The Zed Word

Beautiful weekend, kids. 


Book Worm Week is drawing to a close tomorrow, so let's get right to it by switching gears yet again. Today's book is the one and only World War Z by Max Brooks.

Serving as a conceptual sequel and an extrapolation of the concept presented in Brooks' premier effort, The Zombie Survival Guide, World War Z is a sprawling account of the global catastrophe that occurs when an outbreak of the living dead goes out of control. But before we get ahead of ourselves here, a word of explanation - the Survival Guide was written as just that, a guide or instruction manual on how to survive and what to do when plagued by the undead. World War Z is a book that plays off of the rules established in the guide - that the zombies are in the Romero line of work, i.e. no running, no thinking, just relentless shuffling following by flesh-eating and you getting your day wrecked. While Brooks could have simply b.s.'ed a couple of short stories about outbreaks similar to the coda of the survival guide, he instead went for broke, creating a fictitious series of accounts of a global outbreak and the near-extinction of all humanity. 


It's crazy stuff.


Broken up into sections for every stage of the pseudo-apocalypse, World War Z breaks down the events into digestible (forgive the word choice) bits of story. What starts as a virus reanimating the deceased in rural China spreads via the black-market organ transplant business, exploding into an epidemic after a series of riots and out breaks in South Africa. Soon after, the world begins crumbling - in the most affecting passages, Brooks creates detailed anecdotes about humanity collapsing in the face of death. We are clearly a society that struggles to work together and this occasion is no different - riots, looting and a failure in military strategy on the national level. Abroad, things get just as bad - Russia clamps down in abhorrent military tactics while Pakistan and India fires nukes, obliterating each other. Ecosystems are destroyed, cities are overrun. It looks like time is up for mankind. 


But not all is lost.


Soon a plan is hatched to regroup and refocus military efforts, at the cost of large segments of the population. As unthinkable as it may be, letting huge sections of the world go in order to save the rest is the only workable option. Soldiers are re-trained to make slow, deliberate head shots and are re-equipped with the proper equipment. When the tides turn, the soul crushing tale starts to become a thing of remarkable optimism and cheer. It's actually a remarkable twist of narrative.

The sheer scope of what Brooks has done in World War Z is amazing. The manner in which he breaks down a global catastrophe into comprehensible segments is not unlike some of the History Channel's longer exercises on tragedies like Katrina or the September 11th attacks - events that were so massive in size that you have to approach them on a smaller, human level to begin to understand them. A zombie apocalypse would be similarly unwieldy - to huge to wrap one's head around and too many unforeseeable results. Yet somehow, through an overwhelming amount of research and homework, Brooks has lain out an impressively detailed and well-crafted series of events. The scope is staggering.

If by any means you have an interest in Zombies or horror, you have to read this book. In fact you may well have already. But that should not limit it's appeal in any way - there are fascinating insights into politics, economics and sociology as well, not just from a fictional stand point. Countless times I found myself marveling at the plausible consequences presented by Brooks. Slated to start production as a major Hollywood movie soon, you'll be hearing more about this astounding book in the future. Just be ready and do your homework. Tomorrow, we wrap up Book Worm Week! See you then!

Batboy

Happy Weekend, everyone!

We're still in the midst of Book Worm Week. In the interest of switching genres abruptly, let's go completely outside of the box and look at something fun and easy for a Friday night thing, shall we? Today's post is on Frank Miller and David Mazzucchelli's stunning Batman: Year One. 

I know what you're thinking. Comics, for real? I know, I'm another in the long line of emotionally stunted men who still read comics as adults. Some are more like actual novels, like the sprawling and long form Y: The Last Man. Others are completely whacked out, like Hellboy or anything involving the X-Men. Batman, I honestly believe, falls somewhere between the two. Sounds insane to say, but hear me out - Bats has no superpowers to speak of. He's just a very wealthy, well trained man with an over-accentuated sense of justice. Nothing supernatural or completely far out, depending on the story you're reading. My preferred tales of the Batman are all closer to reality than some of the more fantastical story lines and continuities. So this excellent tale of how the Dark Knight got his start grounds itself in that same sense of reality. Let's take a closer look. 

I've got to assume that if you're reading this, you have at least a passing familiarity with Batman's origin. As an child, Bruce Wayne witnesses the death of his parents at the hands of a desperate mugger, the tragedy creating a void in his life that can never be filled. As a young man he travels abroad for 12 years, studying martial arts and along with a wide range of studies, preparing himself for cleansing corruption from Gotham City. The opening of the book sees him returning to the city and setting about the process of figuring out what to do. The plot for the book essentially follows the arc of Bruce Wayne's first year in his foray in donning a cape and cowl to fight the corruption threatening to destroy Gotham City. Simultaneously Detective Jim Gordon deals with transferring into a corrupt police force and has to face the task of combating crimes from the inside while holding on to a struggling marriage. The two men and their divergent methods of dealing with the problems they face make for an excellent read, the contrast in their dramas making for an engaging back-and-forth storytelling style. What many would dismiss as flights of fancy for teenagers and kids is actually a well written and beautifully drawn book that tells a believable tale of vigilantism taken to the extreme. 

The wonderful power of Year One comes not only from the images but the script. Too often you find hammy and over-the-top writing can pull you out of what could otherwise be a great story. Frank Miller's script, though, is fantastic - the dialogue and action are, given the circumstances, fairly grounded and true to life. Sure, it's hard to suspend you belief to accept a man dressing as a bat to fight crime, but if you read the scene in that sees Bruce finally deciding to use the likeness of a bat in his quest it really can be powerful. Likewise, the scene in which The Batman finally makes his presence explicitly known to the Mob families of Gotham is a tense, dramatic scene that plays incredibly well on the page.

The artwork here is simply gorgeous. They style of Mazzucchelli isn't one of over-exaggerated muscles and impossibly proportioned women with too little too wear. Instead it's all grim and grit, the smoke of the cigarettes wafting off the page, the rain making you feel chilled. The tone of the visuals is a bit of a throwback, drawing influence from old-school yarns that originated the format, re-contextualized in the style of the time (late 80s). It's a tale told in the shadows and gloom, yet it never gets lost in the dark - the dynamics make for a remarkable piece, all pops of color and highlights that draw attention to key elements. For men who work in the shadows, it's incredibly bright work.


No matter your stance on the format, you owe it to yourself to read one of the finest tales the medium can offer. If you've never read a comic, or anything about Batman, it's the perfect place to start. If you're passingly familiar with the world, it's an example of how high a standard the form can set. If you're a die hard, you already know just why you should re-read this classic. Batman: Year One is gospel. Do it for justice. Do it for the art.

Bleeding Edge

Exclamations! 

We're still in the midst of Book Worm Week, just passing the halfway point. So where does that leave us? Which genre can we jump to next? In a convenient twist, Next is the book du jour, a startling and strange look ahead by the late, great Michael Crichton. 

It was a sad day in the literary world when he passed away - Crichton was fantastic. His books vacillated between science fiction thrillers to cutting edge techno-parables that fueled their pace with frantic and dire warnings of progress run amok. Like anyone alive during the 90s (except paleontologists) I loved Jurassic Park - even re-reading it on a plane ride during the first decade of the millennium I thought it aged pretty well. It's a great story. Crichton had this relentless energy and nerds-pushing-glasses-up-their-noses aggression that added a level of seriousness without pomp. In short, I really dug his work. So when my (eventual) mother-in-law happened to leave a copy of his last finished published work on their coffee table, I eagerly borrowed it and got down to business. What I read was an interesting if uneven tale that Crichton made accessible despite the jargon within. Since my last read of any of his works was about five years prior, I was pleasantly reminded of why I love his work. 

Next, published in 2006, is technically a novel about a loosely connected group of people in the genetic-research industry and the implications of their actions. In the same sense, though, the book functions more as a collection of interconnected vignettes about out-of-control and unchecked advances in the legal and ethical realm of scientists at the front of their field. Beginning with the tale of a man who loses the rights of ownership of his own cells (due to not understanding the language of a research waiver while being treated for a leukemia), Crichton begins spinning yarn after yarn about potential developments due to court-enabled precedents. The man loses the rights to his cells, which a university uses for research and eventually profit while barring him from any information, let alone profits. This ties in with a story of a geneticist who inadvertently creates transgenic specimens, one of which is a chimp that is blurring the lines of humanity in unnerving ways. Further concepts such as genetic predispositions to risk-taking and chimera genes are brought into the story as both plot points and parables. The collection of stories hold together well, but from my understanding Crichton wasn't aiming to do so - Next is intended as a single, cohesive novel and yet it comes across as segmented and uneven, some passages feeling too heavy handed to be legitimate fiction, while some fiction comes across as to much of a lecture to be engaging. Despite this uneven nature, I still enjoyed the book, if not for the diverse range of characters than for all of the startling and accurate developments in science and the legal system.

 One gets the sense, coming late to the Crichton party, that his books are not always read for their rich stories and characters but for the concepts and execution. I enjoyed reading Prey when it came out (Xmas of 2004) but I can't recall the characters. Similar story for The Lost World, save for Ian Malcolm. In fact, were it not for his science and adoration of boundary-pushing, would I have any inclination to read his books? Probably not. But that's neither here nor there. What really tickles my brain is that, having read this book just a few years after publishing, so much of it has come to pass that it becomes unnerving. We may not have full ownership of our bodies, given certain circumstances. Following a multitude of science and tech blogs (Hi Giz!) plus being obsessed with science fiction (Hellooooo io9!) I'm startled to read about the bizarre and incomprehensible discoveries and developments that occur on a daily basis. Just the other day I read about a lab that was creating a whole slew of transgenic animals and just wasn't telling anyone, just because they wanted to do it to see if it could be done (and supposedly what we can learn in the process). Or how we can cultivate bacteria to eat the oil in the Gulf or break down plastics in the Great Pacific Garbage Heap. Or everyone's favorite - the mouse with the ear grown on its back: 

Next is a bit of a hybrid itself - an imperfect development that spans multiple worlds. Crichton was a visionary, predicting both good and bad from this rapidly changing field - the main lesson to draw from it seems to be that we need to be judicious and cautious in our approach. It's not the most engaging story he's told (*coughcoughdinosaursrunningwildcoughcough*) but man, if it isn't crazy science. maybe I'm just a nerd who's suckered in by geeky subject matter and a pulpy story. Maybe I'm being to hard on a great author, now that he's gone. Tell you what - you read Next and weigh in. Am I a jerk or what? While we're doing homework, read these five summarizing conclusions Crichton made after writing this book:

Stop patenting genes.

Establish clear guidelines for the use of human tissues.

Pass laws to ensure that data about gene testing is made public.

Avoid bans on research.

Rescind the Bayh-Dole Act

...and read this critique on his reasoning, then weigh in. Test tomorrow. Okay, no test. It's Friday.

Nerf Herder

Welcome back to Book Worm Week!

To continue with my trend of abruptly switching gears with every post, I thought I'd get away from the heady, symbolic texts worth hours of introspection to focus a bit more on the lighter side of things. So today, instead of grim surrealism we're looking at Bossypants by Tina Fey

Tina Fey is, in a word, awesome. I adore her. Yes, I am a married man, but I have to admit a certain fondness for her witty charm and insightful writing - plus her words can cut like a razor, which doesn't hurt. Frankly, anyone who has met me and my better half could attest I have a thing for genius-level brunettes with a strong sense of humor. My own embarrassing admissions aside, I remember first seeing Tina Fey on SNL hosting the Weekend Update segment. As someone who has always paid close attention to the news and politics, I found her cutting and delightful, a snarky and hysterical woman at a time in my life where those type were not in abundance. Plus, she wore glasses - not a lot of people in my small No-Coast town embraced the whole intelligence-fostering ideal, but it was high school and let's be honest - neither did I. Anyway, I regret not watching SNL more in those days and leading into college, because anything of hers I've seen has been awesome, like the Mom Jeans or Annuale commercial, or any of her work on Weekend Update. It was also around this time 30 Rock debuted. I remember thinking that it was either that show or Studio 60 that would survive and thankfully Fey persevered. Around the second season of that show I fell in love with it, and I have quickly glommed on to Fey's voice and perspective, figuring out what her general style is. Never one to relish in the spotlight, Fey was elusive and a bit mysterious, but she would probably chalk that up to being a social misfit and not wanting to be a reality TV star. 

So imagine my delight, then, when I heard about her (then) forthcoming book Bossypants. As a generally biographical tale sprinkled with her insight into the worlds of comedy and beauty, I was instantly sold on the book. While it is clear at times Fey was not writing for my general audience (young men) I still found what she had to offer to be absolutely hysterical and interesting, if not illuminating. Fey writes a fair amount about her experiences growing up; there were no great tragedies the reader can point to and say "Oh, that's where the bitter comedy comes from..." but there was just enough demeaning experiences and self-loathing to gain an understanding of her approach to writing and being a reluctant public figure. Her home life comes across as supportive and normal, her school experiences seem, while certainly unique, not impossible for anyone else to identify with, even a 28 year old guy lying on a beach on his honeymoon. Those were great conditions for reading the book, by the way - Fey's a whip-smart woman with a jovial, engaging writing style, so buzzing through a couple quick chapters while lying in the sun were ideal. A crowded bus? Maybe not so much. But it was a fun, quick read that was hard to put down. 

Her rise to prominence wasn't a tale of overcoming adversity but trying to get through to foolish people who struggled to understand that women were just as capable as men when it comes to being funny. In fact her tales of career choices and the events in her life pale in comparison to when her sense of justice and humor fire up at the same time - when writing on the idea of whether or not women are inherently funny, Fey goes after her detractors with both barrels blazing, to delightful effect. I should admit, though, that these passages were, in essence, preaching to the choir - I was still in my formative comedy years when women took over SNL and I see everyday women like Kristen Schaal and Samantha Bee kill it on The Daily Show, so I don't see where the 'women aren't funny' concept generated. Furthermore, her take on the whole Sarah Palin period was particularly revelatory.

But I digress.
Fey is most alive in the book when straying from her loose autobiography. She shares funny, if perfunctory, anecdotes about her her honeymoon and raising kids while being a writer, but they're more to give insight into 'being the boss' of her life, the theme of the book. Her musings on women's fashion, photo shoots and the experiences of being both over-and-underweight are the most entertaining and revelatory. Again, as a guy who's almost 30, these aren't truly aimed at me. I still found them to be entertaining and worthwhile reading, though. I also particularly enjoyed her tales of backstage at SNL and the assembling of her writer's team on 30 Rock, which is, in my humble opinion, one of the hands-down funniest shows, period. Citing her writing staff's highlights and MVP moments is also great for fans of the show - it gives a glimpse at how the insane scripts come together, instead of springing forth from creative people's minds, pre-assembled.

 I simply can't say enough good things about Bossypants. I'm one of those guys who think Tina Fey can do no wrong, Sarah Palin-skewering included. I love her writing style, I adore her comedy and sense of humor and I really enjoy and admire her take on what it is to be a woman. Again, though, this is coming from a dude who's been a dude all his life, so make of that what you will. That being said - if you know me and are the least bit curious, just ask. I gladly loan out my books. 

Corridors

Hello! 

Welcome to day two of Book Worm Week! 

After looking at such a dense and heady text as Murakami's Windup Bird Chronicle yesterday, what would you say to switching gears completely, to something like a total inversion of that experience? Instead of an emotionally driven tale of a lonely man's search for identity in the world while dealing with dream-obsessed psychic prostitutes in a doorstop of a novel, how about a pop-culture influencing, quick read that almost makes a game out of the reading experience - would that pique your interest? Good, because today we're looking at House of Leaves, by Mark Z. Danielewski.

 Published back around the turn of the millennium, House of Leaves could be the very definition of a post-modern book, one that is just as much about the book itself as it is about what happens both in and on the page. On the surface (which is a statement, in and of itself) the plot is as follows: a young man working at an LA tattoo parlor named Johnny Truant is told about a vacant apartment for rent, whose previous tenant was a blind old man named Zampano. In the old man's belongings they find a book the man apparently dictated, the subject of which was a film called The Navidson Record. As Truant begins to edit and assemble a workable copy of the book from the scraps and fragments left by Zampano, the tale of The Navidson Record takes over. The Navidson record was a (possibly) fictional movie the documented a family whose home suddenly gains a large closet it hadn't previously held. The patriarch of the family, (fictional) famed photographer Will Navidson, begins an obsessive quest to document the exact measurements of the house, finding it to be exactly 1/4 inch larger on the inside than the outside. This discrepancy begins to consume him, and when there appears a doorway on the living room wall which opens into a corridor that exists seemingly in hammer space, he begins to explore it. 

So to recap - a book about a book about a movie about a strange and impossible labyrinth. 

As I stated at the beginning of the post, the book is a poster child for the modern non-book, a work with multiple levels of interpretation and meta-contextually that becomes a winding, inescapable journey into the author's mind. In a cheeky move, the book itself is 1/4 inch larger than the cover, the pages jutting out intentionally. The text inside changes fonts, sizes and formats, depending both on the narrating character and the context of the action. Passages of prose are broken up by poems, which are footnoted; these footnotes often contain there own footnotes, at times telling entirely capsular stories of their own. As the reader reaches the point of Navidson exploring the labyrinth in his home, the text shifts and twists around the page, reflecting the alien nature of the story and the sub-protagonist's perspective. It's fascinating but at times it makes it either impossibly off putting or entirely engrossing. When fleeing sounds in the darkness in the labyrinth, the text becomes small, claustrophobic blocks, forcing the reader to rapidly flip pages to keep up, as though running along side the action. When lost miles beneath the house, the text circles back around in isolated boxes that are upside down in other chapters, highlighting the impossible physics and skewing the reader's sense of perspective. Text changes color at times randomly, other times quite intentionally for specific phrases and words.

 To be candid, though, I found this to be simultaneously inspired logic yet it absolutely withdrew me from the reading experience. I found myself wistfully thinking, at times, how nice it would have been to simply have the straight text of The Navidson Film in a standard book format - the idea of inner-space being more extensive than outer-space was fascinating and (I felt) at times fumbled by Danielewski. What could have made for a disturbing and haunting tale becomes, instead, a case of 'look how clever I am' exercises in an author's debut work. It felt like at times the book would reach out and slap me if it had hands, just to defy the typical reading experience.

 I say all this, yet I still have read the book more than once. I can bag on the post-modern theatrics that Danielewski foists upon the reader and yet I still adore the central concept on display. This no doubt has ties to my love of the Silent Hill series, which has often featured long and winding passages that don't exist in reality yet force the player through them in effectively disorienting sequences. As much as I love the adventure of the characters getting lost somewhere in the walls of the house, it is, at it's heart, a book about a married couple clutching each other's hands as their relationship stumbles. I didn't realize it until my second read through (with some internet-assisted hand-holding) that the book has just as much of a focus on the characters as it does the house itself. Johnny Truant's crumbling mind and Will Navidson's obsessions fuel the plot developments in such a deft and sly manner that it adds another layer to an already massively choreographed work - you don't notice it as you read about a 'haunted house' but it's the character's you're becoming unknowingly invested in, not the labyrinth. 

It's divisive, it's notorious, it's over a decade old and still post-modern. House of Leaves is strange and wonderful journey that is fundamentally unlike anything else I've ever read. I would highly suggest you track down a copy and see what you find. Book Worm Week continues tomorrow with another abrupt change in style - stay tuned! 

Bird On A Wire

Happy Monday, dear readers.

Or rather, just Monday.

Mondays are a bite. I don't care for 'em. So I'll take the opportunity to flip it on its head. Like I promised when I resumed writing after the honeymoon, I'm doing more themed weeks here on the blog. Video Game Week went pretty well, and I have something lined up for October that I'm really excited for. In the mean time, starting today it's officially Book Worm Week! In a bold attempt at breaking my own conventions and exposing my own limited comprehension skills I'm going to spend the week highlighting books that are fantastic, underrated or fantastically underrated. So where do we start? Instead of easing in to the week, let's go full-bore: The Windup Bird Chronicle.

 This book is heavy, both in the figurative and literal sense. It functions as a doorstop as well as a dense, symbolic text about the author's search for identity in post-World War II Japan. The post-modern work of celebrated Japanese novelist Haruki Murakami, The Windup Bird Chronicle tells the tale of a young man named Toru Okada as he searches for things gone missing: first his cat, then his wife, then his sense of self, both real and perceived. But upon reading the book it becomes apparent its' actually about much more than that. The book is a heavily symbolic examination of identity and loss in a world with which I am only passingly familiar. As Okada begins a search for his cat, his wife introduces a sort of psychic woman named Malta Kano, who has an obsession over water and flow in the lives of her clients. Her sister, Creta Kano, also displays a sort of clairvoyance. The manner in which these characters are connected slowly is brought into focus throughout the first third of the book, until it becomes clear that for better or worse, they are drawn together to make sense of the world around them.

 Okada's brother-in-law, Nobroru Wataya, is the central figure in the book, serving as both motivation, plot mechanism and antagonist. His character is, by its very nature, murky and ominous, ill defined. His presence is one that fills the other characters with dread and loathing, though they struggle to comprehend just why that is. Murakami has done an incredible thing in creating this character, who eludes the reader's grasp yet exudes an air of malice and otherworldliness, even when speaking quite simply and bluntly about his motivations. It's fascinating to watch him come to life.
The book is, indeed, a chronicle - it works both in chapters and as a larger, arching tome. The manner in which the plot meanders and segues into other ideas is bit serpentine and unpredictable. At times it feels like entirely different books and plots are overlapping with the central themes Murakami presents. That's the thing about this book - it's incredibly hard to describe. While I've mentioned the basic plot and characters, there are vignettes of other tales and divergent paths all over the place. Okada meets a variety of characters, all having distinct and whole lives that figure in - an old soldier from Japan's failed invasion of China who recounts the horrible things he witnessed in Mongolia and Russian Labor camps. A designer and holistic healer named Nutmeg Akasaka whose guidance is central in later plot developments. Okada's neighbor, the morbidly obsessed May Kasahara, actually leaves the story, only to appear in a series of letters to the protagonist through the remainder of the book. Like I previously stated - The Windup Bird Chronicle is a dense complicated book.

 I should say, though, that despite the complex nature of the book, I've adored it through multiple readings. The first time I made my way through it, I was admittedly confused by the events and the (at times) disconnected nature of syntax; it felt like while I understood the literal language, there were sub textual things that were lost on me. Upon further readings of the book, however, it became much clearer that I was reading too deep into the text. Things that were originally murky became much more simple and straight forward on a second pass. What also became much clearer was the nuanced, interconnected nature of the plot. Where my first pass through the text took over a month with me scratching my head at seemingly unrelated events, my second time through took only days, with the plot becoming so much more cohesive. The manner in which Murakami ties in his characters with overlapping themes and repeated motifs is breathtaking in their beauty and scope. Once again at the end of the book, I found myself asking how it all tied together. In just a few short pages and a handful of developments, the plot's central essences is laid bare, elegant in its simplicity but masterfully played out by the author.

It's about a man searching for things he's lost, but it's also so much more than that. If you have any patience whatsoever for a fantastical, strange text, I would emphatically recommend The Windup Bird Chronicle. To fully describe it would rob it of the journey it presents - you simply must read it to experience what Murakmi has created. So begins Book Worm Week! I'll see you tomorrow for more literary adventures. 

All Left Feet

Word.


Whole bunch of 'em. 


So it's been a massively busy week. I got a promotion at work, which is fantastic. However, as with any new position there are fresh new responsibilities. Turns out this new gig has quite a few. Like, pages of stuff. Whole lists of things I'm responsible for. I assume my last position was the same way but after time you don't think of it as a list of things to do, it's just your job. It's still in that new phase for me, where it feels overwhelming but is approaching manageable. I'm excited - it's fantastic and so are my new coworkers. Still, it wears a body out, trying to take everything in. The one small respite in the face of this change? The simple joy of finishing a book while riding the bus home.

After a day spent taking in as much as possible, trying to put my best foot forward for 9 hours, slouching down on the back of the 6 and pulling a book out of my bag to open it near the end is a gratifying feeling. It's a silly, base thing to take such happiness from but it doesn't mean I can't savor it. Having poked away at the book over lunch breaks and bus rides over the last month, I was glad to put it to bed but sad to see it end. Another of the multitude I was given for the holidays, I am only now approaching the end of the line in my small collection of Murakami's canon.

Dance, Dance, Dance is another of the surreal, bizarre pieces of fiction by the Japanese author. Not only is it a wonderfully bemusing novel, it's also a sort of sequel to his last book I read, A Wild Sheep Chase. Having enjoyed that supernatural gumshoe story, I was excited to read this, knowing that it follows some of the same characters after a somewhat abrupt ending. The same nameless protagonist tells us the story, his astoundingly-eared girlfriend factors in, as well as the strange and mysterious Sheep Man. 


Another of Murakami's musings on the nature of loss and forlornness, the book spends a great deal of time introducing and subsequently killing off characters. Those readers paying rapt attention may spot it coming, but I found myself to be pleasantly surprised by some of the twists and turns the narrative took. Once again we have the protagonist joking his way through a seemingly humdrum existence, writing copy for ads, a process of dismisses as "shoveling cultural snow". That description is actually one of the better things to come from the book, a succinct way of summing up many lives. When he feels something beyond this world calling out to him from the Dolphin Hotel, the penultimate setting of the previous book, his life heads straight down a rabbit hole of high-class call girls, inconsolable movie stars and psychic teenagers. Disparate elements that end of tying together quite nicely in the end. I recall getting within 60 pages of the end and thinking "All right, how the hell does this all tie together?" The answer came pretty shortly after. 

Dance, Dance, Dance is not a book with simple, hit-you-over-the-head action and romance. In fact there was quite a bit that befuddled me and took me out of my comfort zone. Yet, I kept on reading it for the simple enjoyment of Murakami's understated voice. The pleasure of slowly meandering through this book helped me offset the stress I was riding into my inaugural period at my job. I would definitely recommend picking up this novel, but do so only after having read A Wild Sheep Chase. Turn the page, kids. See you on the weekend.

Page Views

Hey there, friends and nieghbors.


Short post today, still fighting the lovely bug I picked up in the aeroplane. Weather is gorgeous (for this time of year) in MPLS. Tomorrow is Friday, super excited for that after an exhausting week. Been reading on the bus a lot (and my lunch break when I can sneak it in) and working my way through the stack of books my loved ones were kind enough to impart on Christmas. Shows you how busy I've been and how many books I received if it's April and I still have a few left. I don't want to just chew through them though, blindly flipping pages and glossing over developments in a desperate quest for completed titles. To quote The Simpsons "I would be morally remiss to display these books on my shelf if I hadn't read them, all". So in the interest of encourage more torrid affairs with the written word, secretive nights with reading lights and hardcovers, I offer these posts I've written in lovely ode to the written book:


Sleepwalk With Me - In which Mike Birbiglia breaks our hearts and funny bones with personal anecdotes.
Calvin & Hobbes - Hands down the funniest, smartest strip to emerge from the newspaper.
A Dirty Job - How the gift of this book introduced me to this amazingly funny and twisted fiction author.
The Stand - King's magnum opus, an American Lord of the Rings, inspiration for the amazing Lost.
Fluke - Another of Moore's insane, funny and astounding novels, this one about whales in Hawaii.
Norwegian Wood - Murakami blowing my mind with his touching, nostalgic work about (not his) youth.
Wild Sheep Chase - Another amazing Murakami work, this one a hard-boiled detective story.
The Long Halloween - The best Batman you'll find, other than Year One. An crazy good tale, inspired the Dark Knight.


That's all for tonight, folks. I'm gonna cut loose here. Gotta rest up and get plenty of fluids and rest. Tell you what - I'll make a deal. You read some of these and I will too. How's that sound? Good? Cool. See you tomorrow.

Chasing Sheep

Here I sit, 38,000 feet above sea level typing diligently away about a book I finished for the second time. I'm on my way to carefree AZ to replenish my vitals and vitamin d levels. The book? Another fantastic piece of post modernism by haruki murkami, A Wild Sheep Chase.


The story functions in the most basic sense as a noir detective story. To summarize in a blatantly frank manner, a young man is tasked with finding a location and specific sheep within a photograph he used in one of his agency's ads. Sounds bizarre, I know, but I swear that in the greater context of the story it is quite engaging, to the point of my befuddlement even on a second read through. It's a story of this young, unnamed protagonist subjecting himself to the weirdness of the world at large while seeking an old, familiar (if forgotten) connection.


As I wrote in my article about Norwegian Wood I have concerns when reading murakami of whether or not I fully comprehend the context of what is being expressed. I get the literal action but worry about not understanding the idiosyncratic peculiarities of a foreign culture. Having had a chance to chew through the material once before, however, allows me the luxury of not worrying about plot as much as investigating the subtext. Having done so, I can safely say that A Wild Sheep Chase is indeed just as fantastic and weird as I suspected it was on my first read through. The retread afforded me perspective I lacked the first time around.

It really is a great gum shoe tale, albeit with a nameless Everyman hero. That is not a detractor, though, but a method and vehicle for the reader that works quite well for an incorporating effect. The story involves long periods of contemplative drinking, of which I am quite a fan, as well as carefully navigating peculiar  conversations with strange figures and the occasional metaphysical force. As our hero works his way north and out of Tokyo he comes closer to the core of the mystery and farther down into a strange world of men obsessed with a particular sheep, only to find a very inter-connected world of guided hands and lives. I know this all sounds very disjointed and off kilter but it really does hold together quite well in the end, to the degree that my second time through the denoumount brought a new found appreciation for just how fantastic and well constructed the tale is. All it takes is one good scare and a lonely cabin in a deserted mountain clearing to really grab you by the shoulders and make you sit up and take notice. 


Murakami is a killer writer, but you may already be well aware of that fact. Having read a handful of his books by now, im getting the sneaking suspicion that A Wild Sheep Chase may actually be his secret best work. I have a few more of his works to delve in to, admittedly, but this does stand out as a particular highlight. If you've never read anything by this phenomenal author I would highly recommend starting here - it's a quick and easy read that pays off incredibly well. 

This Bird Is Fly

Morning!


Still sick, throat's raw as I write this so I take great satisfaction in being able to communicate without wincing. But enough complaining from me, let's get on to it.


Having written for several days about movies and music, I want to switch it up. However, as I have tried to explain before, books are hard for me to write about beyond a surface level. I think part of the problem is the personal nature of the mental process involved in interpreting the material and constructing a world in your head as you go. At times I find myself asking "Am I reading into this incorrectly, or missing the point?" while just moving ahead in doubt. This is not always the case, though. In particular today's subject is an author and book that I felt an instant and easy connection with as I read it. I speak of Haruki Murakami's Norwegian Wood.

Murakami is an author whose work I was introduced to by a friend, who basically tossed me one of his books, saying "Try it, I think you'll like it." He was absolutely right. That book, The Wind Up Bird Chronicle, is a post for another day, as it is such a dense and unusual text I would need greater preparation to do a proper column on it. Regardless, I loved Murakami's style and choices, despite some of the cultural disconnect or what might literally be lost in translation.


He had not always been a writer. Having been a student and working at a record store, he opened a coffee house/bar establishment with his wife, which they ran for several years. Despite no major career or experience of which to speak, Murakami simply started writing one day, one word in front of the other. Turns out he was incredibly talented. Who knew? Almost immediately he was met with critical success and decent sales. Through the years he kept writing, penning more than his share of fantastic and engaging novels. Eventually he created what has been descried as the Japanese equivalent of Catcher In The Rye, his book Norwegian Wood. Based loosely on his own experiences at university in Japan, the story is of a young man named Toru Watanabe and the love and loss he experiences in the 60s, during his time as a student.

It would feel too divulging or expository to simply tell you the plot of the book in any great detail. To do so would be an act of pointlessly revealing developments I feel would benefit the story by unfolding naturally and organically, which they absolutely do throughout the course of the book. Instead I would like to impart some of the feeling I connected with while reading it. It's a sad and nostalgic book, one where Murakami goes to great length to not only construct the scene through time and space but through the feel of the moment - that indescribable, intangible sense of longing and loss that you feel when you know something is important. Those moments in life where you can feel it in your chest, a feeling that something you want to hold on to is happening. Norwegian Wood is basically filled with that quality. I recall reading just the first few passages of the book and thinking "Okay, I get this." I had read other books of his and considered whether or not I was comprehending the intent or meaning of the material, but this I got. This book I understood. Absolutely I can see why this book made Murakami a legend overnight. To further explain this idea, take a look at this page about the concept saudade, which has no English equivalent. I think it hits the nail on the head.


Of course, what would a successful and popular book be without the requisite movie adaptation? According to press releases the book has been translated into film and completed and screened, to the horror of purists everywhere. Not having had a chance to see it, I don't think it would be the worst thing. Par example, take a look at a poster for the adaptation:

I would wager that it represents some of the feeling of the book. It certainly looks wistful and emotional, full of heavy emotion. Good lord, I write that and wonder about my own tastes. But I digress.


This book is wonderful, a real piece of literary gold that moved me. Through the growth of the characters and the reality of the scenery and setting I really got attached to the plot and all that unfolded. I would highly recommend you take a look. Kindle, Nook, whatever, pick up some version of this awesome novel and give it a chance. You will not be disappointed.

Coasting

Welcome back to the normal sturm and drang of posting. I'm back in snowy, freezing Minnesota and questioning my sanity for steadfastly digging in to the climate. I've had a column in the chamber, loaded and ready to go for a day where I can't really type much of anything, so here goes.


Today we look at another of Chris Moore's excellent books, Fluke, (or I Know Why The Winged Whale Sings). It's a story of a marine biologist who investigates the mysteries of the whale song and how it dovetails with a secret as old as life itself. Let's dig in, shall we? 

Continuing in line with my precious assesment of Moore's work, Fluke is a book that is both ingenious and insane. The tale is one of conspiracies, far-out ideas on the nature of life and a demanding request of an acceptable break from reality for the reader. If you find yourself incapable of suspension of disbelief, you might consider looking elsewhere for reading material. Accordingly if you like the idea of people being swallowed by whale without ending up any worse for the wear, read on! 

Nathan Quinn is the protagonist of our story. He spends his days on the island of Maui and the surrounding water observing whales and examining their song in the hopes of deciphering what function it serves for the cetaceans. Nate serves as the level headed skeptic and grizzled veteran for the insane tale that unfolds throughout the course of the book. His donor for the funds facilitating his work is a kind-hearted but seemingly out-to-lunch New Ager who listens to whale songs, not for the mystical effects but supposedly because she hears messages. Nate figures a donor is a donor and tries not to lose patience. One day, while out with his attractive young lab assistant, Amy, he spots a fluke (whale tail, to you and me) that he swears up-and-down to say "Bite Me" in big letters across the underside. Frantically scrambling for his camera, he manages to capture a single shot of said fluke. When the developers claim they have no photos he chalks it up to his burn-out lab assistant Kona, your typical white-boy surfer who is perpetually baked. However when his lab is tossed and the research vessel scuttled, Nate begins to expect sinister things are afoot. Obviously, he's on to something, but what? Unable to secure more funding from his benefactor, Nate resolves to borrow a friend's boat. As he heads out to the open sea Nate ends up getting knocked overboard by the very same whale. Reading about it looming up behind him in the open water, jaws agape, gave me the willies. 

Gulp. 

Nate gets swallowed whole and the book subsequently gets weird. He survives the the trauma only to find himself tumbling down a rabbit hole of divergent evolution and ocean madness, or what Turunga Leela calls "The Wet Willies" or "The Screaming Moist". Nate is presumed lost at sea and his friends and colleagues assume the worst. Amy and Kona dig in to the remaining research that had been left untouched by the mysterious vandals, determined to press on with their cause. The crazy old benefactor calls from her mansion, high up on the mountain side, to say she's heard him and they need to speak right away. 

To say more about what exactly ensues would be to spoil the excellent but wholly bizarre tale of a man's quest to save himself from stranger and stranger circumstances. This book is, for lack of a better summation, utterly insane in the best way possible. If your predilection allows for some weird and wacky stuff, by all means, dig in. You will not be disappointed.

Walls of Text

Hmm...

Okay.

The Stand.

One of my favorite books by one of my favorite authors. In college I briefly flirted with majoring in English (if it isn't painfully apparent) and I remember the withering looks I'd get for even mentioning Stephen King. As someone who has read a significant portion of his work I am all too aware of the jokes and perceived quirks. The term I've heard most commonly is schlock, which...I get. Crazy or hokey premises. That actually seems to be a more recent development. The Family Guy gag about a 'lamp monster'? Turns out it wasn't too far off the mark. His recent collection, Just After Sunset, while full of interesting stories, does contain one about what essentially is a haunted exercise bike. Yeah.

Despite these obvious flaws, there is plenty worth defending. Some of his character work is absolutely outstanding, particularly his early work. Do we discount U2 and all their bland posturing despite their historic early work? Or say, Kubrick and his decent into muddled results in his later years? Carrie stands out. So does The Shining, which also was turned into a phenomenal film by Kubrick. Hell, look at some of the movies that have been adapted from King's novels - The Green Mile. Stand By Me, The Shawshank Redemption and the recent re-teaming with Frank Darabont for the grim and gritty Mist, based on a spectacular novella. Basically it boils down to King taking flack from the academia but writing widely popular material. So why do I advocate a popular if hackneyed author? Because one of his best, if almost forgotten these days, novels has recently been green lit for production as a major motion picture. You should read it before the hype grows and fades, only to leave the inevitable bad taste in your mouth of a Hollywood book adaptation. 

King has (somewhat sheepishly) admitted that his secret intention when starting The Stand was to essentially create a modern, American take on Tolkien's Lord of the Rings. Obviously it's an arrogant and overly ambitious thing to do. The crazy thing is, though, is he came pretty damn close. It's a massive, sprawling book, full of richly drawn characters and tons of vivid scenery. Do yourself a favor if you undertake the book - pick up the expanded and uncut edition, which clocks in at an almost obscene 1141 pages. If you don't like it you can always hollow it out and store a Bible inside. It's that big. But go for it! It's worth it to get the extra flesh on the characters and subtle plot developments.

I'm getting ahead of myself, though.

The book stemmed from King overhearing a piece on the radio about a chemical spill that killed a large amount of sheep in Utah. Had the wind shifted slightly, Salt Lake City would have been affected instead of livestock. While it made the news at the time, it was quickly swept under the rug with surprisingly little fanfare. The inherent potential in such an idea was immediately apparent to King. What sets the ball in motion for the whole novel, then, is the accidental release of a superbug, a flu-like virus, from a chemical/germ lab in the desert. One man and his family make it out and the first section of the novel traces the spread of the disease as we are introduced to some of the characters. This opening volley has been hailed as some of King's best work for its honest voice and believable setting. It's not until the bug spreads and humanity suffers that things get weird.

The flu, or Captain Tripps as it comes to be known, turns out to be 99.99% fatal. It spreads across the country with ease, since people were dismissing it as allergies or a cold at first onset. We meet our cast, people from all walks of life, as it culls the population. Society starts to break down and people, understandably, wig out. Larry Underwood, one-hit wonder and washing-up rocker, experiences a creepily deserted New York, empty but for that surviving .01%. King does an amazing job of painting the picture in this section of the book. Things simply break down and slowdown to a halt. Reactors blow. Bodies rot. Many people die alone. It really is disturbing and terrifying.

We've only just begun! 

The people we've met thus far begin to have dreams, vivid ones, of a corn field in Boulder. Either subconsciously or just out of desperation, our cast heads west, towards Boulder, CO. As various cast and crew converge along the way, alliances are formed and pockets of humanity agree to work together. Arrival in Boulder brings about the formation of an ad hoc society of survivors, led in part (though she would rather not have it) by a 108 year old woman named Abigail Freemantle. 

At the same time, a separate faction of people are compelled to head farther west, to Las Vegas, under the tutelage of a shadowy stranger. He's described in nervous spits as the "dark man" and the "walkin' dude", someone whose eyes you won't want to meet and whose smile makes you sick and uneasy. King's descriptions of this man, this force of a person, are eerie and strange, effective in the best way. As these people settle into their lives and going about the business of getting back to civilization a conflict begins to emerge and a showdown is inevitable.

Obviously condensing over 1100 pages into a few paragraphs does no justice to the saga. It's a staggering work of world-creation and character development that King constructs bit by bit, until you're deep into the novel with a rich cast of people (and a lovable dog, natch) all with fleshed out, believable motivations. The ambition to do the Americanized Ring cycle was insane, but rewarding. What results is a book that is so real and rich that I've read it twice and plan on going in for round three somewhere down the line. It's made an impact on others as well. Many of his fans cite it as his best work. It's clear that he was at the height of his game when King wrote this. Whether you're on a plane or trapped inside due to the incoming blizzards, I highly suggest you give this book a go.


Chemical warfare. Germ labs. The last people on Earth. Sometimes King's scary material isn't the supernatural, but the dangers of our modern world. He hit it on the head in this case. It's a fantastic book, in every sense of the word. Happy reading, and sleep tight, kids. After all, it's not like this could ever happen in real life, right?

Buzzkill

It is with a heavy heart that I write this.

Yesterday evening, after another excellent trip to Fuji Ya for dinner, I was walking home on Lake Street. As I passed Bryant Lake Bowl and wondering why I never bowl, I saw this sign hanging on the door of my favorite comics store.

That's right. Double Danger Comics, the impeccably up-kept comic store of my neighborhood, is closing. 

What a tragedy! Here we had a nice, freshly done and locally owned comic store and it's going out of business. I remember being so excited, walking from my condo to their grand opening on National Comic Book Day, eager to see what the place looked like and what their selection was. It was a double bonus - not only was a great, new shop opening right down the street from where I lay my head at night, but it was Free Comic Book Day! I picked up the best of the freebies and (of course) did some legitimate business as well, managing to tack down some issues I had not been able to find for quite a while. They had a fantastic store and I made sure to be a consistent patron whenever I could, instead of shopping at one of the bigger book stores. Super cool prints for sale, an excellent asetethic, figurines, good selection and variety and above all a friendly and patient staff. It was a great place to have, right in the neighborhood. You would think Uptown, of all places, would be able to support the need for such a place, especially with the gap left in the community ever since mainstay Shinders closed down earlier in the decade.

Granted this is only the physical location closing its doors. According to the staff they plan on maintaining their online presence and selections while shuttering the shop on Lake Street. It really is a bummer, even if they ring you up with a smile and recommendation for things you might like, based on your purchase. Such an awesome store, going the way of the buffalo. The one, small silver lining, a minor positive to this situation, is the massive liquidation happening as a result, but even that makes me feel guilty for taking any pleasure in it. Considering the awesome back log of stuff still available, I picked up a few trade paperbacks and recent issues, as well as a Futurama figurine for my desk. Get in while you can and the selection lasts, there were some amazing things available for a whopping 50% off. Again, I got some great deals but at the cost of losing my favorite store in the area. A sad trade, if you ask me. 

Quelle domage. Here's their site, check 'em out if you can, or if at all possible, help them out by reducing inventory. I know I plan on making a trip back before the end of February, their last day of open doors. It was an excellent shop, worthy of your business and mine. I just wish I could have helped more.