centre of the universe - the dreaming

Mister Sexy said he would NOT wear tight-fitting shirts and talk in an Irish accent if I didn't read John Irving's A Prayer for Owen Meany . It's a decision I do not regret. And for more reasons than seeing Mister Sexy in a tight-fitting shirt and trilling out a lovely brogue. Well, maybe 'trilling' is not the appropriate word.

(Incidentally, as I write this, the cat is *extremely* farty, and is sitting in front of the register, so if I lose consciousness from time to time, please be patient with me. Whoof.)

So I liked this book. But there's a problem. Sometimes, I don't know if you've noticed this yet, but sometimes, after reading or seeing or experiencing something that makes me think about it a lot, I begin to emulate certain aspects of the thing. F'rinstance, I'm particularly prone to picking up accents. I think that sometimes, when I read something, I pick up phrases or styles, although it's difficult to tell. As my International Literary Boyfriend Neil Gaiman (whom I, sadly, did *not* get to meet yesterday) said,

It's one of the scariest things, for a writer, about writing short fiction -- the worry that a story shape isn't yours, but is something you read a long time ago, and forgot.

*swoon*
Isn't he AMAZING!?
 **SIGH**

What?
Oh, sorry. Right. Owen Meany.

What John Irving's done with this book is, in my opinion, Very Difficult. He has created an utterly memorable character. He's good at that (remember The World According to Garp?). Once you've met Owen Meany, you will never, EVER forget him. It's pretty amazing, I think, the way Irving is able to create an aural experiece using only print and clever prose. Like Garp, Owen Meany has some fairly staunchly-held beliefs, and he is precocious and has, as Joyce would say, the "strength of conviction". (Yes. I know Jame Joyce doesn't hold copyright over that particular phrase; it was in The Dubliners, though, I first encountered it. Or maybe it was Finnegan's Wake.)  Unlike Garp, Owen Meany is, I think, less a product of his upbringing. Owen seems much more actualised early on in his life than Garp ever did, and this makes sense when you understand some of the fundamental differences between the two characters (primarily, Faith and religion).

The similarities between the two novels are striking - fatherless children, for example (a topic close to the author's own heart, as he never knew his own father). Both Garp and John Wheelwright (the narrator of A Prayer for Owen Meany) never knew their fathers; in both instances it is a mystery. In both books, discovering the nature of their own conception is a major driving force for two of the main characters.

Both novels have strong feminist characters who deal with social justice issues - John Wheelwright's cousin Hester is a feminist "out of necessity", the narrator implies (if not outright says), owing to having been treated quite differently from her two brothers. She becomes a folk singer, Vietnam war protester, and, ultimately, pop/punk culture icon. In The World According to Garp, TS Garp's mother, a nurse, is a strong feminist character who goes so far as to open her home to women in need - a shelter/retreat. More striking about Garp's mother Jenny is that she *vehemently* opposes sharing her life with a man as her husband; with the exception of Garp's conception (and I'll not ruin the surprise by talking about it here; if you haven't read the book, you should do so), she presents a cold, asexual image. This is unlike John Wheelwright's mother, who is always taken to be a sexual, sensual woman; the same is true of Hester, with whom John has his first few sexual experiences (and about whom he fantasises for most of his adult life).

Owen Meany is obsessed with his own death. So is Garp. Albeit with different motivations, of course...which is to say, one of the primary *differences* between the two books is also the main reason these two characters are so different in their approach to the obsession each one has about death. Garp is a writer (so is Owen Meany) whose novels tend to feature, like Shakespeare, the death of EVERYONE INVOLVED. Owen Meany is only concerned with his *own* death. Owen has a vision, when he is very young, that convinces him he knows when he will die. Garp is more keenly interested in fantasising several ways in which those around him might die.

I have a friend who often says of my writing, "yes, but what do these characters DO? What HAPPENS?" This is a funny thing about Irving - not much really happens. I mean, stuff happens, but reading it is like hearing the stories told around the back yard while drinking beer, or around the fireplace channel while sipping rum 'n' nog - both novels are anecdotal. The "plot" as it were, takes place in the characters ...well... living. The action is in the development of each segment of each story - what happens to Owen Meany when the boys go swimming at the mine? What happens to Garp when he and his neighbour disrobe in the back yard?

This same friend is a HUGE fan of Hemingway (not that my friend is a Size Large Literature Lover, but he *is* quite fond of Hemingway), and understands about 'nothing happening' in short fiction; he often talks about the story where the entire timeline is played out, more or less, in a hotel room in Spain, and most of the action involves a man and a woman having a subtle argument. It is about what is left *unsaid* that makes that story so good, my friend says. At least, I think he says that. I might be making it up.

ANYWAY, my whole point is this: one of the striking things about Owen Meany is the particular way in which he speaks, which Irving represents in part by only presenting Owen Meany's speech in ALL CAPS. And I noticed my own self doing this on a far more regular basis over the last couple of weeks.

Also, I'll never forget Owen Meany, weird, kind of creepy little bugger that he was. Thanks for insisting I read the book, Mister Sexy. I did enjoy it.

Labels: Books, everyone is the same, weird

Dear Mister Crabbyapples:

I heartily suspect that the only thing you *really* wanted to hear from me was: I personally price these books the way I do because even though I've never met you, I don't like you, and I don't want you owning or reading my books. Also, I don't believe in libraries. But I didn't say that. Mostly because it isn't at all true.

So. Since we didn't see eye-to-eye on ...well... anything (do they not believe in *bathing* on your planet?), here is a math lesson about books for you.

Excluding things like specialty publishing and some specific genre publishing, the standard contract a publisher makes with a writer is for the writer to receive around 10% on each book sold. Some publishers also provide a stipend/advance up front and a percentage (royalty) for any books sold *after* that amount has been reached (so you might be offered $1500 up front and 10% - 15% on any books sold after you're paid out that first amount, which is also based on that ten to fifteen percent). So, for a book that costs, say, $10, the writer (who has put in weeks or years of unpaid labour to write the thing) gets a buck.

The publisher pays editors (copy editors, manuscript editors, proofreaders, production editors, etc.) to ...well...EDIT the book. Manuscript editors generally are paid more than copy editors (if you'd like to know what those editors do, check out the Editors Association of Canada website), and while there is no *standard* rate, many editors do their work on a freelance basis at an hourly rate. Some publishers are fortunate enough to have in-house editors, who receive a salary. But let's just say that most publishers in Canada do not have dedicated in-house editors, so they contract out the jobs, from rates ranging from $10/hour to $80/hour. Some editors read at 50 pages an hour. But reading isn't the same as editing, so let's just say an *average* editor spends 12 - 20 hours on a manuscript. The publisher might pay anywhere from $120 to $1600 on editorial contracts. While it's difficult to assign a percentage from retail price for editorial work, let's just round it off at 5%. Just for shits and giggles.

Next, you have designers. What do designers do?

Do you know how long it takes for a reader - a customer, client, patron, what-have-you to pick up a book off the shelf and decide to buy it? Probably less than a second. Designers make the book covers appealing. You could have the greatest novel EVER WRITTEN in your hands, but if the cover of the book looks like someone stuck a gelatin salad between their butt cheeks and shimmied after eating burritos all weekend, you're probably not going to get those sales. Designers *also* make sure the *inside* of the book is a) readable (typesetters choose the font face, kerning, leading, etc. ...the typographic decisions), b) attractive (designers choose whether to put any kind of graphics on the pages...many non-fiction books have internal design elements like photographs, headings, call-out boxes, etc.), c) attractive (are you going to use page headers? Will the page headers have chapter titles, or will it be the book's title?). There are all KINDS of other decisions they make, which I have no idea about (because I am not a book designer) that publishers pay for. There is no going standard for designers, either, but in general, you get what you pay for with graphic designers. So let's say there's another 2% - 5% of the retail price of the book paid to designers.

Already we're up to as much as 20% of the retail price of the book going to pre-production.

Now, let's talk about printers.

Printing isn't cheap. Canadian publishers are insisting, in higher and higher numbers, on recycled, post-consumer, non-ancient-forest paper. Many printers don't carry this stock on the floor (although that's changing because publishers are demanding a 'greener' product), and these papers are often more expensive than the 100% tree papers that are readily available. A two-hundred page book isn't just a bunch of things laid out on a sheet of 8.5 x 11 paper and stapled together. There are many different kinds of bindings, too (saddle stitch, perfect bind, coil bind, sewn bind, etc.). So the printer has to take the electronic files from the publishers, lay it out on large sheets of paper, run the copy, bind it, trim it, and attach a cover. $20,000 is an EXTREMELY low rate for a print job of 2,000 copies. But. Let's just say you don't have a one-colour interior (black, or whatever) book with no photographs or charts or anything - it's a book, say, of fiction, and you don't need all that fancy stuff. But you'll be paying more for the cover, of course, which is printed on different stock, with different treatments (matte, gloss, foil), each of which cost different amounts. IF you have a print run of 2,000 and your print job costs you $20,000, you'll have to price your book at $10/copy *just to recoup your printing costs*. And that won't pay the writer or the editors or the designers. So let's say you bump up the price by 20% to cover those costs.

Now, you have 2,000 copies of a book in your warehouse (you're lucky enough to have a warehouse that costs you NOTHING!? Excellent!), each of which is priced at $12, so that you can afford the printer, editor(s), designer(s), and writer, assuming you sell every single book in the warehouse. Whew.

Wait. In order to *sell* those books, they have to *go* somewhere. This isn't any feel-good "if you build it, they will come" pipe dream. You have to get those books into bookstores, stat! Thank God there are distributors who do this for publishers!

Ohhh, wait. If you want to hire a distributor for your book, they want you to pay them a fee to represent your book. 14% of sales isn't unreasonable. 10% is better for you, but the distributor is going to get antsy, especially if you don't have a fine and distinguished reputation of selling thousands of books each year - millions of dollars of books each year. 7% would be FABULOUS. Um. But the distributor you're talking about won't represent you because your annual sales are, let's be frank, kind of sad. Anything under a couple of million dollars a year, and you're out of luck. Oh, and there ARE NO pan-Canadian distributors dedicated to prairie publishers. Lucky if you're in Central Canada, though. Or BC. Let's just say, though, that you've lucked out. You've found a distributor willing to take a risk on you, and they're asking for 12% of sales. So that means this book you've just priced at $12 to recoup your print and pre-production costs is now actually losing you money, because you have to pay the distributor $2.40 for every book you sell through them.

Where do they distribute the books, anyway?

Right. Bookstores. Libraries. Schools.

Well, how do bookstores make their money? They don't just buy books from publishers and sell them at retail cost. That would be ludicrous! Independent retailers ask publishers for a 40% discount on the retail price of the book. Your $12 book is now returning you $7.20, if you decided not to go with a distributor. If you *did* decide to go with a distributor, you could be making as little as $5.70 per book. Some bookstores and retailers ask for up to a 60% discount on retail price (particularly large chain stores. If you sell your books through WalMart or Costco or Indigo, for instance, and it's *very* difficult sometimes to negotiate those deals without having a distributor; large chains don't want to deal with individual suppliers).

Your poor Great Canadian Novel is now bringing in just under $5/copy. If you sell all 2,000 books, you'll "make" just under $10,000 on that title. Which is probably far less than what you paid to have it printed.

Oh, and you had to pay for the printing up front, of course. But, you know, at least you have *some* kind of income...

...provided the merchants pay you on time. Or at all. And provided they don't return 90% of the books they ordered. Because, you see, retailers don't *buy* your books. They take your books on consignment. Some smaller independents might buy a few copies outright, but selling five copies of your $12 book to a local bookstore for a 40% discount isn't going to pay your bills. And those big chains, they might order four hundred books, but if you want to negotiate a 'non-returnable' clause, you're going to be giving them those big, deep discounts. And then they'll be selling your books for three dollars each up the street from the independent retailer (who you want to support!) who is selling them for the suggested retail price. It's like going to the barber and saying : "I'm going to give you twenty bucks to cut my hair, but I'm not going to look at the cut you give me for three months, so I really hope you do a good job."

But there's always schools and libraries, right? They only request a small discount - 20% - 40%! Again, if your educational distributor (who is a different person from your retail distributor) has managed to sell your books into a school or library system, you could make quite a few sales there. And it is very difficult to make it in that market.

And, you're never guaranteed to sell 2,000 copies (which is a 'bestseller' in Canada).

So you're asking, "why the hell would you be a publisher then? If you're LOSING MONEY on every book you print, how can you stay in business?"

Well. This is where philosophy comes in. And some more math. We'll deal with the math first.

What would happen if you'd priced that book at $29.95 instead of $12 when you sent it to the printer (who printed the price on the back of the book)? Then, you'd be making *almost* $12 on each book sold, even with a 60% discount. And that $12 you'd take in would cover your costs. But it wouldn't make you a profit. If you priced that book at $32, you'd be making almost a whole dollar on each book sold.

Now. The philosophy.

Are books important?

Labels: Books

I haven't done this in a Really Long Time. But since I've told the same thing to more than five people lately, I figured it would be a Good Thing. Also, I'm not about to review *every* book I've read in the last two years. That would just be silly. Because it's been such a Very Long Time since I did reviews, I should like to point out that I use a ten-point rating system (I had initially typed a 'ten-pint rating system, which sounds much more fun). The more there are of this symbol:
the more I like the item being reviewed.


I will begin with my favourite book of the year. Past few years.

Come, Thou Tortoise by Jessica Grant
This is a book about...well, it's told by...the thing I love best about it is....I'm'n'a start this over. Grant's writing style puts some people off. Probably because they are unimaginative, stodgy old farts who also don't like things like whipped cream and sunshine and the word tuber. I read one review of this book, in the Literary Review of Canada that said the book would have been just as good at three-quarters the length. That is wrong. This book is perfect at precisely the length it is. There is not a single coma (hee hee hee) I would change, not a single word out of place. Jessica Grant tells a number of stories in this novel (her first), but by far my favourite is that of the main character, Audrey Flowers. Other reviewers, and indeed the author herself, talk about how the most unique thing about Come, Thou Tortoise is that it has two narrators, and one is a tortoise named Winnifred (this year). And far be it for me to contradict the author on her own work, but that is not the best part of, nor is it the most unique part of the book. The best part of this book is the bit that happens in between the two covers, like make-up sex. In fact, that's a really good comparison. Make-up sex is frantic and passionate and sometimes a little silly, and it makes you feel so good, and the orgasm bits are amazing because you just release everything and go. And that's what this book does.

But how's about I actually review it. Do the plot summary thing. That every reviewer does.

You know what pissed me off about studying literature? What pissed me off about studying literature was the insistence everyone seemed to have on taking these beautiful works of art apart, these perfect constructions, breaking them down into their component parts and analysing the smallest portion of them. You know what you'd get if you put all of the letters from a Hemingway novel under a microscope? Eyestrain, that's what. So I'm not going to take the book apart. I'm not going to analyse it.

I want you to read it because it makes your heart bigger. Because it makes you dream more frequently, and more vividly. I want you to read it because it will make you laugh out loud. Because it will make you cry. Because it will make you scratch your head and say "Doubleyou Tee Eff?" and then go "OOOOHHHHHH!!!", and grin like an idiot. I want you to read this book because there is not one single thing that isn't awesome about it. Not one. Single. Thing.



The Time Traveller's Wife by Audrey Niffenegger

Meh. It's been done better, many times before. If you've never read a book of science fiction, and the thought of doing so puts you off your breakfast, try this one on. It has training wheels.



Marseguro and Terra Insegura by Edward Willett

Kay. I didn't think I'd like these books (sorry, Ed).  But I was kind of intrigued by the descriptions of them (Ed is an AMAZING promoter), and so, in preparation for an interview on the radio, I read the books. In the hot tub. At the lake. When you read the books, you will understand why that is completely appropriate. There is just enough nerd factor in these books to make them sciencey, and there is just enough of a fabulous story to make them fictioney. In fact, both of them are the perfect blend of those two things. Marseguro is about a planet colonised by genetically modified humans. I don't want to tell you in which way the humans are genetically modified, because I want you to read it. However, "Marseguro" means "safe seas". 'Nuff said.

There are themes of racism, colonialism (don't those two go hand-in-hand anyway), civil rights, and, ultimately, survival. Terra Insegura is more than a sequel; it takes everything that happened in Marseguro and ramps it up a notch, including a *second* race of genetically modified humans.

The story is set in the far future where the separation of church and state has gone so far as to come back around like the ouroboros, biting its own tail. The politics which lay gently nestled within the margins of the story provide a framework that is at once startling and utterly believable. Willett's characters are fascinating and real, although at times are frustrating as hell (I totally did *NOT* nearly throw the book INTO the hot tub, shouting at one of the main characters: "For EFF'S SAKE, Richard. What, are you STUPID!?" But the fact is, even if I HAD almost done that, it would mean that I was so invested in the characters and the story that I nearly seriously rebigulated the book). But what really makes these books for me is the villain.

The primary villain, not who you suspect it might be - not the easy choice (although he/they is/are villain/s too), but is the absolute *perfect* choice. He is pretty much an utter tool, which makes me smile every time he shows up. But he's not maudlin; that's the ticket. He's almost - but not quite - a caricature, and he's one of my all-time favourites.



Of All the Ways to Die by Brenda Niskala

Okay, first, this review is a little coloured by how much I loves my Brenda.

That being said, this book is a novella (a difficult form, to be sure) about, among other things, a pot luck dinner at which all of the invited guests are dead. I'm going to leave you wondering whether it's a zombie book. And the interplay at this pot luck is charming and witty and wonderful. But that's not what did it for me with this book.

What really gets me about this book is the way the author has managed to tell a single story in the same way that you might hear that story over the course of an evening, maybe at a pot luck, or maybe just in a quiet corner of the living room. What amazes me about Of All the Ways to Die is that in 100 or so short pages, Niskala packs a hell of a whallop every time a word appears on a page. You'll cry a whole bunch of times during your stay with this book (and it only takes an evening to read, so get out the tissues). You'll smile so much your face hurts. You'll be tempted to put the book aside while you go fix supper, and then you'll change your mind because you want to copy down the recipe from the book...the one with the lasagna, but then you'll realise you have no spinach, and while you could go to the store to get some because you REALLY want that lasagna, you figure, "ah, but there are only a few more pages in the chapter", and before you know it, you'll be hungry and sated, all at once, and the book will be finished. THAT is the power of this book.

Contained within its slim body are stories of sex trade workers, drug addicts, acquired brain damage, pow-wows, family, love, war, dreams, hope, royalty, life, death, food, and mystery. Because that's what this book is, is a mystery. But it's not. It's also fantasy. It's also historical fiction. It's also sci-fi (oh, sorry..."Speculative Fiction", if you need to apply for a grant). It's also a recipe book. It's also a brilliant tribute to many inspirational people.



I'd do a whole lot more, but the walls aren't going to wash themselves. Are they?
Incidentally, you should read Robert Sawyer's "Wake", if you're a sci-fi fan. Particularly if you're a fan of William Gibson and Neal Stephenson.

Labels: Books, reviews

Okay, I think I may have mentioned that the awesome wedding we went to this weekend was a Pride and Prejudice (and zombies!) wedding. The period was Regency; the theme was Jane Austen. I'm not sure if you know this or not...but Jane Austen and I had a falling out. She wanted more out of the relationship than I was willing to give, and in the end...well...

You see, there was this brief but torrid affair we called Northanger Abbey, and that was Very Good. Why was it good? Because Jane Austen saw the inherent silliness in the intense appetite people had for Gothic novels and so she wrote a parody...in the way only a well-bred woman of a certain social class could in the early part of the nineteenth century. When men were men and novels were exclusively the domain of women...Yes, our time with Northanger Abbey was enjoyable, partly because Jane didn't take herself too seriously. How could she? How could anyone who wrote NOVELS be taken seriously? The thing with Northanger Abbey was that Jane took her *audience* seriously. Probably too seriously.

She was needy, you know. Oh yes, Jane Austen was needy. Needy like a needy thing that needs. Northanger Abbey wasn't good enough for Jane. The short, but passionate affair we had...she wanted more. "I daresay," she said to me once, as we were discussing the finer points of applying needlework directly to someone's face, "isn't it dreadful that's the only thing I've had published? You must see my other work; it's far superior."

"Jane," I replied, "Northanger Abbey is wonderful! Look at what you've done! You've made a case for the novel being accepted as more than solipsistic sensationalism. And I dare you...I double DOG dare you to say that three times fast."

She sighed. She *actually SIGHED* at me. That's the thing with all those Regency authors. They were always sighing all over the place.

"Look," I continued. "Half the people who read your book won't even GET it. That's the BEAUTY of it."

"No, that's terrible," she said, and sighed again. "They don't understand."

"Well, you're up against rather a lot here. I mean, first, you have to admit, you're a woman."

"Yes, I AM a woman," she said testily.

"Well, that's the thing. All these folks, these society folks...you could be writing the Declaration of Independence, and they'd still sniff and balk and roll their eyes. You not only have to fight against commonly held (albeit mostly WRONG) ideas about literature and art, but you have to fight against the very notion that the "unfortunate fact of your gender" is going to be a hindrance. But that doesn't mean you should quit!"

"You're right!" She exclaimed. "I should write novels about what women do all day long!"

Hence, the staggering amount of needlepoint, watercolour painting, and sitting around on chaises in all of Jane's other work. At that point, I knew it wasn't going to work. I really tried, though. All through Pride and Prejudice, and all through Sense and Sensibility and Emma and Mansfield Park...all through those books, I was hoping to see the spark I'd first seen. I was waiting to see Jane, her face outlined in the light of a warm parlour fireplace, and I was waiting for her words to fill my head again as they had when we shared Northanger Abbey.

It didn't happen. Jane and I were out walking in some overgrown rugby field she called a 'garden' and she started telling me about Persuasion. I stopped her right there. "Jane," I said, "I can't go on like this. I'm tired of everyone pining about something but not doing anything. I wish your characters would stand up, like you did. I know you want more, but I can't give it to you. Not this time, Jane Austen. Maybe not ever again."

She was a little heartbroken, and we haven't really spoken since then. Then I found the work she collaborated on with that zombie guy, and we're starting to talk again. Slowly, of course, because she knows she's on thin ice.

Anyway, enough about my relationship with Jane Austen. The wedding was awesome.

Labels: Books, wedding

So I have a friend who is a Rare Coin, and she lent me a copy of "The Time Traveler's Wife" by Audrey Niffenegger.

I'm sorry for the pause, there. I had to take a really big breath to prepare myself to talk about this book.

First, let me say that I am horrified to learn that the book is being made in to a movie to be released this year (2009). There is absolutely no way that this book will not be ruined by being a movie.

Second, it's been a really, really *really* long time since I've sobbed for the last 100 pages of a book.

Third, there's a funny thing that happens, no matter how much you tell yourself you do not believe in coincidence or conspiracy theory. His Nibs said to me earlier today, "What book is this now that you're reading?"
And I told him "It's The Time Traveler's Wife by Audrey Niffenegger."
And he said, "But you've been talking about that other book, about the turtle."
"It's a tortoise," I say, and I smile.
"Whatever. You really liked that one, didn't you?"
And I say, "Yes, I did."
And he says, "Are they kind of the same?"
And I say, "No, not at all. Well. Except for the following things:" This is where the really strange coincidence thing comes in. Do you have your tinfoil hat ready? WHAT? What do you MEAN you don't have a tinfoil hat?
::Sigh::
Please send five dollars in the mail to cenobyte, c/o 2405 11th Avenue, Regina, SK, S4P 0K4, and I will send you by return post, a new tinfoil hat. Jeez.

ANYWAY. On to the conspiracy.

• They are both First Novels
• They are both about longevity, and the tricks that are played by the mind
  
• They are both about a woman in her thirties, most of the time
• Both are written by women
• Both are published by Knopf (I read the hardcover version of both)
• The main character in Come, Thou Tortoise is called Audrey Flowers. The author of The Time Traveler's Wife is called Audrey Niffenegger.
• "Niffenegger" means "Flowers" in Dutch.
• In both stories, there is a fear of travel
• I have read both books (okay, that's not *technically* a coincidence, but I *did* read them simultaneously.

I preferred Come, Thou Tortoise, partly because it didn't make me cry (it did make me sad, particularly at the beginning), and partly because the language was...well...more impressive. The writing was much more clever, much better. The Time Traveler's Wife is an interesting story, told in an interesting way, but if I had only one 34-dollar-bill, I would purchase Come, Thou Tortoise, and not just because Jessica Grant is Canadian, although that helps.

Also, I will never, ever see the movie for The Time Traveler's Wife. Never. It would suck. Even though the author is one of the writers for the screenplay, I shudder to think about all the stuff they will get wrong. And judging from the cast, they've already made pretty much every casting decision wrong. Which doesn't surprise me.

Labels: Books

I have mentioned this on teh Facebook; I have mentioned it on teh radio/in person, and now this will be the third and final time I will mention this. But I need you to really listen.

You need to....no, really...you NEED TO read this book:
Come, Thou Tortoise by Jessica Grant.

The Captain picked it out for me, and it pleases me Greatly.

Also, for a first novel, it's pretty effing amazing.

Labels: Books

Sometimes when they (you do so too know who they are. They are all those people who get paid eff-you money to write seventeen-word 'blurbs' on the back covers of books) say "an instant laugh-out-loud classic" and "joyful and jubilant", what they really mean is "terribly, heart-rendingly sad" or "the kind of book that you should not read alone in a house because it's the sort of book that makes you need your family and friends, unless you're an agoraphobic. If you're agoraphobic, you might want to read this book because it will make you realise how sad, small, and alone we all are as individuals, and it will make you leave your apartment/condo/house/hovel/shed/cave/quonset clutching your safety blanket/favourite dildo/genitals/little mouse friend you found inside a combine, and wearing a sheet/pillowcase/balaclava/toque/jacket/bucket over your head so that you don't have to see the outside world, just so that you can go and be with people. Other people just like you. Okay, well not everyone travels around with a bucket on their head, clutching a dead mouse and hiding in quonsets. But you get my drift.

I think it's unfair that they have a secret code. Particularly since that secret code is pretty much completely contrary to common sense. Someone who didn't know that they had a secret code would pick up that book, and they'd read the back, and they'd say, "Oh! An instant laugh-out-loud classic! That's just what I need to take my mind off the termite infestation we have that's going to make us lose our house!" Or they might say "A jubilant, joyful romp! What a great way to get over the tragic loss of my life-partner in a horrible inflatible tube accident!" And do you know what would happen? They'd read the book, and they'd be sitting in their tub, and they'd say "What the poop? This isn't a "joyful romp" at all! In fact, it's kind of a bit of a melancholic trudge!" or "For the love of the Great Worm Spirit, I didn't laugh out loud once!"

And then something terrible would happen. They'd have to go back to junior high school, or wear blue eyeshadow or something. Something really really terrible like that would happen and then they'd be all, "oh, you know what, book blurb writers? Go jump in a puddle."

Labels: Books, piss in your eye

A goldsmith called Johannes in the fifteenth century had an idea. He had an idea for an Incredible Machine. This machine would very literally solidify the dreams and thoughts of all the people in the world. It had been a kind of machine that had been used in other places...far away places where ideas and dreams flew like cranes. The Incredible Machine Johannes created made it possible for people all over western Europe to pray, to pray with the same words, in the same tongue....or even in different tongues if they so chose. Johannes worked on his Incredible Machine with a gem-cutter, and with a man who owned a paper mill. You might say to yourself, as the old joke goes - "A goldsmith, a gem-cutter, and a paper man walk into a bar..." What do they have in common?

They created the first moveable type printing press in Western Europe. Before the introduction of printing presses, there were under 200 books in one of the most well-known libraries in the world: Cambridge University Library. And each single one of those books cost more than a farm or a vineyard. With Johannes' Incredible Machine, one could print more than one copy of a tract, a treatise, a leaflet, or a book. You know what that meant?

It meant that a whole bunch of monks were out of a job.

In the 1700s (the eighteenth century, of course), after only roughly two hundred years of use in Europe, "print and publication experts" began predicting the END OF THE PRINTED BOOK! The people of Europe will have no use for BOOKS. Printed on PAPER. Johannes Gutenberg's Incredible Machine would be useless, cobwebby, and put to pasture.

In the 1800s, the Victorians pooh-poohed the printed book and foretold the END OF THE NOVEL! Novels, fiction, were 'women's stories' and were considered in much the same light many people think of genre fiction today (Harlequin romance, thrillers, westerns). Victorians and the people of the world would **not** stand for things like novels, which encouraged flights of fancy, and were only for the weak-minded, who could not stomach worthy books of natural science and adventure-biographies.

In the 1900s, in the post-industrial western world, experts talked about the END OF THE PRINTED BOOK! Radio transmission would change the world and make print media obsolete. Later, the moving pictures would put print media solidly into the burning bin for good. The latter twenty or thirty years of the twentieth century introduced a new, and more accurate and better-studied claim: that the advent of the Internet and HTML code would cause the END OF THE BOOK and print media FOREVER.

It is now the 21st century.
The end of the printed book is supposed to have been dead now for over five hundred years.

The printed book isn't going anywhere. Other products are coming, and will be used as adjuncts to print, but there will always be books. At least, for as long as I and my children are alive, and most likely for as long as my grandchildren and great-grandchildren are alive, there will always be books.

Thank God for that.

Labels: Books

It occurred to me that "really effing good" really doesn't say a whole lot about a movie.

1. In which the movie seemed to have been produced specifically for those who've read Alan Moore's Graphic Novel of the same name (even though Moore himself distances himself from movies made based on his works): I *always* dig movies that, at least in my opinion, do a *fairly* good jaerb of representing the salient parts of the book(s) upon which they are based. In this case, I thought "The Watchmen", while necessarily having to leave out several elements, and changing at least one, did a pretty good job of staying relatively close to the book. To the point where the characters' lines mirror the characters' dialogue in the book.

2. In which the casting in the movie brought characters from a book to life: So many times we form images in our mind of what the protagonists might look like, how they might sound, etc.. This is, necessarily, more profound when you're making a movie based on a graphic novel. But the producers of this movie really got it. Really.

3. In which, after the first fifteen minutes of the movie, I turned to His Nibs and said, "you may get me this soundtrack for my birthday."

4. In which cenobyte could have left the theatre happy after only having seen the previews: Wolverine (X Men Origins) with my secret lover, Wolverine (as reimagined by my not-so-secret lover, Hugh Jackman); My boyfriend Johnny Depp as John Dillinger in "Public Enemies"; and, of course, THE NEW STAR TREK MOVIE!!! Seriously, I didn't see as much of the previews as other patrons, because I was squealing gleefully. In fact, I was somewhat verklempt at the idea of all of those things being shown to me within such a short time frame.

5. In which cenobyte's favourite character from The Watchmen was, while under-represented in the movie, done *perfectly*. That's a fairly tall order.

Labels: Books, movies, verklempt

Something Pretty Damned Cool is happening on 27th January.

It's Rabbit Hole Day. What's Rabbit Hole Day? you ask. Do you remember when you read Lewis Carroll's Alice's Adventures in Wonderland? Do you remember what happens in that book?

You don't?

Hrm. <-- sound of consternation.

Well, Alice's Adventures in Wonderland and Alice Through the Looking Glass are two of my favourite books of all time. I just *happen* to have read them recently, but in case you're not up on your Carroll, you can read the book in its entirety on the headache-inducing blinky light machine "thanks" to Project Gutenberg. You may care to note I am not a fan of books-on-web. Kind of ruins the experience of reading a good book, I say.

Anyhow, at the very beginning of Alice's Adventures in Wonderland, Alice is drowsy and somewhat petulant, lying in the sun with her sister, when a white rabbit with pink eyes appears. This is not so incredible as when the rabbit pulls a watch out of its waist-coat pocket and bounds off. Alice follows the rabbit as it ducks into a rabbit-hole in the hedgs. Further in the rabbit-hole, she falls into a deep, dark well, and everything goes a little topsy-turvy. She meets a cast of incredible characters, has some wonderful adventures (hence the title of the book, one might surmise), and generally makes my life better for having had them and having had someone like Mister Lewis Carroll write about them. That was very clever of Alice, don't you think?

So, when I was browsing BoingBoing this morning, I saw the article about Rabbit Hole Day, and I thought: "That's bloody fabulous!"

The point of Rabbit Hole Day, by way of a long and convoluted explanation, is to write your blog, your articles, your letters at work, everything you write, in a style completely different from the one in which you usually write. What terrible fun! So. 27th January. Let's do it. Let's fall in love (with Rabbit Hole Day). You and me!

Labels: Alice, Books, Lewis Carroll, Rabbit Hole Day