Endings and revisions

I was rather hesitant in approaching Ender in Exile. I've read the Ender books one after the other, gradually realizing that while Orson Scott Card has written some of my favorite books (Ender's Game, Ender's Shadow, Speaker for the Dead), he has also written some relative duds (Children of the Mind - a lame conclusion to what could have been a wonderful quartet). I've long known that the more he adds to his stories, the less good they seem to get (the Shadow quartet solidified this idea).

Draws from the entire Ender world

But here was something a little different. Not the book, but the idea: rewriting your own work.

Ender in Exile, as the somewhat stupid cover blurb indicates, takes place in the "lost" years between Ender's victory over the buggers and Speaker for the Dead. Except it also takes place during Ender's Game, and immediately after Shadow of the Giant. Which is a little weird, but surprisingly enough... it works. Almost. You see, if it works (and I'll touch more on this issue in a moment) it's because the reader is, for lack of a better word, forgetful and inattentive to details. And because of Card's afterword.

Card writes in his afterword about the inconsistencies between Ender in Exile and Ender's Game. He writes that the meat of the overlapping chapters is, in essence, correct but that the timeline is not. He tells his readers, "I was careless". He asks for their help in rectifying to problem. All so that he may write this story - what he calls a story about the soldier after the war. He sought out the plot holes, the inconsistencies and referenced them. The afterword is an homage, in a sense, to the original Ender's Game, where Card attempts to "fix" his mistakes, meanwhile tying Exile into the later additions to the Ender universe.

So again the question: does it work? Some readers will say no. Many fans have written that Card simply tried to squeeze more juice out of his bestselling franchise (though, granted, they've said that about all the sequels - good and bad). Those fans particularly devoted to detail, meanwhile, further stressed that Card's rewriting of many scenes in Ender's Game to suit his later books cannot simply be cast off as "careless mistakes". One Amazon reviewer writes: "Ender's game is a classic, you created the universe, but then you unleashed it on your readers...it is ours now too. You don't change the details when it messes with your ability to sell more books. You have to work within the confines in this previously created world."

There's no doubt in my mind that Card attempted to rewrite some of his own history. Ender's Game itself is a rehashing of the original novella (novelette, whatever)... does another change to details in the story really make a difference? To the inattentive reader like myself, no. That Card chose to revisit his previous words actually gave me a little nostalgic thrill. It didn't matter to me that details and small touches were "inaccurate", particularly after Card recognizes this in his afterword. He is not unaware of the changes. If we allow revised editions, recognizing that works can be edited even after publishing, where's the harm? This is precisely what Ender in Exile is - a revision on certain chapters.

Ender in Exile does not entirely rewrite Ender's Game. It does not hack apart the core of the story, it does not alter any major events. Deeply devoted fans may balk at the notion of revising even the slightest comma in their beloved work (rather like what I've always felt with the corrections made to Harry Potter - a topic I could discuss at length and probably will someday...), but it's not as though Card has truly committed authorly sin. He has revised. That will take some getting used to.

My new favorite Oscar winner

Acceptance speech

I'd like to offer my enthusiastic, hearty congratulations to Shaun Tan of The Arrival fame and Andrew Ruhemann for winning the Oscar for best animated short film. It's not every day I get to see an author I really really admire accepting a prestigious award for something that is not at all literary (or even something in the "best screenplay" realm).

Back when I first read The Arrival, I found myself repeatedly comparing it to a silent film. It would appear that Mr Tan is just as adept at animating actual films as he is at drawing wonderful, wordless books. I very much look forward to seeing "The Lost Thing".

Once more, congratulations!

Do you like your eReader?

In the past several months, it seems like everyone's gotten an eReader. If in the days of the book blogger survey only around 30% of bloggers used any kind of eReader, I'm sure the result today would be very different. Everybody chooses their own eReader based on their own personal reasoning but here's the thing: almost nobody seems to actively hate the eReader they already have. In fact, whether or not they wanted one, most people seem to like them.

I spoke to a colleague a few days ago about eReaders, mentioning that I had one. She responded by saying (with a slight shudder) that she could never have an eReader. "I like the feel and the smell of a book way too much," she confided in me. She seemed surprised that I, being such an avid and devoted reader, owned one myself. I was reminded of Trish the Book Lady, who recently wrote about her decision to get an eReader. She wrote how having an eReader changed the way she read, but not necessarily in a negative way.

It's true. One of my aunts declared several months ago that she didn't want an eReader. But a stubborn daughter bought one for her mother anyways and today ask my aunt and she'll tell you how much she loves her Kindle. "It's so convenient," she tells me. The lightweight, wireless device makes for comfortable reading. For me, Artemis represents a completley different kind of reading. Not because of internet access (which I don't have), not because I necessarily find it to be more attractive and stylish than a book, but because of the wealth of free books (more on this later this week). Furthermore, Artemis gives me the option of reading multiple books at once. These days, I read one print book, one classic eBook and one more modern eBook. That, at the end of the day, changes the way I read.

So why is it that readers love these devices? Why is it that we all hesitate jumping on the bandwagon at first, but over the course of two or so years, we've gradually accepted eReading into our daily cultures? And the fact is: have we really forsaken "real" print books, to be replaced by digital copies?

Like with all technology, eReaders aren't to everyone's taste. And perhaps I'm wrong. Perhaps many have found their reading unchanged by their Kindle, or Nook or iPad. For me, at least, the change has been clear. And, for the most part, positive. What about you?

One sided, spoiler-free and incomplete issues with the Millennium trilogy

I spoke in defense of Stieg Larsson's Millennium trilogy last month, after reading the Reading Ape's great post on the matter of the books' popularity and the criticism they often face. This time, I'm going to don the other hat and just criticize.

I'm midway through The Girl who Kicked the Hornet's Nest (at the request of a friend who wants to borrow the book ASAP) and I have to say that it's not that impressive. Granted, I never fell head-over-heels for the series. I liked the "wrong" things about it, disliked things that everyone else seemed to unequivocally love and though I was able to speed through the book, I never really felt that driving urge to read the sequels. It took me months to get to Hornet's Nest and even now I don't feel a driving need to finish. See, my issues with the series (still obviously incomplete) break down as follows:

• Once you finish The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo, Larsson's actual thrills become kind of... cheap. Not that they're bad quality, it's just that Larsson's method for creating a thrilling setting is by having his characters withhold information. Which, with all due respect, is a slightly bad literary method.

• Haters of the series like to dismiss Mikael as Larsson's attempt at writing an ideal male stand-in for himself. The problem with the Millennium books is that every character is kind of like this. All characters are these clear-cut, idealistic types - either true and noble souls at their core (no matter their nastiness... that is, after all, part of their charm, so it would seem according to Larsson), or evil, corrupt and cruel deep down. You'd be hard-pressed to find middle ground in Larsson's series. Though the good people do bad things repeatedly, they are never scolded for it. The good guys' frequent moral crimes go unnoticed by the author.

•  To continue this point, all the characters are also a little too perfect. Or, at least, the narrating characters - the noble souls. Each one is either brilliant, beautiful, powerful or talented. Or all of the above. And people repeatedly notice and mention these traits. Larsson tries so often to remind his readers of the greatness of his characters that it gets... tiring.

•  What am I reading for? This ties into the first issue, regarding the thrills. The question of where's the story going is entirely legit and it's one that seems forsaken in Larsson's second two books. Dragon Tattoo has a plot. The story goes someplace. With Fire, the story sort of scattered and Hornet's Nest is just all over the place. I mean, obviously it's going to end up somewhere, but I've read half the book and I still have no idea what it's about. Seriously. That's not a good sign.

But it's important for me to stress the fact that I don't hate this series. I'm not a die-hard completist - I wouldn't really keep reading if it was 100% trash. While I wouldn't say that I'm exactly a Stieg Larsson fan, there are still many reasons why kept on reading. The enjoyable guilty-pleasure style is perhaps the main reason, but here I must refer you back to the beginning.

A few words about Borders

Standing at the top of the stairs

Despite the fact that my own Borders will not, in fact, be shutting down (list found via A Reader's Respite), I face the news of 200 Borders stores closed down with a heavy heart. I have a long, personal history with Borders that begins rather early in my reading childhood. My local Borders was divided pretty well for my childish mentality. The bottom floor was boring (though I later grew to appreciate history, science and music). The top floor, meanwhile, was awesome. In one corner, children's. In the other, sci-fi and fantasy. Between the two, grown-up literature. On the other side of the floor (where across and under the staircase I could stare for hours at the buyers below), the teen section glimmered, right next to comics.

It was always easy to drift over to whatever shelf I wanted that week. As I grew older, I switched sides more and more, first relocating clearly to the teen section and as I grew even older, drifting back over to the "grown-up" sections, browsing books with the best of them. The booksellers were tolerant and kind, always helpful when I came with questions and always understanding that a kid sprawled on the floor reading probably shouldn't be bothered.

It was more than that, though. These things could apply to any bookstore, and do in fact to a few others I've frequented. But there was something nonetheless unique. It was, without a doubt, our local hang-out as early teens. Borders was were my friends and I would go to hang out.

I think about other bookstores I've been to. My semi-local B&N always felt cold and rushed and seemed like it wanted people to leave as soon as they'd arrive. The local indie was awkwardly organized, crowded and a bit far. The second-hand bookstore was clumsy, tiny and cramped (though perfect for other kinds of book-shopping). Borders, on the other hand, was airy and welcoming, the glass doors showing me a lively world of readers. It was filled with books (and good books too), unlike B&N offering me obscure titles scattered among the popular. I'd see indie publishers. I'd find unexpected books. And I appreciated every minute of it.

Even though my "own" Borders doesn't seem to be shutting down yet, I find myself thinking that if it ultimately does close down, the world will be losing more than just a competitor to B&N and Amazon. It was also be losing a store that, perhaps at a great cost to the smaller stores around it, was forever encouraging young readers to blossom and expand, even if only in one small region.

I, at least, will miss that.

Not all hype is the same

Browsing book blogs, reading reviews and especially writing them means that I have a little bit more of a notion of what new (or not so new) books are being hyped at any given time. There are always a few "books of the moment", especially at that annoying end of the year period when everyone seems to hype up the same books. But I was reading a random comment today about the oft-recommended Room, and something occurred to me: hype changes from book to book.

Readers (whether or not they would have read the book) recall the recent Franzen Freedom uproar (and the still ongoing backlash). Here was a book so clearly hyped from day one that by the time it got to the hands of the public, so many had already formed opinions about it. This was both a good thing and a bad thing. Lots of times, the opinions of those around us influence how we view the book, particularly if we're apathetic. Strong emotions can easily influence apathy, and thus I have found myself shifting opinions more than once after reading a particularly sharply-worded opinion or review.

It's a bad thing, though, when backlash comes into play. Again, apathy is the worst emotion because it is the most easily manipulated. If faced with extreme praise and all you feel is apathy (or mediocre emotions - pleasant acceptance, etc.), what can easily happen is your opinion - while staying the same on an absolute level - takes on a relative extremism. In order to counterbalance the gushing, the reader might focus primarily on the negative aspects in a subconscious effort to create a so-called balanced picture of the book. And so backlash is born.

Four examples of hype - and there are still many others

But not all hype is "bloated hype", as I like to think of the whole Freedom story. Freedom came prepackaged with vast amounts of praise, but the praise also had a slightly false taste to it. It was, in a sense, pretentious praise, taking up a book that could very well have become a bestseller and a hit amongst readers with no additional effort, and inflating it until many people read it simply to prove the hype wrong. Similarly, you have a book like The Passage, which was more "publicity hype" - the book was hyped in that it was massively advertised and just about every internet reader/reviewer could have gotten a free copy in the first couple of weeks without too much strain.

On the other end of the hype spectrum (or on another end - like I said, there are many kinds of hype...) you have Room. Here's a novel that's been hyped by a collection of moderate praise. Not moderate in that the praise is reserved - hardly - but rather that it came on rather quietly. The book received attention after being shortlisted for the Booker and continued to gradually accumulate praise (and some dismissal, for the most part as a result of the child narration). Reading a review of Room doesn't feel like someone is trying to make a point - either in favor of the hype or against it - but rather a personal view on the book.

Somewhere else on this spectrum, you also find books like Harry Potter. Take Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows. Obviously a book that was hyped, a significant chunk of the hype was fan anticipation. Sure, there was (a long time ago) hype regarding the series as a whole but here exists a very different kind of hype. Waiting for the next book in a beloved series and hyping up its inevitable (or not so inevitable, fans of A Song of Ice and Fire...) new release is predictable, expected fan anticipation hype.

With the exception of Harry Potter, I haven't read these books but somehow I've managed to form opinions about them. Freedom honestly seems like the kind of book I'd just want to punch (or maybe that's just Franzen himself...?), The Passage seems a little too movie-esque for my taste (though I'll probably read it eventually) and Room seems sincerely good. It sure seems like the type of hype has influenced how I view these books...

"Nobody who would have bought your book is not buying it because they can find it for free."

Neil Gaiman is not my favorite author. He's good, he's someone I like to read and though I know of many readers who like him a great deal, I don't follow him consistently. Still, when he goes out and says some wonderfully apt, eloquent words about books, free books and the internet, I really have nothing but respect for the guy (via A Momentary Taste of Being - thanks!).

Gaiman's message, other than being in tune with a lot of what I've claimed over the past few years, is ultimately that offering free material on the internet does not hurt publishing and book sales (as we're led to believe - "piracy is evil!"), but does so much for getting the author's name out there and getting his/her writing into the readers' hands.

"I started asking audiences to just raise their hands for one question. I say: okay, do you have a favorite author? And they say: yes. And I say: good. What I want is for everybody who discovered their favorite author by being lent a book, put up your hand. And then anybody who discovered your favorite author by walking into a bookstore and buying a book, raise your hand. And it's probably about 5-10%, if that. [...] They were lent [the book], the were given it, they did not pay for it. And that's how they found their favorite author."

It's more than just a calm realization of the nature of favorite authors (though it's certainly a lovely image). Gaiman nails the fact that profit - real literary profit, the clean and honest kind that we all would like to believe in - comes from returning readers. Readers want to support authors they like. When I read a book from the library (I obviously have not paid for it) and really like it, I very well may buy it. Why? 1. To have the book in my collection, and 2. To support the author. As a reader, the very best thing I can do to show an author that I like him/her is to buy his/her books. A new book comes out? I'll get it. I'll write reviews recommending their works. I'll lend the books out to my friends so that they might buy them too.

How can I be certain that this will work through the internet? Downloading a book isn't like borrowing a book. It's permanent, right? But I've done it. I've stumbled across promotions that offered free eBooks, read them, liked them and gone out to find more by the author. Gaiman is dead-on in this video. Offering your writing freely gets you readers and fans, increases your exposure and boosts sales. I hope more authors and publishers take note.

For an additional video Neil Gaiman made for the Open Rights Group, here's the link to his own journal post.

3. The Giver - Choices

"But I’ve never been a writer of fairy tales. And if I’ve learned anything through that river of memories, it is that we can’t live in a walled world, in an “only us, only now” world where we are all the same and feel safe. We would have to sacrifice too much. The richness of color and diversity would disappear feelings for other humans would no longer be necessary. Choices would be obsolete."

-From Lois Lowry's Newbery Acceptance Speech

The Giver is the kind of book that I actually read as a kid, as a slightly older kid and as an adult, where the level of admiration for the book did not once diminish. The thing is, The Giver is clearly a kid book. Simplistically written and plotted, it's meant for a child reader. This does not mean, however, that adult readers cannot appreciate and enjoy it.

The Giver is not the first in its genre. In a sense, the dystopia it presents is fairly tame (when compared to some of the more recent, overwrought examples...), but starkly important when one realizes that the matter of choice, of individualism and free thought are all ideas that we - and the generations after us - will need to maintain. It's a story about growing up, about a world that at first seems almost identical to our own and gradually shifts as the reader realizes the differences.

This is dystopian literature in the true sense of the word - to almost every member of Jonas' society it is a utopia. To Jonas and The Giver it isn't. It's a book that inspires thought, continues to speak to readers across the generations, and one that deserves its status as one of the greatest works of children's fiction (or science fiction, or dystopian fiction...) to have been published.

"The man that I named The Giver passed along to the boy knowledge, history, memories, color, pain, laughter, love, and truth. Every time you place a book in the hands of a child, you do the same thing.

It is very risky.

But each time a child opens a book, he pushes open the gate that separates him from Elsewhere. It gives him choices. It gives him freedom.

Those are magnificent, wonderfully unsafe things."

-From Lois Lowry's Newbery Acceptance Speech

Worst. Book title. Ever.

Okay. I haven't read this book, I don't know what it's about, and I really, really, really don't care to read it based on the title:

The Truth-Teller's Lie

Ahh. I swear, no book title has ever been more insipidly bland and completely formulaic-without-revealing-anything-about-the-book! Seriously? Say this one out loud a few times. Does it mean anything? Is it referencing anything? It doesn't even sound right, it sounds completely idiotic.

To make matters worse... it was once published under a different title. "Hurting Distance" isn't the greatest book title ever, but it's 10x10^100 times better than, well... "The Truth-Teller's Lie".

I think I need to go dunk my head in a bucket of ice-cold water...

2. One Hundred Years of Solitude - Seven years of rain

This counts as fantasy

My father is a slow reader. Reading Gabriel García Márquez's masterpiece was a project for him - several years of careful, deep reading that never became difficult. Ask him for his favorite book, he answers comfortably: Cien años de soledad.

Why, you may ask, is such a book in a list of fantasy literature? Readers unused to García's writing style may think this is simply due to the idea "magical realism", often tossed around when García's name is mentioned. It's not a wrong phrasing, but truth be told: One Hundred Years of Solitude is fantasy. And wonderful fantasy at that. Things happen in a strange and mysterious way, all without a single logical explanation from the author.

A few weekends ago, the subject came up. My father mentioned that one aspect he loved so much about the book was that:

It could appear to be completely normal and everything would be entirely realistic and all of a sudden something happens that doesn't make any sense.

"Like seven years of rain," I mentioned. Yes, now he remembered. Seven straight, completely acceptable years of rain. Or a character living forever. Or the wonderful ending.

This is not a man who likes fantasy. Not fantasy as it's typically perceived, at least. Almost every reader I've encountered who has read One Hundred Years of Solitude would probably balk at the idea of putting it on a list of fantasy greats, but I call it as it is.

If I mentioned in my definition of fantasy that Lord of the Rings is fantastic without being magical, here is a book that is entirely magical and entirely fantastic, perhaps without being pure fantasy. Much as my father said: things just happen. And as they happen, it makes sense. Except for how it absolutely doesn't. It's this fantastic quality to the storytelling. Pure magic.

1. Time Quartet - Good vs. Evil

The Time Quartet

I originally didn't want to include too many young adult books in this list of powerhouse science and fantasy literature books (SAFL) but I inevitably find myself turning to young adult classics, and specifically Madeleine L'Engle when times are tough. Or when I need to name excellent science fiction. To make sure you get your bang for your buck (these books are short), I'll refer to the whole Time Quartet (ignoring the fifth wheel An Acceptable Time, which fits neither mood nor quality of the other books...).

I have a long and close relationship with these books, one that no matter how many years go by, I'll always be able to rely on. This is a series that I was absolutely obsessed with in 4th grade (and a bit of 5th). One of my best friends and I would sit for hours and hours, pretending we were the characters and could bend time and space as they could. I recall during one history unit, we needed to create characters and write a background story for them. We decided to be Murry twins Dennys (him) and Sandy (me), getting so into our characters that on a class field-trip (several days away from home), my family sent me a letter signed with all the character names in place of themselves.

The first lesson

This introduction doesn't do much justice to these books. The fact is that they're strange and confusing at times, and to pretend that these books didn't deeply impact the way I viewed the world would be completely wrong of me. Like the picture included here (and discussed at length here), every page of A Wrinkle in Time held some fantastic truth for me to hold close. The Time Quartet isn't like the Wikipedia description. It doesn't ever feel like there's religious subtext (I honestly have no idea where they pull this stuff out of...), nor are they books that necessarily promote, well, evil. In fact, the three books that make up the original Time Trilogy (A Wrinkle in Time, A Wind in the Door and A Swiftly Tilting Planet) all come down to one very simple premise: good vs. evil. Guess who wins.

There's an odd book out here, and it's Many Waters. Though taking place chronologically before A Swiftly Tilting Planet, it focuses on two characters who until that point got very little screen time - Murry twins Sandy and Dennys. It's a book that focuses more on fate and love as a grand, dramatic statement rather than a simple battle of "good vs. evil". Hints appear (good angels versus bad), but it's a very different story and wonderfully fresh in that sense. Reading it third in the quartet worked well for me... it showed me something completely different.

Any reader who seeks quality science fiction or fantasy needs to look no further than L'Engle's wonderful series. Though adults may not be as heavily influenced by these books as I was as a child, the Time Quartet is a cornerstone in science fiction for younger and older readers alike.

The Svieeperrr

After reading Meir Shalev's wonderful A Pigeon and a Boy several months ago, I decided that I liked Meir Shalev. I began to read The Blue Mountains a few months ago, but set it aside due to certain circumstances that kept me from reading it through. Then, a few days ago, I decided to have a go at Shalev's most recent publication My Russian Grandmother and Her American Vacuum Cleaner (to be published in English at the end of 2011).

I suppose it's because I take reviews and opinions with a grain of salt, but I really didn't expect this book to be quite as awesome as it was. Shalev admits that this memoir (or "family memoir", as it seems it will be called in English) isn't a grand, huge book. He writes (somewhat edited in length; rough translation is my own):

"It went like this..."

The grand story of my great big family is one I might someday write in another book. I'll write about my parents, and their parents, about river crossings and the trials they overcame. I'll describe their physical hardships and the eternal heartaches. [...]


If I write this book - it won't be written today, nor tomorrow nor in the coming years. I'll write it when I'm an older man, calmer and more apologetic - and I'm not certain I'll fulfill this promise either. In the meantime, in this small book, I seek to tell only one story: the story of my grandmother Tonya and the vacuum cleaner my uncle sent her from the United States.

This one small story is, in truth, built around many other small entertaining stories, sometimes educational, sometimes sad and sometimes incredibly funny. There are moments of pure awkwardness (made more uncomfortable when one realizes that the stories are true), moments of utter insanity and a lot of touching scenes that make this book wonderfully real. It tells snippets of Shalev as an author (pointing out scenes and characters that Shalev reworked for his fiction, which incidentally enough leads me straight back to The Blue Mountains), includes an abridged family saga and showcases the importance of stories. I'm really looking forward to seeing how the English-speaking world will accept this most Israeli of tales.

Displacement, the real world and fantasy: a definition

When Teresa of Shelf Love mentioned "high fantasy" several weeks ago, I found myself reading through a rather enlightening Wikipedia article and list of books. I wondered at the definition of high fantasy and realized that I didn't quite agree with the Wiki definition... nor several titles included in the list.

According to Wikipedia, fantasy is comprised of two main sub-genres: high fantasy, and the so-called "sword and sorcery" fantasy (whatever that is...). These two, while fairly encompassing, seem to leave many loopholes and bad combinations. Here's how I see it:

Highest of fantasy

Fantasy can be divided into two: modern and high. High fantasy contains books with a complete displacement, often including an extreme use of imagination in creating a world utterly different from our own. Magic may appear to be completely normal and integral to the created world, though the books need not necessarily be magical fantasy. I wouldn't exactly define Lord of the Rings as "magical", but fantastic (from fantasy) it certainly is. This is the more classic, romanticized sub-genre.

What, then, is modern fantasy? Here are any books that create a fantastic world alongside the real world. These are books that use our world and add to it magical or fantastic elements. Harry Potter, then, for all its adventurous and romantic roots, would fall squarely into the modern category. The brunt of creature based fantasy, or urban fantasy (Twilight, etc.) would also be called modern.

Modern magic

A final group (though not entirely deserving of its own sub-genre) would be those books that successfully combine the two. Here might fall in portal worlds (like His Dark Materials) or books that have both real and magic worlds (Inkheart, The Neverending Story and The Dark is Rising sequence are all very different examples of this).

So is fantasy only defined by these two? Obviously not. No genre is ever fully encompassed by two generalizations. But these two subjects cover a lot of ground, enough to satisfy me. You'll have to tell me if you agree or disagree.

Is one out of three the same as one third?

First in a trilogy - cliffhanger ending, but still its own book

Once again, a thought provoking post from Greg Zimmerman of The New Dork Review of Books on trilogies, but one where I find myself vehemently disagreeing.

As one final note, I've always thought it interesting that many readers are afraid of long, thousand-page novels, but don't seem to have that same terror of trilogies, that when taken collectively, add up to much longer pieces of fiction. I can see how a reader with this idea would argue, "Well, if I don't like the trilogy after the first book, I can just quit, and I'm not committed to reading another two-thirds of a novel I'm not enjoying." But the kind of reader who would quit after one novel in a trilogy is also the kind of reader who would quit after one-third of a very long novel s/he isn't enjoying, right? So I'm not sure I buy that logic. Anyway, no real point here — just an observation on others' reading quirks.

On the one hand, Greg is right that a trilogy is often longer than a single chunkster book. Collectively, trilogies (or any series, for that matter) can be looked at as one entity. Someday, they very well may be combined into one volume. My favorite examples of this come from our beloved classics. What is War and Peace if not something like twelve serialized books, each one ending with its own dramatic cliffhanger, each beginning with its own brand of Tolstoy philosophy? Psychologically speaking, yes. It's easier to take in individually wrapped books.

But one volume, one entity... this does not make it one book.

Whether in a series or not, books have (hopefully) a beginning, a middle and an end. Some books, it's true, don't really have endings (The Subtle Knife, I'm looking at you) and some books clearly leave a lot of plot holes in anticipation of sequels, but I would say that most books that belong to series still maintain some semblance of independence and self-sufficiency. Compare that to most fat books (not even counting fat books that are allegedly part of trilogies... whew!), which, like their shorter counterparts, have a beginning, middle and end. When someone gives up on a book midway, it's because that book - that section of beginning middle and end - is not satisfying.

Each book still viewed individually

The interesting issue at the end of the day is why it matters. Is giving up on a book midway such a shameful thing? Should we discourage abandoning a disappointing series after the first book simply to be able to say, "I read the whole thing"? This kind of thinking is seriously flawed in my eyes, especially when discussing series. Not every book that belongs to a trilogy is necessarily completed by the later books.

My favorite example of this is Pullman's The Golden Compass. While The Subtle Knife and The Amber Spyglass clearly continue the story, it's a book that can still stand alone and complete without the other two propping it up. It's a trilogy of three books - albeit where one directly leads into the next book. Each book comes with its own themes, its own struggles and its own style. The story that binds them together is not enough to justify looking at it as one book.

So in answer to Greg's theoretical question, no. No, I don't believe that the reader who gives up on a trilogy partway is the same kind of reader who would give up a fat book partway (as for whether or not that's even a bad thing... another time). Trilogies may seem like very long books split up for convenience's sake, but most at their core are comprised of individual, independent books. It's an important point to remember.

Absorbing does not mean good

Three strange things happened today.

1. I started and completed a book in one day. It's been several months since this has happened and several years since the book was not a short novel (or a children's book), and the day not a vacation. Thanks to a quiet, incredibly boring day, I had the opportunity to read plenty today.
2. I managed to get so absorbed in my reading that I did not notice the passing of time as I might have otherwise. Bus rides became minutes long. A whole evening disappeared. A long, boring day was made shorter.
3. I got on the wrong bus home. Lesson learned: if a bus that's supposed to be packed with people is entirely empty, you're probably on the wrong bus.

Weird

And here's the strangest thing of all. The book in question (Daphne du Maurier's The House on the Strand) isn't even that good. Absorbing - yes. I started reading the book and just didn't want to stop. Not because I liked the characters (I didn't), not because the story was so remarkably fresh (it wasn't) and certainly not because the writing was uniquely brilliant (okay, but nothing spectacular).

No, The House on the Strand isn't a particularly brilliant book. It's a weird book. In addition to all its plot issues and character problems, it's hard to classify because it's kind of a bit of everything: stiff boring novel with obnoxious narrator, science fiction, historical fiction, drama, murder... the whole shebang. Intense, remotely entertaining reading but not exactly rewarding.

I'm really curious what I'll think of this one after it sinks in a little. Still... what a strange book.

I've got to make one of these too...

This is probably the greatest video I've ever seen (book related and otherwise). (hat tip, A Momentary Taste of Being)


"A Wrinkle In Time" In 90 Seconds from James Kennedy on Vimeo.

It should be called "Science Literature"

In a post about 2011 reading goals, Space Station Mir mentioned something worth noting:

...I would like to dedicate most of it to fantasy and science fiction. I feel that I haven't been reading enough of the two genres that have often brought me the most pleasure and I am also on a mission to discover more high quality writing in the genres. [...] I hope to be able to pinpoint 10-20 science fiction/fantasy books that I would also consider literature. 

When I think about it, this sentiment ties into everything that's sad about these two (albeit different, but inexplicably tied) genres. For many readers, these are genres that bring us pleasure. At some point, though, there seems to be this feeling that sci-fi and fantasy are genres that aren't serious and are not "literature". I don't want to get into the definition of literature, though. It's a subject that crops up often in my posts and book thoughts, but every time I try to define it, I find myself failing to do it justice. Still, I can try, perhaps, to explain why I get so frustrated when I encounter things like this. Ultimately, literature is made up of good books and who's to say you don't have books of this kind that happen to take place in outer space, or have magic in them?

Like every genre, sci-fi and fantasy have a lot of crappy pulp and some awesome literature. That's how it works. Not everything is amazing, the vast majority sucks and we need to do the dirty work of finding what we like, what we can call good, and we ought to give to others. So I'd like to be able to give Space Station Mir (and all other readers out there) a hand.

The goal is simple: to name (and justify) 20 powerhouse science fiction or fantasy or bizarre or non-standard-"literature" books that I feel definitely fall into the literature category ("Science and Fantasy Literature" - or SAFL). Maybe I'll even discover some good books along the way.

Stieg Larsson and the Ape

I just finished reading The Reading Ape's wonderful response/analysis of Joan Acocella's recent New Yorker piece on the popularity of Stieg Larsson's Millennium trilogy*, and I really can't recommend the Ape's post enough. The Ape does a great job of pinpointing specific answers to Acocella's question of why Larsson's books are popular, ranging from characters (the oft-cited Lisbeth) to packaging (reasonably attractive in almost every edition I've encountered) to the genre (popular around the world). I wanted to touch on a few other points.

Firstly, I have to wonder at Acocella's approach. Props are given for Larsson's storytelling abilities, but not much more. Acocella is right to say that storytelling is not enough in carrying a book and making it "quality", but I wouldn't dismiss Larsson's writing so quickly. It's not splendidly beautiful, true, but the sometimes awkward bluntness has its charm, as though the grittiness is part of the story itself.

Acocella should not dismiss storytelling quite so quickly, either. Larsson's books, whether because of marketing or actually because of superior talent, don't comfortably fit in the crime/thriller category. Perhaps I say this because these are genres I typically don't read, but the Millennium books do a good job of telling a story and not making the reader feel dumber for it. Part of it, as the Ape points out, is the setting. Distance a book from your own existence and that can make it seem all the more interesting.

Then the most basic matter of all: the popularity issue. Acocella seems at times to dismiss the popularity because of a perceived sense of, for lack of a better term, crappiness. It's as though Acocella commits one of the greatest book-commenting crimes in existence: assuming something to be unequivocally bad just because you didn't like it. Therefore, the popularity is a mystery, when it's incredibly, incredibly obvious: people enjoy reading these books. I enjoy, on a very basic level, reading these books. Acocella seems so surprised that people like a book that fits into a popular genre, that's got a character most find to be pretty kick-[...] awesome, and that is definitely easy to read. "But it's a bad book!" Maybe, but other readers found it to be a lot of fun. And so: popular.

The article has a lot more to it than these points that the Ape focuses on. Acocella writes a lot about Larsson himself, mostly raising strange conspiracy theories about whether or not he could have written the books and commenting rather casually on his personal and political lives (but in a very limited, carefully selected manner). It's an interesting article, but rather unsatisfying. Read the Ape's take on it instead.

* It should be noted that I have read only the first two books in the series, and neither was read in the English translation. In the interest of keeping this blog spoiler free, please refrain from mentioning anything from the second two books. Thank you.

Still important

Still powerful, three years later

It seems like a very long time ago, but almost two years ago I wrote up a short post about Thirteen Reasons Why, following a NYT article on the book. It's a book that significantly affected me when I first read it in 2007 (oh so long ago), one that I have tried to give to many young (and not-so-young) readers I know. As pretentious as it may be to quote myself, this still stands:

"It's a book for boys and girls alike, teens and adults, readers and non-readers. Even as some don't appreciate it as I do, I think what's special about Asher's novel is that you leave it with a new understanding for a lot of things that you may never have thought of before."

Since writing these words, I've read many many many reviews and write-ups about Thirteen Reasons Why. A lot of readers felt much as I did. Many, though, did not. There were readers who disliked the "blame game" angle of the book (also mentioned in my original post), readers who felt that the writing was sensationalist and unrealistic, readers who did not connect with the characters... and so on and so on.

A few weeks ago, I reclaimed Thirteen Reasons Why after having lent it out for about a year and a half (it sadly returned unread, though). My first move was to crack open the book from the beginning and read it straight through. Even though I knew the story from start to finish, remembered most of the individual stories and was more critical of the writing style than I had been the first time around (when I was of an age better suited to read the book), I found that I was still very affected by Thirteen Reasons Why.

I don't know why I expected to be disappointed by Thirteen Reasons Why, but I did. And so I'm glad I was disappointed by my lack of disappointment, that is pleased with how the book is still excellent and important in all the ways I remember.

Wolf Hall

Extraordinary

My teaser post last week did not accurately encompass my feelings towards Wolf Hall. This isn't a book that just draws a reader in through its story, it's a book that dragged me into its depths because of its intense wit. Every page of Wolf Hall has some clever line, either spoken by the book's many sharp characters (Cromwell, you bastard) or even its less witty characters. Lines that fall into the context of history made me laugh out loud numerous times throughout the book.

One advantage Wolf Hall has over many other historical fiction texts (other than the excellent writing of Hilary Mantel, which is certainly going to lead me to read more of her books, though I need to remember to keep my expectations reasonably low...) is that Mantel takes a character previously shown in negative light (think A Man for All Seasons) and makes the reader absolutely, completely and totally fall into step (or love - whatever) with him. By the end of the book, I wanted nothing more than for Cromwell to manage my own affairs and then clap him on the back and say, "Well, if you're pretty much best friend/truster advisor to the king... I'm sure you can be best friends with me!"

It's not just Cromwell, though. It's the human way Mantel portrays everyone - the positive and negative sides of Henry VIII, Wolsey, Catherine, Anne and many other historical figures I've only ever encountered very vaguely. This isn't a historical text, to be certain, but it's not the typical historical fiction novel either (romance filled and, with no offence to good historical fiction, lame). It's refreshing.

The main criticism I'd encountered of Wolf Hall before reading it (and the one that made me hesitant to approach it) was the label "dense". While reading Wolf Hall, I understood where readers might get that impression, even if I did not. The book is long, certainly, and packed, but "dense" in my mind means heavily packed to the point that it does not flow well. Wolf Hall flowed. It positively bounced. Whether in the intensely entertaining scenes of historical relevance, or the simply brilliant dialogue, I wanted nothing more than to continue reading the book. And also finish it.

It's true that it's been a long, long time since I've read a good historical fiction book. Or a good classic. Wolf Hall appealed to me on both those fronts, in the weirdest of ways. It's a book that feels modernly old-fashioned, historically contemporary, and all-over well-crafted. It's a book that's truly "extraordinary" - not quite like anything I've ever read and most highly recommended.