CONTORTED PASTA

Here's an idea:

If the point of what you're writing is bewilderment on being dropped suddenly into a maelstrom of political intrigue and unfamiliar names and faces ...

... why not start the book in a simple, accessible style, focusing on welcoming the reader in, be it through your protagonist's personality or lived experience or emotions; something relatable that the reader can get their teeth into easily ...

AND THEN slam them with the fantasy names and bewildering formalities of the court at the same time as your protagonist, so even if you're not actually much good at communicating their internal life, you can recreate the same feelings in the reader and they can sympathise that way.

In other news, there was a flash of personality for one line on p.65. Either it was an accident, or I know who the author's favourite character is and have a hunch who won't survive to the end. RIP in advance, appropriated Ponder Stibbons.

Having finished Dalemark, my next bit of catch-up reading was to add to the 'books by friends' pile. I had actually met Gabby Hutchinson Crouch through a friend back when I was living in London. We became Twitter friends several months later, and even though I've never seen her in person since, she's one of my online besties. So when she published her first book last year, a fractured fairy tale with a satirical bent, I felt rather guilty that I didn't have mental or temporal space to tackle it, being at the time more than taken up with juggling my own book and preparations for my Antarctic trip. This year, things have settled down, and given my YA fantasy groove and the imminence of Book 2 in the trilogy, it seemed the ideal moment to step into Darkwood.

The setup is as follows: Hansel and Gretel Mudd live in the village of Nearby, in the land of Myrsina, which thirteen years ago saw the deposition of its monarchy by the Huntsmen, a sort of grassroots vigilante group dedicated to rooting out witches and other abominations, the list of which gets added to regularly. Girls Doing Maths is on the list, which is bad news for Gretel, who has a keen scientific mind. One manifestation of this is a defence system to protect the village from creatures of Darkwood, a wild place just across the river where witches and magical beings have fled to escape persecution. Well, one thing leads to another and Gretel ends up fleeing to the Darkwood herself, where – surprise! – the witches are rather lovely (well, two of them are, anyway) and even the talking spider is nothing to be afraid of (Bin Men, on the other hand, are).

Overall it's the sort of witty, well-observed, and creative storytelling one would expect from a writer who regularly provides material for Radio 4 topical comedy. Working in animation I have seen my fair share of fresh takes on fairy tales, but this book is full of genuinely unexpected re-imaginings and I cannot tell you how refreshing it was to be surprised. It's not just the fairy tales that feel fresh, though: the moral universe is updated from the one I remember from my childhood, where the maverick has to strike out on their own from a society that doesn't appreciate them (Gretel's family and village all love and support her) and where understanding the other's point of view will solve everyone's problems. It is a world where a harsh and reactionary minority are laughed off until they slip into power and set up a system to keep them there. The commentary on the present day slips in under the radar for most of the book, but sometimes comes right out and practically breaks the fourth wall. Stories are how we programme the consciences of the young; this is a timely and desperately needed update to the operating system, given how the world has changed since the 1990s.

The benefits of a radio comedy background are strong characters, excellent dialogue, snappy pacing, and, of course, a fair few laughs. The weak point of Darkwood, in my opinion, might be the fault of sketch-writing as well: there is a sort of orchestration one has to impose on a long-format narrative to give it shape and help the reader feel the ups and downs. In a macro sense Darkwood does this just fine – the narrative structure and character arcs are solid – but a few levels down, it's a little shaky in what I am tempted to call 'cinematography'. Not that it is lacking in visual presentation, but rather the sort of thing that makes or breaks a film in the editing suite: the rhythm of the shots, the placement of focus and POV, the perceptual experience of the viewer as the film flows by. (This is almost completely different from the literary sense of 'editing,' which is why I don't want to use that word, even though that's really what I mean.) There were a number of times I missed something important because it had not been 'shot' clearly enough to pick it up without thinking. Luckily it was re-established well enough that I didn't need to go back and find it, but I stumbled a bit when it happened. It's the sort of thing you don't really notice in writing until it doesn't quite work right, and to be honest is something I've never thought of before, so in that respect was kind of appreciated! It's certainly not something that would impede anyone's enjoyment of the book, only something that I am particularly attuned to on my constant quest to understand storycraft.

Minor craftsmanship nitpicking aside, it is definitely a book that I would give to an 8-14 year old in my life, if not to my own friends, especially the ones who have embarked on parenthood, as it would make very good bedtime reading and invite some productive discussion. If it's any sign of how I enjoyed it, I had pre-ordered the second volume and was annoyed that it hadn't arrived in time to start right after I finished the first. Luckily it did turn up within 48 hours so I wasn't bereft too long, and it turned out to be better than the first, so worth the wait!

I've been sick this week. It's the third cold in as many months, which is very frustrating, but what can you do? Turns out the answer is sleep. I have slept for about four days. I guess I needed it.

When I came home with a bad cold last year, I discovered the tremendous practical use of television: It is sufficiently interesting to keep me in bed doing nothing, i.e. resting, without requiring as much cognitive effort as reading, which is often beyond my decongestant-fogged brain. Last year I imbibed The Terror; this year I indulged the opportunity to catch up on the BBC's new rendition of the first part of Philip Pullman's trilogy His Dark Materials.

I remember when the first book came out. It was at the crest of the wave of post-Harry Potter YA Fantasy. I listened to the audiobook back in those days when I had a tape deck at my desk but not a computer. It wasn't notably satisfying and left me a bit hollow, but was a fun dark adventure that kept me on task, and was better than a lot of the YA fantasy audiobooks I was listening to around that time. Eventually I consumed the other two in the series, but the last one put me off. Pullman was the YA Fantasy representative of the secular humanist cabal making a lot of noise post-9/11 (Richard Dawkins being the loudest) and his books were blatantly trying to be the anti-Narnia for a new, enlightened, Godless generation. This was fine as a premise for the series, but by the third book he had managed to get more evangelical than C.S. Lewis ever was. The preachiness of the last book rather soured my taste for the whole series and I didn't read (or listen to) it again.

My curiosity was piqued by the new TV adaptation, which aired shortly after I left for my Antarctic adventure. I was pleased to find it was still available on the iPlayer when I got back to the UK, so I watched it between naps as I tried to sleep off this cold. It has been probably fifteen years since I was familiar with the books, so I cannot comment as to the faithfulness of the adaptation, but it held on to what little I remember both in storyline and atmosphere, and it was a thoroughly admirable production on all fronts even if the approach to polar architecture broke my suspension of disbelief. Despite the excellent performances and wonderfully executed production, though, I was still left with that empty feeling – it was a grand adventure, but nothing much stayed with me, and in marked contrast to The Terror, even in my susceptible state I didn't much care about any of the characters. Why was such an obstensibly philosophical story so devoid of lasting impact?

It seems to have percolated a bit in my sleep since finishing it, and I woke this morning feeling like I'd figured something out.

In order to understand what I'm getting at, you need to be at least passingly familiar with the premise and basic storyline of The Northern Lights, first book in the His Dark Materials trilogy:

( A Story Rundown with Necessary Spoilers )

( And so, what I think is missing ...  )

So once again I find I have been spoiled by Terry Pratchett, who is much better both at storytelling and proselytising for secular humanism, in part because he knows how to show, not tell, and abstains from lecturing the reader. Pullman can't even make the defence that he's writing for children, because one of Pratchett's best deconstructions of organised religion is the Bromeliad trilogy, which is openly aimed at younger readers. The sneaky thing about Terry Pratchett is that, in the midst of tearing down codified belief systems, he nevertheless provides worldly wisdom and teaches the reader how to be a better person, something Philip Pullman leaves hanging. Will there ever be a high-value TV miniseries adaptation of a Pratchett book, that takes itself as seriously as His Dark Materials? There have been a few attempts, but the essence tends to get lost in translation. Someday, maybe. We can but hope.

Greetings, Internet, and welcome to another episode of Metapiece Theatre. Our offering today is, a little bit late, Episode Two of Wolf Hall, entitled "Entirely Beloved."

As with "Three Card Trick," whose writeup you should definitely read before this one, the title of this episode is not a coincidence. The entire hour is a game of beloveds, as we set up the relationships whose ramifications will play out in the rest of the series.

Cromwell is beloved of Wolsey
Wolsey . . . Cromwell
Cromwell . . . Johane
(and then vice versa)
Gregory . . . Cromwell
Cromwell . . . Mary Boleyn
Jane . . . Cromwell
Primarily, though, the overarching Beloved of this episode is Cromwell, of the audience. We come to love him for how much he loves others, as well as some cheaper tricks thrown in for good measure.


Of course, to show the Beloveds in greater contrast, we must have the Unbeloveds:

Cromwell vs Henry
Henry vs Wolsey
Cromwell vs Anne
Cromwell vs More
Cromwell vs The Gentry
Cromwell vs Gardiner

Most of these relationships are set up for an evolution, either of sentiment or of power, over the course of this episode or several. And, as mentioned last week, to some extent the value judgment of a character is directly proportional to how beloved they are of Cromwell – those who aren't on his side (e.g. Norfolk) are made out to be baddies, and those who are, are painted in varying shades of gold.

Such energy is put into garnering our sympathy that an alternate title for the episode might be "Laying it On With a Trowel." It's done subtly and organically, but when you start noticing the agenda, each of these moments begins to stand out. Continuing the legal analogy from last week, you can almost year Cromwell telling his take on things with a 'Yeronner...' Doth he protest too much, mayhap?

( Let us go then, you and I, where the spoilers spread out against the sky, and pick apart 'Entirely Beloved' )

Episode 3: Anna Regina

I actively dislike Up. I know that is something of a heretical stand, and I've spent hours discussing it with people at lunch, but have never been able to go into exhaustive depth because I just couldn't be bothered to do the research (i.e. watch the movie again and waste more time thinking about it). However, a couple years ago I was in a screenwriting class at work and we had to watch it as homework one week – I did manage to get through it all, by taking breaks to do more interesting stuff like make porridge and do the dishes – and took advantage of this enforced re-watching to make a list of what I liked, what I didn't, and questions.

The little piece of paper on which I'd written this has been kicking around for ages, and as I'm finally trying to do something about the 50,000 pieces of paper floating around my apartment, I need to get rid of it. Clearly the most important thing for me to be doing with my precious free time on a Saturday morning is to type it all out for the general benefit of the internet.

For the most part I'm just going to transcribe it verbatim, without commentary, as best as I can decipher my handwriting, but I need to explain something first: ( Pixar's Rules )

All right, here you go, see if you can make any sense of this, because after this I am done talking about Up:

( Likes, Dislikes, and Questions )

And now into the recycling with this piece of paper ... only 49,999 more to go.

Hey guess who's on vacation? That crazy lady who goes on and on about things! I wonder what she will do with all this spare time ... Wander amongst some trees? Go stargazing? Savour the fresh air and wilderness she can't get at home? No!* She has written two excessively long movie reviews, one of which is probably too late to be of use to anyone!

PARANORMAN
I have to admit I went into Paranorman with a handicap: I have read and enjoyed Terry Pratchett's Johnny and the Dead, which is a book about a thirteen-year-old boy who can talk with the deceased. I knew this was going to be a handicap when I saw the first trailer, so I tried really hard to put Johnny and the Dead from my mind, and to watch Paranorman on its own terms. For the most part I think this was successful, because they turned out to be rather different stories, accomplishing different things with the premise, so I'm not going to judge Paranorman for not being Johnny and the Dead. But that doesn't necessarily make it better. It wasn't bad! I'm not saying it was bad. It just could have been better.

( The film itself, and my opinions )

While I was willing and, for the most part, capable of putting aside Johnny and the Dead, I couldn't help thinking that Paranorman would benefit significantly from the mind of the mighty Sir Pratchett, who would take it from an adequate little Halloweeny story into something with greater meaning. Johnny and the Dead is about respecting where you come from, but also moving on, and to some extent grappling with the idea of death and taking the teeth out of the scariness of the 'undead' – after all, they're just us. Paranorman's intended story doesn't really go to these places, nor should it, necessarily, but it has a hard time figuring out what it is about, when a Pratchett book has that as its cornerstone. So for the sake of greater understanding of storytelling (because it's too late to do anything to fix Paranorman) and with Spoiler Alert Level raised to Orange, let's play a little game:

( What Would Pterry Do? )

Verdict: A good enough movie, however much it may have fallen short of what it could have been – worth a watch if only for the art, which may sustain your interest until it hits its stride about halfway through. Then go read Johnny and the Dead for an example of doin' it rite.



FRANKENWEENIE
As with most movies I see, this one was screened at work, though because it was Disney we got to see it a few days before it opened rather than a month after. The producer even came to present it and do a Q&A afterwards! Exciting, right?

( No. )

Verdict: Not entertaining enough to be good, and not bad enough to be entertaining. Probably best consumed as a family night in, where you can get up for snacks, chat amongst yourselves, or check your email when things get slow.

*Actually yes; it has been lovely

For the first time in I-don't-know-how-long last night, I actually went to see a movie at a theatre that was not on Disney property. I had heard generally positive things about Cabin in the Woods* and I trust Joss Whedon to deliver entertainment that's head and shoulders above the status quo. And ... it was. I say this coming to it as someone who is not terribly familiar with the Teen Horror Slasher genre (what horror movies I do know are more in the Hammer vein) – I know there are references that I missed, but it played so well on so many tropes that are in the collective consciousness, and the story was good enough on its own, that I never felt like I wasn't 'getting it' at all. The writing was, of course, excellent, the pacing great, the premise interesting and (to my limited exposure) original, and because it was all about subverting tropes it was, for the most part, unpredictable.
*one of my friends threatened to disown anyone in his acquaintance who did not go see it

The more observant reader at this point will probably get the sense that I am leading up to a 'however,' but for that I have to go into spoiler territory, so it goes behind a cut.

( However ... )

( Further However, now with spoilers for Dr Horrible )

In summary: Good film overall, cleverly written, feels a bit like it could have been a grand story arc for a season of Buffy but in a good way ... If you like Joss Whedon, this sort of horror, or puncturing archetypes in general, you will probably want to check it out at some point. I saw it in a small theatre in 2D and can't imagine what the benefit of seeing it in 3D could possibly be (especially as it's all post-process, which sets my teeth on edge); I also think it won't lose much in the transition to the small screen, so if you have to wait for the DVD release don't feel bad. I do request that if you wait and watch it at home, you pay for it in some way, because the studio took a chance on making a smart film with a good script and letting the director have his way with it, which should be rewarded in our creatively bankrupt age.

I feel compelled to state that this is a really, incredibly, gruesomely gory movie, just in case anyone might have a problem with that or is going into it with different expectations. It ain't pretty! But it does do a good job of maintaining the audience's distance, quite often with humour, and other times with just being so ridiculoulsy gory, that (at least to me) the gore wasn't as upsetting as it would have been had everyone been taking it seriously. It falls somewhere between Kill Bill and Shaun of the Dead gore and tone wise. Fun, if you can do that sort of thing, but unbearable if the sight of blood makes you faint.

P.S. I agree wholeheartedly with everything in nextian's much more specific and necessarily spoilerific post!

It's the last episode of satirical show Tonight! Its run was brief but I loved it all. More, more!

The pain of its passing is lessened by the return of one of may faves, Listen Against! I am ambivalent about sharing: on one hand, it brings me great joy, and I want to spread the love, but on the other, if you're enough of a Radio 4 fan to get most of the jokes then you probably know about it already. Radio 4 rewards the faithful simply by existing, but Listen Against practically encourages fanaticism. All the same, everyone can enjoy the idea of chasing Melvyn Bragg's In Our Time Machine through time and space in Simon Schama's time-travelling Delorean ... right?

When I was in college, and shortly after, I was deeply interested in serious authentic fairy folklore, which in its original form is creepy and weird and bears far more resemblance to Miyazaki films than A Midsummer Night's Dream. That interest had more or less subsided once I got all I could out of it, but it was rekindled a little by the new episode of Off the Page – it claims to look at the evolution of fairy lore from folk tradition to pink sparkles, but mostly it's just people with different expertise sitting around a table talking.

And this week's representation from the CBC:

Jason Siegel talks about The Muppets, why they are so universally appealing, his own career, and other interesting things, on CBC's Q. Mostly I'm pointing it out because he reiterates my big point about 'family entertainment' and 'kids' entertainment' not necessarily being the same thing, but it's just interesting in general. I can't link directly to she show, so if you want to hear the whole thing: go here, find October 27th, and click 'Listen'. This interview starts at about 26:00.

Hey, so the world is falling apart: what we need is some comedy!

CABIN PRESSURE: ST PETERSBURG
I don't ordinarily like sitcoms, but this is damn fine comedy writing. I want to sit the Disney story department down in a room, lock the door, and play this for them. I would say things like:

"Comedy isn't funny things happening to ordinary people! Comedy is ordinary things happening to funny people!"

and

"Gags don't have to be mere filler between plot points! Gags can be the plot points!"

But then I'd get arrested for unlawful detention and probably one or two fire code violations, and they wouldn't listen to me anyway. They should bring in John Finnemore to talk instead. I would sit in the front row, and maybe bring flowers.

... Actually no, they'd probably book him to come in after I'd made irrevocable plans to be out of town on that day, as usual.

I'm jotting this down mostly for my own nefarious purposes reference, but I thought others might be interested in the idea, especially as it might relate to storytelling (in any medium) as much as music:

Paul Robertson, violininst: So is part of the value of the experience for us, the performer or the listener, actually the challenges of unpacking the meaning -- I mean, is that part of the process that makes the music special, do you think?

Howard Gardner of the Harvard Graduate School of Education: Absolutely. If it was all clear the first time, you'd do it, and you might want to listen to it a few times, and try it a few times, but then you'd want to go on to something more important. If the challenge in front of you is too great, you become anxious, and I could easily see a fledgling violinist or fledgling audience member finding some of these solo later works of Bach to be too challenging. And maybe we could say that the greatest works of art, the ones we come back to over and over again, we find additional challenges in them, as we mature and grow. I guess Bach hit the right combination, because here we are several hundred years later, still intoxicated by what he'd accomplished.

From The Innermost Master, a program on finding hidden intricacies and meanings in Bach's solo violin partitas. There's also an interesting bit on music not necessarily pointing to a specific emotion so much as describing 'the feeling of the feeling.' Link works till Sunday.