the series gets away with that better because they're showing rather than telling.  Either way, the series is far batter in that capacity than the book.

But, thankfully there is only the one nausea-inducing sex scene and the bulk of the story is the comical banter and crime drama from Castle that I love so I can forgive the writer and still enjoy the story.  And while I wouldn't recommended this book to everyone I would definitely recommend it to Castle fans (but I would recommend you skip the sex scene).

Strong

She reviewed the checklist in her head.  Laces tied?  Yes.  She inspected the loops- perfectly even.  The black shoes shined with the polish she’d rubbed onto them.  Moving up, her eyes followed the straight lines of his pants.  She’d gotten up 2 hours early to iron and starch them, having learned the hard way that an hour was not enough time to ensure perfection.  Reflexively she reached out and put a hand on Frederick’s shoulder to stop him from fidgeting.  He stilled under her touch.

She pulled on his vest, smoothing the lapel and pulling the sleeves of his jacket straight.  Then up to his tie which she tightened.  His hand went up to pull it open again and she gently pushed it back down. 

“I know, Frederick.  But I need you to play statue now, ok?  Just until we get outside.” 

She picked up his hand and inspected his fingernails.  The cuticles were cut back, the nails perfectly clean from the scrubbing she’d given them.  She gave it a light squeeze before letting it drop back at his side.  Then she straightened herself so she could look over his head.  The part she combed in was a line as straight as the starched pants and his hair gleamed with the oil she’d combed into it.

She smiled weakly, then turned to the mirror and performed the same operation on herself, slightly sped up.  Her uniform showed the same firm lines with razor straight folds in the pleats of her skirt and stockings cutting across her legs just below the knee.  They glowed white, the bleach so strong it had been causing rashes on her unseen legs.  She gave her vest a pull and her breath caught in her throat- one of the buttons was hanging on by a thread.

She held her breath and pushed the button back through the hole, just enough to hold it in place.  If she could keep perfectly still she’d be able to mend it on the ride to school.  Giving her little brother a glance she turned to face the door.  Two swift knocks and waiting.

“Come in,” the deep voice loomed from behind the giant oak door.  She pushed it and lead Frederick inside.

They marched in tandem and she kept her footsteps in synch with his so that their heels beat a steady rhythm on the polished floor.  She had to march in place twice to end in time with Frederick’s short legs.  She held her chest out and head down, looking briefly out of her peripheral vision to make sure he was doing the same.  He was.

She held her body rigid and counted her heartbeats; mentally willing them to slow down.  She breathed deeply and then froze- she could see the loose button at the bottom of her vest threatening to fall out if she expanded her abdomen too much.  So she slowed her breathing and kept it shallow and steady.  She said a silent prayer in her mind: “Just hold on.”

She heard her grandfather stand from behind the giant desk and snapped her eyes away from the vest lest her focus give her away.  His footsteps echoed in the foreboding room as he slowly and deliberately made his way around the desk to them.  She saw the tall shape of him move up in front of Frederick and held her breath the way that she always did when he was being scrutinized. 

“Good, Frederick, my good strong boy,” he said, patting him on the shoulder.  “You will excel in all your studies, ya?” 

“Yes, sir,” she heard her brother answer.

“And you will show all the other boys the strength of the Brandt family?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Good lad.”

A single step to the side and the broad chest that entered her vision was the firm expanse of dark wool she was familiar with.  He said nothing as he stood in front of her inspecting every facet of her appearance.  The silence strengthened the sound of her heart in her ears as she held her breath, waiting for him to give his approval and release them.  Then her heart stopped as she saw his hand move towards her vest.

He pulled on the bottom with one, firm tug and the button popped off and sailed through the air.  The seconds seemed to slow to a crawl as she watched it arch and then fall.  Gravity mocked her by drawing out the agonizing descent and she felt almost relieved when it finally hit the floor.  The sound it made as it bounced echoed in her ears.

“Please,” she prayed, but said nothing.

“Frederick, go wait outside while I talk to your sister.”

She saw him hesitate and moved her head just enough to look at him, darting her eyes towards the door.  For just a second his eyes began to water but he swallowed, turned on his heel and marched out.  She allowed herself to exhale as she heard the door close behind him.

She prepared her apology as a formality, reasoning why her negligence was unforgivable.  She reviewed her weakness, her failure to plan appropriately, her stupidity- all the reasons why she deserved the lesson he was about to teach her.  But the usual question never came.

Thus why the first blow was a surprise.  His fist collided with her chest and knocked the breath out of her in one uncontrolled rush of wind.  The floor rose up to meet her and she embraced it like a long lost friend, spreading herself across it like a cloak.

She didn’t move.  Even if she could she knew that covering herself would only increase his severity.  A second hit connected with her lower back, an open handed smack.  It seemed almost as if he meant to spank her but her body was too low to the ground. The third was higher up, directly across her spine.  He rained pain down on her with his characteristic control- steady beats on a taut skin.  Anger was a sign of weakness, he had beat that lesson into her many times before.  So she clamped her eyes shut against the frenzied panic of her emotions and endured, the way she always had.  It took her a long time to realize that he had stopped.

“Stand, now,” was all he said.

She complied immediately and ignored the screaming protests of her body as she forced herself to stand, picking up the traitorous button as she rose.  She regained the rod-straight posture she had held before.

Her eyes were dry.  Her jaw held firm.  Her face was the calm resignation of a dead man’s.  He would call her weak, he would prove she was.  But in the end she was the one thing he was unknowingly training her to be.  Strong.

My Read for June

I discovered Nathan Fillion when my dear friends introduced me to Firefly- a show so brilliant that I was destined to worship its existence long before I saw the first episode.  The combination of the sheer genius of Joss Whedon combined with the delectable joy that Nathan Fillion brings to all his roles was heaven.  While my love affair with Joss Whedon is no less strong without the added delight of Mr. Fillion; I loved him too much not to follow his Whedon-less exploits.  Thus came Castle.

It is the perfect mix of sitcom humor, crime drama, and that magical tension between two lead characters who just won’t get together no matter how much you want them to (I.E. The X-Files factor).  And Nathan Fillion is no less adorable, wonderful and squeal-worthy as Richard Castle than he was as Malcolm Reynolds (or Captain Hammer, for that matter).

However, to give credit where credit is way overdue I will say that Castle wouldn’t be Castle without the truly fantastic writers crafting every episode.  Their ability to walk the tight rope of drama vs. comedy is staggering and the characters that they’ve created in this show are just amazing.

One of those writers decided that having the show wasn’t enough and went ahead and started writing the series of books that Richard Castle wrote.  For those of you who aren’t fans of the show, I will briefly explain the plot: Richard Castle is a mystery writer who writes best-selling crime novels.  In order to do research for his new books he gets himself assigned to follow a tough female detective in the NYPD’s 12 precinct.  (He’s friends with the mayor.)  He then creates a character based on this detective whom he calls Nikki Heat and starts a new series of novels about her and her exploits as a homicide detective.  In the show, the first book in the series is called Heat Wave and it does well enough that he gets permission to continue following this detective until he gets tired of writing the series.

Having the book featured in the episodes is one thing.  Having a physical copy of it with the author’s name (Richard Castle) plastered across the front cover is quite another.  The fan girl in me gets giddy just looking at the thing.  And if the writing in the book is anything like the writing in the series I have a feeling this is going to be a very fun read for me.

Book Review: Cruel Shoes

I didn’t take philosophy in college.  The little exposure I’ve had to philosophical ideas has made my brain hurt.  So I don’t know nearly enough about it to think that knowing anything about philosophy would have made reading Steve Martin’s early work funny to me.  I also don’t know that not knowing anything about it is what made it not funny.  But based on what I’ve been reading in my research on this manuscript I’m guessing that may be the case.

I picked up this book thinking that it fell into the humor genre.  Not necessarily low-brow comedy, but simple enough that laugh out loud moments would be plentiful and I could knock out a few micro-stories without much effort.  Having finished this book I would now categorize it as surreal humor.  There were so many non-sequiturs, absurd situations and plain old nonsense that most stories left me in a state of confusion.  The end result is that instead of the “hah!” I was expecting I was most often left with a “huh?” instead.

Being so thoroughly confused by all this, I looked into this book in particular and Steve Martin’s early work in general.  I came across a very telling quote that Wikipedia copied from a 1982 Rolling Stones interview with Steve.  When discussing his history Steve brought up the fact that he studied philosophy in college and that it changed the way he thought about everything.  He said “In philosophy, I started studying logic, and they were talking about cause and effect, and you start to realize, 'Hey, there is no cause and effect! There is no logic! There is no anything!' Then it gets real easy to write this stuff, because all you have to do is twist everything hard—you twist the punch line, you twist the non sequitur so hard away from the things that set it up".  That quote explains this book better than I ever could.

I’ve seen clips of Steve Martin’s stand up and laughed uproariously.  I read countless articles that list him as one of the greatest stand-up comics of all time.  I’ve been a fan of his movies for my entire life and loved the Jerk so much it makes me want to cry.  And there are elements in all of those that are very similar to the style of this book- the absurd, the out of nowhere twists, the uncomfortable laughing moments.  But for some reason that I don’t understand it just didn’t translate in this book.

Perhaps years from now when I’ve learned more through further reading and other endeavors I shall take to try to keep myself from the black hole of stupidity I will re-read this book and find the humor.  But as of now I think I’m too stupid to get it.