26
Jun
2008
And, Finally
“The world breaks everyone, and afterward, some are strong at the broken places.”
- Ernest Hemingway
Kameron Hurley
“You pack the guns. I’ll make the pancakes.”
- Sarah Conner, The Sarah Conner Chronicles
Archive for June, 2008
26
Jun
2008
26
Jun
2008
Tonight’s Song, Stuck on Repeat
Third Eye Blind – Good Man
If you ever find a way to forgive me
And if you ever find a way to put this all to rest
Because I’m hanging on your dress now like a little boy
And all that you wanted
And all that you wanted
Was a good man
Alright
Right in the middle of another big fight
Pull back another one tonight
I’ll never forget, but who protects the memories
When we bleed each other from the vein
And if you ever find a way to make this interesting
If I ever find a way to stop disintegrating
Into pieces that I was that you destroy
And all that you wanted
And all that you wanted
Was a good man
Alright
Right in the middle of another big fight
Go to bed, it’s getting light out
Why do you, why do you, why do you always stop me on places when I’m coming down
How do you do it when I’ve overwhelmed by a violet sky?
We fly in a decaying orbit, 66,000 miles an hour goes by
When we kissed and only now do I feel your mouth
Like an ache you never knew
And it was right in front of you
Oh how do you do it? Roots in the soil untangle
Releasing your sweet summer warmth, but still I recoil like mace
And all the little moments I pushed you away that I can’t erase
Every moment overflows with power, 66,000 miles an hour
And if you ever find a way to forgive me
And if you ever find a way to put this all to rest
Cos I’m hanging on your dress now like a little boy
And all that you wanted
And all that you wanted
Was a good man
Alright
And all that you wanted
And all that you wanted
Was a good man
Was a good man, good man
Was a good man, good man
Was a good man, (was a good man) good man
Was a good man, (was a good man) good man
26
Jun
2008
Summer Storm
The one nice thing about being stuck in a summer storm is that though you may be drenched, you’re still warm, so you can pretend you’re somewhere interesting and tropical while the sky roars at you.
I love summer storms.
26
Jun
2008
What to do in Denver…
I deleted all of my dating profiles last weekend. I was just finally done with the long parade of mediocre and often stressful first dates.
I invited the not-Boyfriend to the movies this weekend, but he’s seeing a very nice girl from Cincinnati these days, so he was booked out. Which is a good thing. We shouldn’t be hanging out anyway. There’s nothing stupider than spending time in a weird, unbalanced friendship.
I’m getting better about it, though. We don’t hang out anymore anyway. I think he’s just my default, “Gee, I’d like to spend time with that person!” person, and you know, there are better sorts of people who should be filling that roll. The feelings involved are a little too much like the ones in grade school when I was asking Adam Hopper to hang out. Sure, he liked me as a friend. But the liking was terribly unequal, and there’s no fun or future in that.
So I’m starting to get back to that place where I remember what being single and unattached is like. Hence the final deletion of said profiles. Want to go to Peru? Want to get a job in Canada or Paris or the Sudan? Want to spend all night watching MST3K and eating flourless peanut butter cookies? Want to spend an hour and a half at the gym and linger at the bookstore and pass some time at Chipotle? Stay up until 2am playing WoW? Sit up in bed and write on a work night?
It would be great to have a great boy buddy again to hang out with, but as yet, none has been forthcoming. Old boy buddies have girlfriends, folks I know at work have wives, and building new friendships is always really stressful for me.
So I’ll take some time off, then maybe go friend-searching as opposed to date-searching. Those searches are usually better investments anyway.
Kicking bad habits.
Yeah, I’m all over that.
In any case: seeing Wanted tomorrow!
26
Jun
2008
26
Jun
2008
25
Jun
2008
The Sugar Festival
I picked up Paul Park’s The Sugar Festival back when I went to Clarion, but never read it (he was one of our instructors that year – I read The Gospel of Corax instead, which I enjoyed). Mainly, I didn’t read it because the first few pages… few, man, at least 25 or so, were really tough to get into.
The primary POV, the one that’s supposed to slide you into the story, is that of an antinomial, one of a “race” of religious heretics who broke away from the mainstream many seasons ago. The viewpoint is utterly alien. These people have renounced love, emotions, thought, anything but selfish present, the here and now. They are a proud, strong people. So proud and strong that many would rather die than accept help from others. Accepting help from others, they believe, would make them slaves. Questioning the past, the future, all these things would make them slaves to thought, to reason. Only the present moment, the self, is real.
There’s a telling line when a city woman says to one of the antinomials, “Stop it, you’re hurting her,” and he says, “I can’t feel it.”
If he can’t feel it, how could it exist? How could it matter?
You can sort of see up front why this is a troublesome way to start a novel. It’s like Ayn Rand jacked up on crack and set on fire.
But there was something in the story this time around that peaked my interest, something I was too young and impatient to catch the first time. And that’s the complexity and depth of the world, and the way the seasons work, and how the entire story, its characters, its events, are built beautifully around that.
Because seasons here are not three or four or six months long. They aren’t even the 10-15 year span you see in Martin’s A Song of Ice and Fire. No, these seasons are a generation long. Someone born at the end of the winter may – may – live long enough to see the beginning of summer. Winter is long and brutal, and spring is the starving time, the long, hollow season when you wait for the rain, for the sugar rain, the heavy, sugary, gasoline smelling rain that falls from the sky and brings life back to the world.
The depth to this world is just astounding. The world is ruled all winter and spring long by a harsh, restrictive religion, by priests and a ruling class family of “Starbridges” who call the rain the semen of their god-prophet. The bizarre seasons have shaped the religion, the stratification, the entire society, to a lovely, intricate level that left my head spinning.
Because not many writers will do this. Not many writers will say, “OK, my world does X. How different would things REALLY be if life were like X?”
Park does that here. He explores this world in depth and detail. Every spring, the city burns. Every summer, a new religion of loving kindness and joyous fertility springs up, and the rigid, angry, penile cult of the current set of priests goes dormant. It happens every turn of the seasons, for the 16 seasons of the recorded calendar. Not that anybody alive has ever really *seen* what it’s like before. They just have the histories, the stories, the myths. Myths of their own seasons, a summer they have never seen. An autumn they will never see.
There are nods to the idea that these folks are the descendents of some space travelers – probably criminals – abandoned or exiled to this world, so long ago that nobody knows the real story, just the myths. But not cheesy myths. For me, that’s the key. It’s not like, “And they say he came down in his god-ship and took out his com-pu-ter and announced that he had claimed this land for Earth. And would call it after that world.” You don’t get it shoved in your face. You get the people’s understanding of it.
The ruling family has the name Starbridge. The Starbridges are “different.” Literally, there blood looks different?? There are people with tails, and most folks seem to have a lot of body hair, and at one point there’s this throw away line where he’s like, “The girl in the photo only had ten fingers.” These little teasing places in the narrative where you’re like “WTF???? SRSLY???”
I love that stuff.
It’s a good thing the world building was amazing, tho. Watching the roll of the seasons, and the predictable (to that society) roll of its politics to match (“He believed in the equality of women, but it was still a little early in the season for that”) is a total trip. And, again, a good thing.
A good thing because I had some of the same issues with this one as I had with A Princess of Roumania, in that is was terribly difficult to like any of the people (and that opening, I think, may have cost a lot of readers who weren’t willing to get past it). Unlike Princess, however, I saw a lot of that unlikability as justified. In this kind of inexplicably cruel, harsh, constrained, stratified world, whaat kind of people would you end up with? Who would they be? Who would survive, season after season, when every spring 80% of the people starve and the cities burn down?
Not great folks, let me tell you.
I think it was that realization that made me love these books, because Park did that thing that I always accuse so many writers (including me) of not doing. He wasn’t lazy. He took a world and ran with it. There wasn’t a lot of shorthand garbage. There wasn’t one monolithic religion. The world wasn’t static. The characters lived and breathed and grew out of their world. They weren’t transplants from the MTV music awards or some Dragonlance novel. They belonged there. They were shaped there, utterly and completely.
I loved this book. And it’s generally very difficult for me to say that about books full of people I don’t particularly like. Yet, to see a world fully realized and built and set into motion like that, man…
Talk about sense of wonder.
And yes, the third and last book is on my wishlist.
25
Jun
2008
25
Jun
2008
A Princess of Roumania
This is a page turning, readable little book…
But I won’t be buying the sequel.
Why?
Because these characters are all IDIOTS. And they talk all about how they are IDIOTS.
Unlike the brilliant The Sugar Festival, which also had unlikable characters, the world just wasn’t amazing enough to keep me going through all the idiocy.
Granted, again: I kept thinking about the book. It was great to read on the bus in the morning and read before bed. It was really marketably written.
But I didn’t like even one of the characters. Not even one. And they weren’t even interesting or smart enough to make up for the fact that I didn’t like them.
In fact, it wasn’t even that I HATED them. That would have been some emotion, at least. I felt this sort of vague annoyance every time they did something idiotic, which was often.
I can understand that it makes more sense to write about people who do dumb things, who don’t follow the prophecy, who make “wrong” or at least “unexpected” choices, who are selfish, confused, and make mistake after mistake. We all do these things. We encounter incompetence all day.
But this level of incompetence? Consistence incompetence? I mean, from more than just a couple of individuals? It’s just staggering.
Mistakes are fine. But people with absolutely no redeeming qualities who aren’t interesting enough to be evil but without the spine to be heroes are just annoying.
Screw this, I’m going to write about The Sugar Festival, which was way better.
Novels
