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Tuesday, July 12, 2016
Friday, July 8, 2016
Eragon, Chap. 6-7: Exposition for Two
When you're writing something that doesn't take place in the real world, you have to find some way to tell the audience the "rules" of the universe. There are two main ways authors do this: by directly stating what those rules are (The Hunger Games loves this) or Character A telling Character B explaining the rules. In most cases, Character B is some kind of newcomer--like Obi-Wan teaching Luke about the Force, for instance.
Most authors use a mix of both methods, which works well, but I prefer the latter. I think it helps the story flow more naturally, and helps keep the reader in the world a bit more easily. And then there are chapters like this.
Eragon goes into town, and meets with Brom the storyteller in a chapter that is nothing but exposition. Eragon, naturally, wants to learn more about dragons and the Dragon Riders, and has plenty of questions about both. The whole chapter is Eragon asking questions, and Brom giving him the answers. We learn about the history of the Riders, and more about dragons themselves. Even though I generally prefer this method of getting information to the readers, for some reason I don't like it here. I can't exactly pinpoint why. Part of it might just be that it feels lazy--Paolini couldn't figure out how to wedge all this in, so he put it here. Or maybe it's the length of the chapter that bothers me. It's pretty long--longer than the last two combined. There's not a lot of action, just a back-and-forth. I just don't like large information dumps, and I wonder if cutting out some of the details of this chapter would have helped me like it better. Of course, this is also my second time reading the book, so I already know what Brom's going to say. Obviously, this stuff isn't going to be as interesting to me the second time around.
Well, whatever. I didn't like the way the information was shoved down my throat. I also had one head-scratching moment, wherein Brom describes a war between the dragons and the elves. It was a huge war that left the land devastated, but it only lasted...five years? Okay, that's a long time for a human war, but we're talking about creatures that live for centuries. Five years seems a little short.
Moving on to the next chapter.
Chapter 7 is another unevenly short chapter, not quite four pages long. On their way back to the farm, Eragon's cousin Roran announces that he's accepted an offer of work in another town. Eragon doesn't really want Roran to leave, and suggests he wait until spring. Roran disagrees, and says he will be leaving shortly while they're waiting for winter. Even though this isn't a book about the division of farm labor, I still need to ask: where the hell are all the farmhands? It's only Roran, Eragon, and Eragon's Uncle Garrow working on the farm. How do just the three of them manage to keep it running and productive? How did Garrow and his now deceased wife manage to do it before Eragon and Roran were old enough to help? And for that matter, why doesn't Garrow have, like, ten other kids to do farm work?
It's been said that when you're writing science-fiction, you get one lie, and you have to then work within the confines of that lie. Everything else has to follow the rules. Fantasy, I think, is a little broader, but still follows that principle. f you're writing about dragons, that's fine, because dragons are mythological creatures and you can do what you want with them, as long as you follow the basic rules. Things like dragons fly, breathe something dangerous, and could kill you several times over.
Suspension of disbelief is a funny thing. I'm all for dragons and magic--that's why I picked up this book in the first place. It's the small, nagging details that bother me. You want to write about a dragon that flies and breathes fire? Cool. Go ahead. But if you're writing about something that exists in real life, that readers know about, then you have to make it realistic. Realistic details in a fantasy setting make the world plausible. It's not the fantasy elements that will drive readers away. What will turn them if is when they don't see the familiar reflected in the extraordinary.
That was kind of an unexpected rant. Anyway, the dragon was finally named "Saphira", surprising absolutely no one. First of all, she's a bright blue dragon. Second of all, you know another Saphira was important to Brom, just from the way he said it.
Anyway, moral of the story? It's cool if your main character can shoot fireballs from his hand or whatever, but if he, say...lived in the 21st Century and didn't have an email account, I would seriously have to question both the author's writing choices and their* perception of what is normal in the world.
Most authors use a mix of both methods, which works well, but I prefer the latter. I think it helps the story flow more naturally, and helps keep the reader in the world a bit more easily. And then there are chapters like this.
Eragon goes into town, and meets with Brom the storyteller in a chapter that is nothing but exposition. Eragon, naturally, wants to learn more about dragons and the Dragon Riders, and has plenty of questions about both. The whole chapter is Eragon asking questions, and Brom giving him the answers. We learn about the history of the Riders, and more about dragons themselves. Even though I generally prefer this method of getting information to the readers, for some reason I don't like it here. I can't exactly pinpoint why. Part of it might just be that it feels lazy--Paolini couldn't figure out how to wedge all this in, so he put it here. Or maybe it's the length of the chapter that bothers me. It's pretty long--longer than the last two combined. There's not a lot of action, just a back-and-forth. I just don't like large information dumps, and I wonder if cutting out some of the details of this chapter would have helped me like it better. Of course, this is also my second time reading the book, so I already know what Brom's going to say. Obviously, this stuff isn't going to be as interesting to me the second time around.
Well, whatever. I didn't like the way the information was shoved down my throat. I also had one head-scratching moment, wherein Brom describes a war between the dragons and the elves. It was a huge war that left the land devastated, but it only lasted...five years? Okay, that's a long time for a human war, but we're talking about creatures that live for centuries. Five years seems a little short.
Moving on to the next chapter.
Chapter 7 is another unevenly short chapter, not quite four pages long. On their way back to the farm, Eragon's cousin Roran announces that he's accepted an offer of work in another town. Eragon doesn't really want Roran to leave, and suggests he wait until spring. Roran disagrees, and says he will be leaving shortly while they're waiting for winter. Even though this isn't a book about the division of farm labor, I still need to ask: where the hell are all the farmhands? It's only Roran, Eragon, and Eragon's Uncle Garrow working on the farm. How do just the three of them manage to keep it running and productive? How did Garrow and his now deceased wife manage to do it before Eragon and Roran were old enough to help? And for that matter, why doesn't Garrow have, like, ten other kids to do farm work?
It's been said that when you're writing science-fiction, you get one lie, and you have to then work within the confines of that lie. Everything else has to follow the rules. Fantasy, I think, is a little broader, but still follows that principle. f you're writing about dragons, that's fine, because dragons are mythological creatures and you can do what you want with them, as long as you follow the basic rules. Things like dragons fly, breathe something dangerous, and could kill you several times over.
Suspension of disbelief is a funny thing. I'm all for dragons and magic--that's why I picked up this book in the first place. It's the small, nagging details that bother me. You want to write about a dragon that flies and breathes fire? Cool. Go ahead. But if you're writing about something that exists in real life, that readers know about, then you have to make it realistic. Realistic details in a fantasy setting make the world plausible. It's not the fantasy elements that will drive readers away. What will turn them if is when they don't see the familiar reflected in the extraordinary.
That was kind of an unexpected rant. Anyway, the dragon was finally named "Saphira", surprising absolutely no one. First of all, she's a bright blue dragon. Second of all, you know another Saphira was important to Brom, just from the way he said it.
Anyway, moral of the story? It's cool if your main character can shoot fireballs from his hand or whatever, but if he, say...lived in the 21st Century and didn't have an email account, I would seriously have to question both the author's writing choices and their* perception of what is normal in the world.
*Strunk and White be damned, I'm am totally okay with "they" as a singular gender neutral pronoun.
Monday, July 4, 2016
Eragon, Chap. 4-5 : How to Write Your Dragon
Remember when I said that the chapters in this book were really uneven, length-wise? Chapter 3 was 16 pages of exposition, backstory, and stupid names. Chapter 4 isn't quite 3 pages long, and so short it would hardly be worth mentioning, if not for one event in it.
Saphira!
That's right, the dragon finally hatches, and I remember the reason I started reading this book in the first place. So far I've found it cliche and unintentionally humorous, but maybe things will change from here on out. Maybe, with the dragon in the picture, things will get better from here.
Let's read to find out. Moving on to the next chapter!
What I like about this is that it actually goes into depth about Eragon's thought-process when it comes to keeping Saphira. He has to take into consideration how he's going to take care of a dragon, how he could hide it, and even if he should keep it. It takes him a couple pages figuring out his rationalization to keep the dragon, despite all the reasons he shouldn't. You know, like Galbatorix (I hate typing that name) swooping down to kill him and everyone he loves. So that's decidedly a "con". Pros of raising a dragon: IT'S A DRAGON!
If I were Eragon, I would totally risk keeping a dragon. Saphira's the best part of this book! You have no idea how much I love dragons, guys. If someone offered me a billion dollars or a dragon, I would take the dragon. Especially if it was an intelligent one that you shared a mind-link with! And if a dragon egg hatched under my watch, you can imagine I wouldn't be calm about it. Which is why I'm a little disappointed that Eragon is so cavalier about this.
Let me put it like this:
Remember when you were a kid, and you loved dinosaurs? You read books about dinosaurs, you drew dinosaur pictures, you collected dinosaur stickers, you loved to hear stories about dinosaurs. You were probably sad that there aren't any dinosaurs anymore, and wouldn't it be great if they came back?
Well, suddenly, a baby dinosaur hatched in your bedroom, and it's the first dinosaur to be born in millennia. What do you do?
You'd probably freak out, for a start. Maybe wonder if it's a prank, or if the dinosaur is real. After all, there haven't been any for millions of years. My point being, you would not be calm and rational, and you wouldn't accept it right away that suddenly you have a long-extinct creature in your bedroom.
Eragon doesn't for a second doubt that it's a dragon, that it's real, and that he was meant to have it. Remember, dragons were supposed to be wiped out by Galby (I refuse to write "Galbatorix" one more time) hundreds of years ago, but Eragon doesn't have any trouble accepting that this mythical, should-be-extinct creature, is in his bedroom. His calm reaction is just so unnatural.
The rest of this chapter is Eragon learning more about Saphira, and it's pretty disappointing. In fantasy and science-fiction, characters experience things that we, in the real world, will never get to do. That's a big part of their appeal. We'll never be able to fly on the back of a dragon or shoot fire from our hands, but through books like this one, we can imagine what it's like. Which is why Paolini's vague descriptions of Eragon's interactions with Saphira are so annoying to me. For example, he tells us that Eragon played with the dragon, but doesn't say what that means. Were they playing fetch? Hide and seek? Chasing mice? How would an intelligent creature with abilities different than ours (and a newborn) react to her rapidly expanding world? How does Eragon respond to her actions? There's a lot of possibility to show us some exciting (and adorable) stuff, but it just gets glossed over.
I want to play fetch with a baby dragon so badly.
Saphira!
That's right, the dragon finally hatches, and I remember the reason I started reading this book in the first place. So far I've found it cliche and unintentionally humorous, but maybe things will change from here on out. Maybe, with the dragon in the picture, things will get better from here.
Let's read to find out. Moving on to the next chapter!
What I like about this is that it actually goes into depth about Eragon's thought-process when it comes to keeping Saphira. He has to take into consideration how he's going to take care of a dragon, how he could hide it, and even if he should keep it. It takes him a couple pages figuring out his rationalization to keep the dragon, despite all the reasons he shouldn't. You know, like Galbatorix (I hate typing that name) swooping down to kill him and everyone he loves. So that's decidedly a "con". Pros of raising a dragon: IT'S A DRAGON!
If I were Eragon, I would totally risk keeping a dragon. Saphira's the best part of this book! You have no idea how much I love dragons, guys. If someone offered me a billion dollars or a dragon, I would take the dragon. Especially if it was an intelligent one that you shared a mind-link with! And if a dragon egg hatched under my watch, you can imagine I wouldn't be calm about it. Which is why I'm a little disappointed that Eragon is so cavalier about this.
Let me put it like this:
Remember when you were a kid, and you loved dinosaurs? You read books about dinosaurs, you drew dinosaur pictures, you collected dinosaur stickers, you loved to hear stories about dinosaurs. You were probably sad that there aren't any dinosaurs anymore, and wouldn't it be great if they came back?
Well, suddenly, a baby dinosaur hatched in your bedroom, and it's the first dinosaur to be born in millennia. What do you do?
You'd probably freak out, for a start. Maybe wonder if it's a prank, or if the dinosaur is real. After all, there haven't been any for millions of years. My point being, you would not be calm and rational, and you wouldn't accept it right away that suddenly you have a long-extinct creature in your bedroom.
Eragon doesn't for a second doubt that it's a dragon, that it's real, and that he was meant to have it. Remember, dragons were supposed to be wiped out by Galby (I refuse to write "Galbatorix" one more time) hundreds of years ago, but Eragon doesn't have any trouble accepting that this mythical, should-be-extinct creature, is in his bedroom. His calm reaction is just so unnatural.
The rest of this chapter is Eragon learning more about Saphira, and it's pretty disappointing. In fantasy and science-fiction, characters experience things that we, in the real world, will never get to do. That's a big part of their appeal. We'll never be able to fly on the back of a dragon or shoot fire from our hands, but through books like this one, we can imagine what it's like. Which is why Paolini's vague descriptions of Eragon's interactions with Saphira are so annoying to me. For example, he tells us that Eragon played with the dragon, but doesn't say what that means. Were they playing fetch? Hide and seek? Chasing mice? How would an intelligent creature with abilities different than ours (and a newborn) react to her rapidly expanding world? How does Eragon respond to her actions? There's a lot of possibility to show us some exciting (and adorable) stuff, but it just gets glossed over.
I want to play fetch with a baby dragon so badly.
Friday, July 1, 2016
Eragon, Chap. 3: This is a Joke, Right?
It is truly shocking how little I care about the goings-on in Carvahall, Eragon's village. Since I've read Eragon already and know what's going to happen, there's no tension in this chapter anymore. I wonder if this is one of the reasons I never read this book twice, despite how much I enjoyed it the first time around. So far it's the longest chapter in the book, and it's nothing but exposition.
Before I get into that, though, I want to pick apart the text.
Does anyone else see what's wrong with that sentence?
I've taken enough creative writing classes to know that you should (a) avoid adverbs and (b) use verbs for description.
I love how Stephen King put it in his memoir, On Writing:
And this ties into into (b) use verbs for description.
Don't get me wrong, adjectives are great. But verbs are better.
Compare:
"I don't like it," she said in a soft voice.
To:
"I don't like it," she whispered.
They both mean the same thing, but the second sentence should feel stronger and put a more immediate picture in your mind than the first. If it didn't, I've clearly done something wrong here. Like adverbs, adjectives can get ungainly when they're overused. Don't use two words when one will suffice.
If you haven't figured it out yet, my problem with the above sentence is two-fold. Obviously, I don't like "hungrily". But it's also redundant. If Eragon is "devouring", he's clearly hungry; there's no need to say he devoured something "hungrily".
"Eragon devoured the chicken."
"Eragon hungrily ate the chicken."
Either of these would have been better than what we got.
I just spent way too much time picking apart one sentence that's probably gone unnoticed by most readers.
As for the rest of this chapter, it's mostly just exposition. A good portion of it is just the villagers talking about how much they hate the Empire. I think it would be better if it was done using more dialogue and didn't rely on the narration so much, but it also seems to repeat itself a lot.
The most important part of this chapter comes at the end, when Brom tells the story of the Dragon Riders. They were a group ofMary Sues humans and elves who rode dragons and kept peace throughout the land. So, you know, Jedi, but with dragons. As you might imagine, some tragedy befell them, and now the Dragon Riders are no more. Or, as Brom tells it:
Hahaha! This is another case of flowery words backfiring. "Conceived"? Really?
"Brom, how did the Riders fall?"
"Well, Eragon, when a Dragon Rider loves arrogance very much, they conceive sorrow!"
The story is about a Rider named Galbatorix...
...yes, that's his real name. Not a name that he took after going crazy and becoming evil. Sigh.
Galbatorix's dragon was killed, he went crazy, and the Riders refused to give him a new one. Now, Brom talks a lot about how cunning Galbatorix is, and how skilled he was with magic and a sword. Basically, a real bad-ass. When he goes to overthrow the Riders, though, he can only do it with the help of an accomplice, Morzan.
Two things here: First, all of those names are so cringe-worthy. The dragon Galbatorix steals is even named "Shruikan". You know, "shuriken" spelled wrong.
Second, Brom spent so much time telling us how dangerous Galbatorix was on his own, I'm kind of finding it hard to believe that all he needed was a gate left open instead of melting the lock with magic, or blasting it open, or disguising himself as another Rider. Once Shruikan is all grown-up, Galbatorix and thirteen other defectors kill the other Dragon Riders. Vrael, leader of the Dragon Riders, fights Galbatorix, but...well, this is the part where I nearly threw the book down with rage.
A crotch shot?
A CROTCH SHOT?!
THE WORLD WAS CHANGED BECAUSE OF A CROTCH SHOT?!
THE ENTIRE WORLD COULD HAVE BEEN SAVED IF VRAEL WORE A CODPIECE.
WHAT IS THIS SHIT.
Before I get into that, though, I want to pick apart the text.
"He helped himself to a piece of chicken, which he devoured hungrily."
Does anyone else see what's wrong with that sentence?
I've taken enough creative writing classes to know that you should (a) avoid adverbs and (b) use verbs for description.
I love how Stephen King put it in his memoir, On Writing:
“I believe the road to hell is paved with adverbs, and I will shout it from the rooftops. To put it another way, they’re like dandelions. If you have one on your lawn, it looks pretty and unique. If you fail to root it out, however, you find five the next day…fifty the day after that…and then, my brothers and sisters, your lawn is totally, completely, and profligately covered with dandelions. By then you see them for the weeds they really are, but by then it’s–GASP!!–too late.”One or two adverbs here or there are okay. Too many, though, and they become annoying and repetitive, and make your writing look lazy and weak.
And this ties into into (b) use verbs for description.
Don't get me wrong, adjectives are great. But verbs are better.
Compare:
"I don't like it," she said in a soft voice.
To:
"I don't like it," she whispered.
They both mean the same thing, but the second sentence should feel stronger and put a more immediate picture in your mind than the first. If it didn't, I've clearly done something wrong here. Like adverbs, adjectives can get ungainly when they're overused. Don't use two words when one will suffice.
If you haven't figured it out yet, my problem with the above sentence is two-fold. Obviously, I don't like "hungrily". But it's also redundant. If Eragon is "devouring", he's clearly hungry; there's no need to say he devoured something "hungrily".
"Eragon devoured the chicken."
"Eragon hungrily ate the chicken."
Either of these would have been better than what we got.
I just spent way too much time picking apart one sentence that's probably gone unnoticed by most readers.
As for the rest of this chapter, it's mostly just exposition. A good portion of it is just the villagers talking about how much they hate the Empire. I think it would be better if it was done using more dialogue and didn't rely on the narration so much, but it also seems to repeat itself a lot.
The most important part of this chapter comes at the end, when Brom tells the story of the Dragon Riders. They were a group of
"'Some saw his abrupt rise as dangerous and warned the others, but the Riders had grown arrogant in their power and ignored caution. Alas, sorrow as conceived that day.'"
Hahaha! This is another case of flowery words backfiring. "Conceived"? Really?
"Brom, how did the Riders fall?"
"Well, Eragon, when a Dragon Rider loves arrogance very much, they conceive sorrow!"
The story is about a Rider named Galbatorix...
...yes, that's his real name. Not a name that he took after going crazy and becoming evil. Sigh.
Galbatorix's dragon was killed, he went crazy, and the Riders refused to give him a new one. Now, Brom talks a lot about how cunning Galbatorix is, and how skilled he was with magic and a sword. Basically, a real bad-ass. When he goes to overthrow the Riders, though, he can only do it with the help of an accomplice, Morzan.
"'Galbatorix convinced Morzan to leave a gate unbolted in the citadel Ilirea, which is now called Urรป'baen.'"
Two things here: First, all of those names are so cringe-worthy. The dragon Galbatorix steals is even named "Shruikan". You know, "shuriken" spelled wrong.
Second, Brom spent so much time telling us how dangerous Galbatorix was on his own, I'm kind of finding it hard to believe that all he needed was a gate left open instead of melting the lock with magic, or blasting it open, or disguising himself as another Rider. Once Shruikan is all grown-up, Galbatorix and thirteen other defectors kill the other Dragon Riders. Vrael, leader of the Dragon Riders, fights Galbatorix, but...well, this is the part where I nearly threw the book down with rage.
"'As they fought, Galbatorix kicked Vrael in the fork of his legs. With that underhanded blow he gained dominance over Vrael and removed his head with a blazing sword. [. . .] And from that day, he has ruled us."
A crotch shot?
A CROTCH SHOT?!
THE WORLD WAS CHANGED BECAUSE OF A CROTCH SHOT?!
THE ENTIRE WORLD COULD HAVE BEEN SAVED IF VRAEL WORE A CODPIECE.
WHAT IS THIS SHIT.
Monday, June 27, 2016
Eragon 1-2: Descriptive Descriptions
When I began this blog, I knew right away that I wanted to re-read Eragon for it, mostly to see if the book I loved as a teenager was as bad as everyone said it was. I did have one pretty big hang-up about getting it started: the length. Almost 500 pages long, reading a book this size was no mean feat for a fourteen-year-old, and might prove to be even more of a challenge for an adult with a full-time job who spends most of her weekends either traveling or working. Sometimes both. And this book gets pretty heavy as a carry-on. Plus, the table of contents alone is 3 pages long. That's a lot of chapters to review.
Flipping through the book, I realized that the chapters don't have even lengths. The first chapter is about 2.5 pages long, as is the second. They're fairly quick reads, and though I expect some big, fat chapters later on in the book, right now it doesn't seem like such an intimidating project. But I do have a good backlog of posts, so...let's give it a shot.
Chapter one introduces us to the titular protagonist, Eragon. We learn that he's just a teenager (because of course he is), who's a skilled hunter and tracker. The prose isn't bad, but there's just something about it that feels lacking. It seems like Paolini was reaching for flowery language, but prose that is still easy to understand.
What doesn't feel lacking is just over-the-top. Three paragraphs in, and I'm already scoffing over Eragon's description:
It's the "intense brown eyes" that gets me. That's the kind of phrase I would have used in fanfiction when describing a character. It's a description that just doesn't make sense to me. When someone has "intense" eyes, I can only picture a person whose eyes are unearthly--in that they're glowing, or can hypnotize you with a stare. For me, it's just too vague to actually mean anything.
However, his ridiculous eyes do lead him to a blue stone, the same one that the elf was carrying in the prologue. I think that there's supposed to be suspense here, but anyone who read the inside flap of the book can tell you right away it's got something to do with the blue dragon on the cover. However, it does lead us to the first sentence that made me laugh out loud in this book.
If it were truly frictionless, Eragon wouldn't be able to hold it. It would be sliding out of his hands, slipping through the forest, and no one would ever be able to catch it. The mental image of that--a huge blue stone, forever moving across the world--is funnier than it should be to me. Maybe because right now I'm wishing that's what would really happen.
...maybe that'd be a better way of keeping the stone safe, rather than teleporting it somewhere where it might never get found, or worse, fall into the wrong hands?
And that about does it for the first chapter. Like I said, it was pretty short. Moving on to the next...
The first two pages of this chapter are nothing but description. It's not bad, and it wasn't even that boring. We're also introduced to Sloan, the butcher. I never liked Sloan; as a kid it was because he's a dick. Now, it's because he's a dick to just the main character. He hates Eragon, and the reason that's given is because Eragon isn't afraid to venture into the mountain range where Sloan's wife was killed.
I read the first two books completely, and almost finished the third one in this series. Some major shit happens to Sloan, and I think it's meant to be his comeuppance for being an asshole to Eragon. It's a pretty disproportionate punishment for just being a jerk. Even Eragon, who's supposed to be our hero, punishes Sloan right after saving him.
I guess I should just be focusing on this book, and this chapter, but Sloan's treatment gets taken too far.
We also see the farm that Eragon lives on, with his uncle and cousin.
Okay, I'll accept dragons and magic and elves. I cannot accept that a farm has only three people living and working on it. If they can't afford farmhands, shouldn't Uncle Garrow have, like, eight kids? A farm is freaking hard to run, especially when you only have three people working on it, and one of them seems to be hunting in the woods more often than not, if Sloan's dialogue is any indication.
Also, this is our first description of Garrow:
SO INTENSE. What does that even mean?
Flipping through the book, I realized that the chapters don't have even lengths. The first chapter is about 2.5 pages long, as is the second. They're fairly quick reads, and though I expect some big, fat chapters later on in the book, right now it doesn't seem like such an intimidating project. But I do have a good backlog of posts, so...let's give it a shot.
Chapter one introduces us to the titular protagonist, Eragon. We learn that he's just a teenager (because of course he is), who's a skilled hunter and tracker. The prose isn't bad, but there's just something about it that feels lacking. It seems like Paolini was reaching for flowery language, but prose that is still easy to understand.
What doesn't feel lacking is just over-the-top. Three paragraphs in, and I'm already scoffing over Eragon's description:
"Eragon was fifteen, less than a year from manhood. Dark eyebrows rested above his intense brown eyes."
It's the "intense brown eyes" that gets me. That's the kind of phrase I would have used in fanfiction when describing a character. It's a description that just doesn't make sense to me. When someone has "intense" eyes, I can only picture a person whose eyes are unearthly--in that they're glowing, or can hypnotize you with a stare. For me, it's just too vague to actually mean anything.
However, his ridiculous eyes do lead him to a blue stone, the same one that the elf was carrying in the prologue. I think that there's supposed to be suspense here, but anyone who read the inside flap of the book can tell you right away it's got something to do with the blue dragon on the cover. However, it does lead us to the first sentence that made me laugh out loud in this book.
"The stone was cool and frictionless under his fingers, like hardened silk."It's another case of trying to using flowery language, except it backfired hilariously. I know that he's trying to say that the stone is really smooth, but "frictionless"?
If it were truly frictionless, Eragon wouldn't be able to hold it. It would be sliding out of his hands, slipping through the forest, and no one would ever be able to catch it. The mental image of that--a huge blue stone, forever moving across the world--is funnier than it should be to me. Maybe because right now I'm wishing that's what would really happen.
...maybe that'd be a better way of keeping the stone safe, rather than teleporting it somewhere where it might never get found, or worse, fall into the wrong hands?
And that about does it for the first chapter. Like I said, it was pretty short. Moving on to the next...
The first two pages of this chapter are nothing but description. It's not bad, and it wasn't even that boring. We're also introduced to Sloan, the butcher. I never liked Sloan; as a kid it was because he's a dick. Now, it's because he's a dick to just the main character. He hates Eragon, and the reason that's given is because Eragon isn't afraid to venture into the mountain range where Sloan's wife was killed.
I read the first two books completely, and almost finished the third one in this series. Some major shit happens to Sloan, and I think it's meant to be his comeuppance for being an asshole to Eragon. It's a pretty disproportionate punishment for just being a jerk. Even Eragon, who's supposed to be our hero, punishes Sloan right after saving him.
I guess I should just be focusing on this book, and this chapter, but Sloan's treatment gets taken too far.
We also see the farm that Eragon lives on, with his uncle and cousin.
Okay, I'll accept dragons and magic and elves. I cannot accept that a farm has only three people living and working on it. If they can't afford farmhands, shouldn't Uncle Garrow have, like, eight kids? A farm is freaking hard to run, especially when you only have three people working on it, and one of them seems to be hunting in the woods more often than not, if Sloan's dialogue is any indication.
Also, this is our first description of Garrow:
"His worn clothes hung on him like rags on a stick frame. A lean, hungry face with intense eyes gazed out from under graying hair."
SO INTENSE. What does that even mean?
Friday, June 24, 2016
Eragon, Prologue: A Scent That Would Change the World
Hoo, boy.
When I started this blog, I knew right away that one of the books I wanted to read for it was Eragon. I loved this book when I was fourteen, but I'm aware of all the terrible reviews it's gotten. The main character has been called a sociopath, the overall story is said to be Star Wars with dragons, the writing's been called proof that Paolini has access to a thesaurus. Now, it's time for me to go back and see if any of that is true.
But before we go any further, let's get the Star Wars thing out of the way right now. The first Star Wars movie (A New Hope) follows a classic monomyth structure. This is where a lot of familiar storytelling devices come from: the call to adventure, the wise old man, the first failure. The protagonist succeeds and fails, and finally wins the day and learns a lesson.
Eragon, inasmuch as I remember, follows the same monomyth structure. It's not necessarily that it's a rip-off of Star Wars, but that it follows the same story structure that has existed...probably for as long as stories have. Can you really blame a fifteen-year-old novelist, in his first book, for using a tried and true formula?
Well, yes, I suppose you could.
Enough of that, let's jump right in!
That's the first line of this series.
That's the first line.
If I spotted this in a bookstore today, picked it up, and read the first sentence, I would have slammed it shut so fast. I have a terrible feeling that the awful, corny sentence I just read is going to set the tone for the rest of this book.
But I loved this book as a kid. And it was really popular! There's gotta be a reason why so many people enjoyed it! It can't be all bad, right?
...Right?
The prologue follows a "raven-haired" (groan) woman who is clearly on a mission, but we don't know what that mission is. The first time I read this book, I was totally confused, and had no idea what was happening. Because I was an idiot, I took that as a good thing.
My reasoning was this:
1. The Similarillion is a great book.
2. I had no goddamn clue was was going on in The Silmarillion.
3. Therefore, if I didn't understand what was happening in the long fantasy novel, and it had a lot of made-up words, it was good.
Now I know the opposite to be true. Confusing your audience is a good way to lose them pretty quickly. Case in point: I never actually read past the first chapter of The Silmaraillion.
Paolini tells us about a "Shade" and "Urgals" chasing our dark-haired beauty, without really explaining what they are. We can figure out that Urgals are just another flavor of orc, and a Shade is some kind of magician, presumably an evil one. I guess I can see why you'd want to use different terms than the norm when writing a book like this, but a rose by any other name still smells.
Anyway, the beautiful woman gets captured, but teleports a blue stone far away from her location. The hero will eventually save her and--
They were right. They were right all along. This is just Star Wars.
No...I have to hold out hope. I have to believe that this isn't just a a rip-off of a better, more beloved franchise. It's just the monomyth structure! It's just the monomyth structure!
Maybe if I say it enough, I'll convince myself that it's true.
It's just the monomyth structure, it's just the monomyth structure, it's just the monomyth structure...
When I started this blog, I knew right away that one of the books I wanted to read for it was Eragon. I loved this book when I was fourteen, but I'm aware of all the terrible reviews it's gotten. The main character has been called a sociopath, the overall story is said to be Star Wars with dragons, the writing's been called proof that Paolini has access to a thesaurus. Now, it's time for me to go back and see if any of that is true.
But before we go any further, let's get the Star Wars thing out of the way right now. The first Star Wars movie (A New Hope) follows a classic monomyth structure. This is where a lot of familiar storytelling devices come from: the call to adventure, the wise old man, the first failure. The protagonist succeeds and fails, and finally wins the day and learns a lesson.
Eragon, inasmuch as I remember, follows the same monomyth structure. It's not necessarily that it's a rip-off of Star Wars, but that it follows the same story structure that has existed...probably for as long as stories have. Can you really blame a fifteen-year-old novelist, in his first book, for using a tried and true formula?
Well, yes, I suppose you could.
Enough of that, let's jump right in!
"Wind howled through the night, carrying a scent that would change the world."
Oh my God.
That's the first line of this series.
That's the first line.
If I spotted this in a bookstore today, picked it up, and read the first sentence, I would have slammed it shut so fast. I have a terrible feeling that the awful, corny sentence I just read is going to set the tone for the rest of this book.
But I loved this book as a kid. And it was really popular! There's gotta be a reason why so many people enjoyed it! It can't be all bad, right?
...Right?
The prologue follows a "raven-haired" (groan) woman who is clearly on a mission, but we don't know what that mission is. The first time I read this book, I was totally confused, and had no idea what was happening. Because I was an idiot, I took that as a good thing.
My reasoning was this:
1. The Similarillion is a great book.
2. I had no goddamn clue was was going on in The Silmarillion.
3. Therefore, if I didn't understand what was happening in the long fantasy novel, and it had a lot of made-up words, it was good.
Now I know the opposite to be true. Confusing your audience is a good way to lose them pretty quickly. Case in point: I never actually read past the first chapter of The Silmaraillion.
Paolini tells us about a "Shade" and "Urgals" chasing our dark-haired beauty, without really explaining what they are. We can figure out that Urgals are just another flavor of orc, and a Shade is some kind of magician, presumably an evil one. I guess I can see why you'd want to use different terms than the norm when writing a book like this, but a rose by any other name still smells.
Anyway, the beautiful woman gets captured, but teleports a blue stone far away from her location. The hero will eventually save her and--
They were right. They were right all along. This is just Star Wars.
No...I have to hold out hope. I have to believe that this isn't just a a rip-off of a better, more beloved franchise. It's just the monomyth structure! It's just the monomyth structure!
Maybe if I say it enough, I'll convince myself that it's true.
It's just the monomyth structure, it's just the monomyth structure, it's just the monomyth structure...
Monday, June 20, 2016
Trope Discussion: The Chosen One
Every so often, I'd like to take a break from revisiting old books
and think about fiction itself. Specifically, tropes in fiction. That
is, common reoccurring themes you'll see in fiction. And right now,
there's one in particular that I'd like to discuss.
There was always something about this trope that rubbed me the wrong way. I used to think it was because I would see it so often. The movies above are just a tiny, tiny portion of the stories that use this "Chosen One" as part of their plot.
I used to think that it annoyed me because it's a cliche prophecies and stories about the "Chosen One" date as far back as ancient Greece. It's present in religion, and no doubt you've read a book or two wherein the main character was somehow prophesied to save everyone. Even some of my favorite series, Harry Potter and His Dark Materials fall into this.
There's a few different reasons I don't like this trope. First is the foregone conclusion. If Suzy's destined to defeat the evil overlord, then it's going to happen, period. Sure, she'll go on an adventure getting to the bad guy, but is there any suspense left when she finally faces him? We already know that she's going to defeat him.
Real heroism is hard, and it's not accomplished by a single person. Look at any real-life hero. Chances are, there's a whole mess of people behind him that helped make him a hero. Since I work in the aviation industry, Sully Sullenberger immediately comes to mind. He was the pilot of "Miracle on the Hudson" fame, and quite rightfully hailed as a hero. But that day could have ended very differently without the plane's whole crew, the volunteer rescuers, even the commercial ferries that came to help.
The other thing that never sat well with me is the idea of fate. When a character has a pre-determined fate, they're not given the chance to say no to it. Sure, they can try to run from their destiny, but it always has a way of catching up to them. The prophesied character doesn't get a chance to refuse to undertake this task.
To quote Dumbledore, "Dark times lie ahead of us and there will be a time when we must choose between what is easy and what is right." Taking the"easy" path -- whether it be joining the villain, or just going home and waiting for someone else to clean up this mess -- should be incredibly tempting to follow. Following the "right" path will be challenging and dangerous, and there will be hardships along the way. When there's no destiny attached to you, you could back out at any time. A true hero keeps going, no matter the struggle, and that makes us feel their triumphs and tragedies more deeply.
To me, heroes aren't chosen. They're the ones that make the choices.
There was always something about this trope that rubbed me the wrong way. I used to think it was because I would see it so often. The movies above are just a tiny, tiny portion of the stories that use this "Chosen One" as part of their plot.
I used to think that it annoyed me because it's a cliche prophecies and stories about the "Chosen One" date as far back as ancient Greece. It's present in religion, and no doubt you've read a book or two wherein the main character was somehow prophesied to save everyone. Even some of my favorite series, Harry Potter and His Dark Materials fall into this.
There's a few different reasons I don't like this trope. First is the foregone conclusion. If Suzy's destined to defeat the evil overlord, then it's going to happen, period. Sure, she'll go on an adventure getting to the bad guy, but is there any suspense left when she finally faces him? We already know that she's going to defeat him.
Real heroism is hard, and it's not accomplished by a single person. Look at any real-life hero. Chances are, there's a whole mess of people behind him that helped make him a hero. Since I work in the aviation industry, Sully Sullenberger immediately comes to mind. He was the pilot of "Miracle on the Hudson" fame, and quite rightfully hailed as a hero. But that day could have ended very differently without the plane's whole crew, the volunteer rescuers, even the commercial ferries that came to help.
The other thing that never sat well with me is the idea of fate. When a character has a pre-determined fate, they're not given the chance to say no to it. Sure, they can try to run from their destiny, but it always has a way of catching up to them. The prophesied character doesn't get a chance to refuse to undertake this task.
To quote Dumbledore, "Dark times lie ahead of us and there will be a time when we must choose between what is easy and what is right." Taking the"easy" path -- whether it be joining the villain, or just going home and waiting for someone else to clean up this mess -- should be incredibly tempting to follow. Following the "right" path will be challenging and dangerous, and there will be hardships along the way. When there's no destiny attached to you, you could back out at any time. A true hero keeps going, no matter the struggle, and that makes us feel their triumphs and tragedies more deeply.
To me, heroes aren't chosen. They're the ones that make the choices.
Monday, June 13, 2016
Angelic Layer Chap. 5: The Art of Losing
Remember when I said we're going to talk about Hatoko? It's time to talk about Hatoko.
Misaki can't land a hit on Hatoko's angel, Suzuka. She keeps dodging Hikaru's attacks, and Misaki can't figure out how.
This is only Misaki's second battle, and it shows. She's making what is probably a rookie mistake. When she wants Hikaru to move right or left, she's also moving her own body right and left. As soon as she figures this out, Misaki stops moving. She doesn't give Hatoko any more hints about what she's planning to do, and starts turning the fight around.
When we first met Hatoko, she's just called an "Angelic Layer nut", but it's supposed to be a surprise when we find out that a six-year-old is the reigning champion of the game. I don't remember if I was surprised when I first read this, but I have a feeling that I probably wasn't.
There are two things I don't like about Hatoko's character. The first is that she's a six-year-old, and doesn't act like one at all. Hatoko is intelligent, calm and collected, and sure of herself. That's not to say that young children can't be smart and calm (though I've yet to see a kindergartner as un-excitable as Hatoko), but it seems highly unlikely to me that she would be so disciplined, and so well-spoken.
She's a just a little kid, playing with her favorite toy, and being really good at. From the child prodigies I've seen in various anime and manga, they all seem to be set in one mode: calm and smart. I think a prodigy character would be much more interesting if she acted...well, acted their age. A child, smarter than most adults, given tasks required of adults and lauded for their intelligence...that's a cool idea. But what if they just wanted to go to the playground instead of doing rocket science? Or their parents want to make them go to bed, but they really want to finish finding the cure for cancer tonight? I like that idea much more than one that treats child prodigies as just a smaller version of adults.
The other thing about Hatoko that I sort of disagree with is her concept. She's already discovered something that she's the best at, she's already a champion. And she's six. So...what the hell is she going to do with the rest of her life? And even though winning is a lot of fun, and everyone likes to win, if you go into every contest knowing you're going to win, wouldn't things get a little boring?
Pretty soon, Hatoko will just be like a tiny Forrest Gump.
"And then I played Angelic Layer, again...and then I became world champion, again..."
Or maybe she'll just crash and burn horribly like other child stars. I hope not.
But back to Misaki and her second fight. It's not a huge leap to guess that she'll win the tournament, which she does. She's the heroine of an upbeat manga, after all. But what I hadn't been expecting, as a thirteen-year-old, was that she would lose this fight. It shouldn't be much of a surprise to anyone that she loses to Hatoko; even Misaki accepts it.
Icchan says that the thing Misaki needed to learn to succeed in Angelic Layer was how much losing hurts.
I was a little conflicted about how I felt about this. Of course, I'm part of the "self-esteem" generation. That is, me, and people my age, all got told that we were special and unique snowflakes, that we should all believe in ourselves and have confidence. I do believe that it's important to have self-confidence, so I'm okay with some of this.
However, I'm not okay with overly-sheltering children. Yes, kids need to be protected, but you can't shield them from everything. You can't stop them from failing, or save them from disappointment. The hope is that when children fail, they learn something, and strive to improve themselves. Kids need to learn how to lose, because life is full of losing and failing. Hearts get broken; dreams don't always come true, no matter how much you want it or believe in it.
You have to learn how to fail, so you can pick up the pieces, and and strive to make yourself better.
And that's exactly what Misaki does here.
And, that's it. We've reached the end of the book. It was nice to revisit these characters again, and remember the joy and excitement I felt watching Misaki's journey through the first time. But the nostalgia isn't enough to make me keep this book. Misaki grows up in her story, and so have I.
Final Verdict: For Sale
Next I'll be starting up a rather long project--and I almost can't believe I'm saying this--Eragon by Christopher Paolini. Stay tuned!
Misaki can't land a hit on Hatoko's angel, Suzuka. She keeps dodging Hikaru's attacks, and Misaki can't figure out how.
This is only Misaki's second battle, and it shows. She's making what is probably a rookie mistake. When she wants Hikaru to move right or left, she's also moving her own body right and left. As soon as she figures this out, Misaki stops moving. She doesn't give Hatoko any more hints about what she's planning to do, and starts turning the fight around.
When we first met Hatoko, she's just called an "Angelic Layer nut", but it's supposed to be a surprise when we find out that a six-year-old is the reigning champion of the game. I don't remember if I was surprised when I first read this, but I have a feeling that I probably wasn't.
There are two things I don't like about Hatoko's character. The first is that she's a six-year-old, and doesn't act like one at all. Hatoko is intelligent, calm and collected, and sure of herself. That's not to say that young children can't be smart and calm (though I've yet to see a kindergartner as un-excitable as Hatoko), but it seems highly unlikely to me that she would be so disciplined, and so well-spoken.
 |
| No one talks like this. |
She's a just a little kid, playing with her favorite toy, and being really good at. From the child prodigies I've seen in various anime and manga, they all seem to be set in one mode: calm and smart. I think a prodigy character would be much more interesting if she acted...well, acted their age. A child, smarter than most adults, given tasks required of adults and lauded for their intelligence...that's a cool idea. But what if they just wanted to go to the playground instead of doing rocket science? Or their parents want to make them go to bed, but they really want to finish finding the cure for cancer tonight? I like that idea much more than one that treats child prodigies as just a smaller version of adults.
The other thing about Hatoko that I sort of disagree with is her concept. She's already discovered something that she's the best at, she's already a champion. And she's six. So...what the hell is she going to do with the rest of her life? And even though winning is a lot of fun, and everyone likes to win, if you go into every contest knowing you're going to win, wouldn't things get a little boring?
Pretty soon, Hatoko will just be like a tiny Forrest Gump.
"And then I played Angelic Layer, again...and then I became world champion, again..."
Or maybe she'll just crash and burn horribly like other child stars. I hope not.
But back to Misaki and her second fight. It's not a huge leap to guess that she'll win the tournament, which she does. She's the heroine of an upbeat manga, after all. But what I hadn't been expecting, as a thirteen-year-old, was that she would lose this fight. It shouldn't be much of a surprise to anyone that she loses to Hatoko; even Misaki accepts it.
Icchan says that the thing Misaki needed to learn to succeed in Angelic Layer was how much losing hurts.I was a little conflicted about how I felt about this. Of course, I'm part of the "self-esteem" generation. That is, me, and people my age, all got told that we were special and unique snowflakes, that we should all believe in ourselves and have confidence. I do believe that it's important to have self-confidence, so I'm okay with some of this.
However, I'm not okay with overly-sheltering children. Yes, kids need to be protected, but you can't shield them from everything. You can't stop them from failing, or save them from disappointment. The hope is that when children fail, they learn something, and strive to improve themselves. Kids need to learn how to lose, because life is full of losing and failing. Hearts get broken; dreams don't always come true, no matter how much you want it or believe in it.
You have to learn how to fail, so you can pick up the pieces, and and strive to make yourself better.
And that's exactly what Misaki does here.
And, that's it. We've reached the end of the book. It was nice to revisit these characters again, and remember the joy and excitement I felt watching Misaki's journey through the first time. But the nostalgia isn't enough to make me keep this book. Misaki grows up in her story, and so have I.
Final Verdict: For Sale
Next I'll be starting up a rather long project--and I almost can't believe I'm saying this--Eragon by Christopher Paolini. Stay tuned!
Friday, June 10, 2016
Angelic Layer Chap. 4: Sportball
As I mentioned before, CLAMP is known for their beautiful artwork, but this series really doesn't show it off. When Misaki interacts with characters as rambunctious as Tamayo and Icchan, a lot of the art looks like this:
I used to call it "squid art" for some reason. Maybe because the limbs look like tentacles? There's a lot of this throughout the series, and I think it gets used way too often. I know that creating a comic is a ton of work, and not every panel will be -- or even needs to be -- a masterpiece. But to use a such a simplified method of drawing the characters so often just feels, well, lazy. Especially when I know that CLAMP has produced some amazing work.
Maybe I should cut them some slack. Everyone needs a breather, right?
Long anime series tend to usually have a few "filler" episodes, where the characters go to the beach and nothing important happens. You won't see this as frequently in manga, and definitely not in Angelic Layer. The whole series is only five volumes long, so the story is quite compact. At the beginning of the book Misaki's just learning what Angelic Layer is; by the end of this chapter, she's in her first fight in a huge tournament. Moreover, her opponent is six-year-old Hatoko, but I'll come back to that in chapter five.
On the subject of the tournament, there are a couple things that confuse me. First of all, the announcer tells the crowd the basic rules of angelic layer: the first angel to lose all its health, or to be pushed out of the arena (the "layer") loses. Okay, I'm down with that, but have you ever actually heard a sports caster explain the rules of the game as it's being played? Everyone in the audience is already a fan; they know how this works. I've never sat down to watch the Super Bowl and heard the announcers explain the basic rules of the game while it's going on. It might be nice if they did, because what even is football? But it just feels a little out-of-place here. It would make more sense if Icchan explained all this when he was helping Misaki learn the basics of Angelic Layer.
Also, those appear to be the only rules of the game. But when Hatoko's angel, Suzuka, lands her first blows on Hikaru, Mr. Exposition the sportscaster announces that Hatoko's got the first set of points in this match. That is the first and the last time "points" are ever mentioned.
You don't need points to win, so I have to assume that one of the following things happened here:
(a) points refer to the angel's health, or "hit points"
(b) translation error
(c) CLAMP changed their minds about how the match winner would be determined and forgot to go back and change it
(d) There's a gritty underground ring of people betting on Angelic Layer matches, and gamblers have created a "points" system in case of close matches or to determine payout.
The first option makes the most sense, but I like the last one the best.
I used to call it "squid art" for some reason. Maybe because the limbs look like tentacles? There's a lot of this throughout the series, and I think it gets used way too often. I know that creating a comic is a ton of work, and not every panel will be -- or even needs to be -- a masterpiece. But to use a such a simplified method of drawing the characters so often just feels, well, lazy. Especially when I know that CLAMP has produced some amazing work.
Maybe I should cut them some slack. Everyone needs a breather, right?
Long anime series tend to usually have a few "filler" episodes, where the characters go to the beach and nothing important happens. You won't see this as frequently in manga, and definitely not in Angelic Layer. The whole series is only five volumes long, so the story is quite compact. At the beginning of the book Misaki's just learning what Angelic Layer is; by the end of this chapter, she's in her first fight in a huge tournament. Moreover, her opponent is six-year-old Hatoko, but I'll come back to that in chapter five.
On the subject of the tournament, there are a couple things that confuse me. First of all, the announcer tells the crowd the basic rules of angelic layer: the first angel to lose all its health, or to be pushed out of the arena (the "layer") loses. Okay, I'm down with that, but have you ever actually heard a sports caster explain the rules of the game as it's being played? Everyone in the audience is already a fan; they know how this works. I've never sat down to watch the Super Bowl and heard the announcers explain the basic rules of the game while it's going on. It might be nice if they did, because what even is football? But it just feels a little out-of-place here. It would make more sense if Icchan explained all this when he was helping Misaki learn the basics of Angelic Layer.
Also, those appear to be the only rules of the game. But when Hatoko's angel, Suzuka, lands her first blows on Hikaru, Mr. Exposition the sportscaster announces that Hatoko's got the first set of points in this match. That is the first and the last time "points" are ever mentioned.
You don't need points to win, so I have to assume that one of the following things happened here:
(a) points refer to the angel's health, or "hit points"
(b) translation error
(c) CLAMP changed their minds about how the match winner would be determined and forgot to go back and change it
(d) There's a gritty underground ring of people betting on Angelic Layer matches, and gamblers have created a "points" system in case of close matches or to determine payout.
The first option makes the most sense, but I like the last one the best.
Monday, June 6, 2016
Angelic Layer, Chapter 3: Do Angels Dream of Electric Sheep?
I always liked this chapter, because a small gag in it became a big joke between my friends and me. It also explains a lot about how the game Angelic Layer actually works.
Under the guidance of her mentor, Misaki learns how to control Hikaru's movements. I wouldn't admit it when I was reading this in junior high, but I really hoped that Hikaru would become a real character who would bond with Misaki. But Hikaru doesn't magically come to life when Misaki is practicing, she never speaks, and Misaki is totally in control of Hikaru. Misaki loves Hikaru, but in the end, Hikaru's just a doll, and the love Misaki has for her only goes in one direction.
That's a little sad.
Icchan, Misaki's mentor, teaches her the basics of how Angelic Layer works. The angel has a special cord, and the angel's owner, or "deus", wears a special headset. These allow the deus to send her thoughts to her angel and tell it how to move.
Wait.
Did I just read that right?
In this world, there is a machine that can read minds. And you're wasting it on toys?! Of course it would be amazing if you had a toy that moved just by thinking it. But why is that the only way this technology ever gets used?
Why is this series about a tournament? If I had a machine that could read minds, I sure as hell wouldn't waste it on a game.
Okay, I actually might. But I'll be damned if technology like that exists and it's not used by the government or military. Man, this series would be so much cooler if it were about Misaki using her toys to become an international super-spy, or something.
There were so many good storytelling possibilities here, and they all ended up wasted so we could watch a twelve-year-old become a champion in a game that doesn't exist in real life.
Remember when I said that Angelic Layer wasn't the type of manga I'd pick up today? Yeah.
After a couple hours of practice, Icchan decides that Misaki's ready for some real Angelic Layer. She joins a walk-on competition and makes a fool of herself at first. With a burst of inspiration from her new-found friends, though, Misaki wins her first fight; a promising start to her career as a deus.
I like Misaki because she's sweet, because she's a small girl who finds her courage and self-confidence doing what she loves.
So, exactly the opposite of who I was in junior high.
Under the guidance of her mentor, Misaki learns how to control Hikaru's movements. I wouldn't admit it when I was reading this in junior high, but I really hoped that Hikaru would become a real character who would bond with Misaki. But Hikaru doesn't magically come to life when Misaki is practicing, she never speaks, and Misaki is totally in control of Hikaru. Misaki loves Hikaru, but in the end, Hikaru's just a doll, and the love Misaki has for her only goes in one direction.
That's a little sad.
Icchan, Misaki's mentor, teaches her the basics of how Angelic Layer works. The angel has a special cord, and the angel's owner, or "deus", wears a special headset. These allow the deus to send her thoughts to her angel and tell it how to move.
Wait.
Did I just read that right?
In this world, there is a machine that can read minds. And you're wasting it on toys?! Of course it would be amazing if you had a toy that moved just by thinking it. But why is that the only way this technology ever gets used?
Why is this series about a tournament? If I had a machine that could read minds, I sure as hell wouldn't waste it on a game.
Okay, I actually might. But I'll be damned if technology like that exists and it's not used by the government or military. Man, this series would be so much cooler if it were about Misaki using her toys to become an international super-spy, or something.
There were so many good storytelling possibilities here, and they all ended up wasted so we could watch a twelve-year-old become a champion in a game that doesn't exist in real life.
Remember when I said that Angelic Layer wasn't the type of manga I'd pick up today? Yeah.
After a couple hours of practice, Icchan decides that Misaki's ready for some real Angelic Layer. She joins a walk-on competition and makes a fool of herself at first. With a burst of inspiration from her new-found friends, though, Misaki wins her first fight; a promising start to her career as a deus.
I like Misaki because she's sweet, because she's a small girl who finds her courage and self-confidence doing what she loves.
So, exactly the opposite of who I was in junior high.
Friday, June 3, 2016
Angelic Layer, Chapter 2: Making Friends
Time for another action-packed episode of Angelic Layer!
Except not at all.
The first chapter was all about explaining just exactly what Angelic Layer was. In the second chapter, we learn a little bit more about the sport, and Misaki makes some friends. That last part is probably the most important for me. People read fiction for all kinds of reasons, entertainment being the most obvious. But I think wish fulfillment is also a big part of it. It's one of my theories as to why Twilight was such a success. Bella is so bland and dull that it's easy for readers to put themselves in her shoes.
Fortunately, Misaki is likable and has a personality (unlike Bella), but I think there's still some wish-fulfillment for the thirteen-year-old version of me reading this. This is because junior high is pretty much the worst time of anyone's life. It was a time when I was bullied and miserable, bushy-haired and awkward.
Maybe kids are nicer in Japan, because Misaki makes two friends with ease on her way to school. They start talking about Angelic Layer, and that's that. I wish making friends was that easy in real life, and that the kids I went to school with were really that friendly. And even though I had more friends during middle school than I'd ever had up to that point, friendship still comes with drama, jealousies, and petty squabbles. Misaki and her friends don't have any of that. They support each other and cheer Misaki on. It's simple and uncomplicated. I could call it unrealistic, because relationships aren't that straightforward. Maybe it's the leftover strain of reading Snow Drop talking, or maybe it's because it would be nice for things to be that easy, I'll forgive it.
One trope that CLAMP is really fond of is a young genius character. In Chobits, it's Minoru. Here, it's Hatoko. I'm generally okay with it, depending on the kid. The thing withe child prodigies is that writers will sometimes forget the "child" part, and just focus on the "prodigy". Minoru is a cool, intelligent twelve-year-old, who also dresses his persocoms (humanoid robots, for those who haven't read it) in sexy, revealing outfits. Minoru's calm demeanor and wisdom don't really make him seem like a pre-teen, but I could totally see a twelve-year-old boy dressing up his robots in sexy clothes, whether he's a genius or not.
Hatoko is six years old, and doesn't act like it at all. She's cheerful, but is too well-spoken and mature for her age. At six, most kids can't sit still for more than a couple minutes. Even if she runs off from her older brother, Hatoko's really not like that. It's Misaki's other friend, Tamayo, who's bursting at the scenes with energy. I found Tamayo pretty obnoxious as a kid, and still annoying as an adult. This might be because I was similar to Tamayo when I was in eighth grade, and had a lot of self-loathing going on. Many years out of junior high later, it's embarrassing to think that I used to act like that.
Or perhaps Tamayo is objectively annoying. Can any other Angelic Layer fans confirm or deny this?
One last thing before I go: Hikaru's armor. The clothing angels wear is made out of special fabric and designed by their owners. Okay, I can buy Misaki sewing Hikaru's clothes in a few hours. Hikaru's small, and Misaki is clearly a beginner, but puts a lot of effort into the outfit. The head-scratcher here is the details of Hikaru's outfit. Those screws and cuffs at the top of her gloves can't be fabric. Even as a kid this bugged me.
Except not at all.
The first chapter was all about explaining just exactly what Angelic Layer was. In the second chapter, we learn a little bit more about the sport, and Misaki makes some friends. That last part is probably the most important for me. People read fiction for all kinds of reasons, entertainment being the most obvious. But I think wish fulfillment is also a big part of it. It's one of my theories as to why Twilight was such a success. Bella is so bland and dull that it's easy for readers to put themselves in her shoes.
Fortunately, Misaki is likable and has a personality (unlike Bella), but I think there's still some wish-fulfillment for the thirteen-year-old version of me reading this. This is because junior high is pretty much the worst time of anyone's life. It was a time when I was bullied and miserable, bushy-haired and awkward.
Maybe kids are nicer in Japan, because Misaki makes two friends with ease on her way to school. They start talking about Angelic Layer, and that's that. I wish making friends was that easy in real life, and that the kids I went to school with were really that friendly. And even though I had more friends during middle school than I'd ever had up to that point, friendship still comes with drama, jealousies, and petty squabbles. Misaki and her friends don't have any of that. They support each other and cheer Misaki on. It's simple and uncomplicated. I could call it unrealistic, because relationships aren't that straightforward. Maybe it's the leftover strain of reading Snow Drop talking, or maybe it's because it would be nice for things to be that easy, I'll forgive it.
One trope that CLAMP is really fond of is a young genius character. In Chobits, it's Minoru. Here, it's Hatoko. I'm generally okay with it, depending on the kid. The thing withe child prodigies is that writers will sometimes forget the "child" part, and just focus on the "prodigy". Minoru is a cool, intelligent twelve-year-old, who also dresses his persocoms (humanoid robots, for those who haven't read it) in sexy, revealing outfits. Minoru's calm demeanor and wisdom don't really make him seem like a pre-teen, but I could totally see a twelve-year-old boy dressing up his robots in sexy clothes, whether he's a genius or not.
Hatoko is six years old, and doesn't act like it at all. She's cheerful, but is too well-spoken and mature for her age. At six, most kids can't sit still for more than a couple minutes. Even if she runs off from her older brother, Hatoko's really not like that. It's Misaki's other friend, Tamayo, who's bursting at the scenes with energy. I found Tamayo pretty obnoxious as a kid, and still annoying as an adult. This might be because I was similar to Tamayo when I was in eighth grade, and had a lot of self-loathing going on. Many years out of junior high later, it's embarrassing to think that I used to act like that.
Or perhaps Tamayo is objectively annoying. Can any other Angelic Layer fans confirm or deny this?
One last thing before I go: Hikaru's armor. The clothing angels wear is made out of special fabric and designed by their owners. Okay, I can buy Misaki sewing Hikaru's clothes in a few hours. Hikaru's small, and Misaki is clearly a beginner, but puts a lot of effort into the outfit. The head-scratcher here is the details of Hikaru's outfit. Those screws and cuffs at the top of her gloves can't be fabric. Even as a kid this bugged me.
Monday, May 30, 2016
Angelic Layer, Chapter 1: Impact Lines. So Many Impact Lines.
After the mess that was Snow Drop, I'm going to a much lighter manga: Angelic Layer, by CLAMP. CLAMP is a group of four manga artists who are known for beautiful artwork, and compelling storylines and characters.
And they also made Angelic Layer.
Angelic Layer is not the type of manga I would pick off the shelves today, and probably would have ignored even at the height of my weeaboo days. However, it will always have a special place in my heart. Angelic Layer is the first manga series I ever read. It was my gateway drug to the world of manga. Following Angelic Layer would come Rave Master, Wish, Dragon Knights, Mars...more comic books that I care to remember (or think about how much I spent on them over the years). My weekly allowance was quickly spent at Walden Books (when there was a Walden Books); my calendar marked with manga release dates. I would save up to buy anime box sets on eBay, the only place I could find them at the time.
And at the beginning of it all was Angelic Layer.
Looking back now, I can see why I was drawn to it when I was in eighth grade. The main characters were in junior high, and I had the same outlook online as the Misaki, the lead. She's small, just like I was (and still am, but I was even shorter then), but wants to prove that she's strong. There's some intrigue around the mystery of her mentor's identity and mother's whereabouts, but it's never heavy-handed.
It's the story of a clumsy girl who finds self-confidence, and also something she loves.
Yes, this will be a nice change of pace after Snow Drop.
My first impression of the book was that it was a bit disappointing. Through the first chapter, I kept hoping that it would be something else. The title itself sounds so mysterious and magical, and the brief prologue tells of a girl "seduced to the realm of the angels". That sounds like an awesome build-up for a girl to go on an epic adventure! But it's not like that at all.
It turns out "angels" are an expensive, high-tech toy, and Angelic Layer is a game wherein two competitors have their angels fight against one another. There's no magic involved, no real angels, no epic story line that will have Misaki saving the world. Instead, it's all about the sport of Angelic Layer, and one newcomer to the game battling her way to the top.
In short, not a book that I would pick up today, or even in high school. But Misaki's likable enough, if not particularly in-depth at the moment. Maybe it was the magic of my first manga series, or the characters. Maybe it was the hope that it would turn into something more. Whatever it was, I enjoyed it, even if I had to look at the how-to-read guide every time I opened the book.
One thing that I didn't really like as a kid was reading all the action scenes. I found them difficult to understand what was going on, largely because of the amount of impact lines and sound effects, written in katakana. I mostly relied on the characters' narration to tell me what was happening in a battle. In the years that have passed, I've read a lot more comics--manga and Western--so I've learned how to read (and understand) action scenes much better. However, I still find it easier to follow violent action in Western comics. I think that having color helps, whereas most manga is printed in black and white. Even so, the first fight scene between two angels is still a bit confusing to me. Impact lines everywhere!
That's why I paid more attention to the dialogue than the fights when I had a choice. It's not a great sign of things to come, if you're reading a tournament manga.
And, because I can't write a single entry without at least one nitpick, I'm finding it pretty doubtful that Misaki's never heard of Angelic Layer before moving to Tokyo. I know that one of the easiest ways to convey information to an audience is to have the world explained to another character, but Misaki just discovering the game is a little implausible, given the rest of the story's universe. Angelic Layer tournaments are broadcasted on TV, and champions are bigger than pop idols. How did Misaki manage to miss all this? I don't watch sports, but even I could give you a basic explanation of how each game works, and even name some players. Did Misaki live under a rock before coming to Tokyo, or what?
And they also made Angelic Layer.
Angelic Layer is not the type of manga I would pick off the shelves today, and probably would have ignored even at the height of my weeaboo days. However, it will always have a special place in my heart. Angelic Layer is the first manga series I ever read. It was my gateway drug to the world of manga. Following Angelic Layer would come Rave Master, Wish, Dragon Knights, Mars...more comic books that I care to remember (or think about how much I spent on them over the years). My weekly allowance was quickly spent at Walden Books (when there was a Walden Books); my calendar marked with manga release dates. I would save up to buy anime box sets on eBay, the only place I could find them at the time.
And at the beginning of it all was Angelic Layer.
Looking back now, I can see why I was drawn to it when I was in eighth grade. The main characters were in junior high, and I had the same outlook online as the Misaki, the lead. She's small, just like I was (and still am, but I was even shorter then), but wants to prove that she's strong. There's some intrigue around the mystery of her mentor's identity and mother's whereabouts, but it's never heavy-handed.
It's the story of a clumsy girl who finds self-confidence, and also something she loves.
Yes, this will be a nice change of pace after Snow Drop.
It turns out "angels" are an expensive, high-tech toy, and Angelic Layer is a game wherein two competitors have their angels fight against one another. There's no magic involved, no real angels, no epic story line that will have Misaki saving the world. Instead, it's all about the sport of Angelic Layer, and one newcomer to the game battling her way to the top.
In short, not a book that I would pick up today, or even in high school. But Misaki's likable enough, if not particularly in-depth at the moment. Maybe it was the magic of my first manga series, or the characters. Maybe it was the hope that it would turn into something more. Whatever it was, I enjoyed it, even if I had to look at the how-to-read guide every time I opened the book.
One thing that I didn't really like as a kid was reading all the action scenes. I found them difficult to understand what was going on, largely because of the amount of impact lines and sound effects, written in katakana. I mostly relied on the characters' narration to tell me what was happening in a battle. In the years that have passed, I've read a lot more comics--manga and Western--so I've learned how to read (and understand) action scenes much better. However, I still find it easier to follow violent action in Western comics. I think that having color helps, whereas most manga is printed in black and white. Even so, the first fight scene between two angels is still a bit confusing to me. Impact lines everywhere!
That's why I paid more attention to the dialogue than the fights when I had a choice. It's not a great sign of things to come, if you're reading a tournament manga.
And, because I can't write a single entry without at least one nitpick, I'm finding it pretty doubtful that Misaki's never heard of Angelic Layer before moving to Tokyo. I know that one of the easiest ways to convey information to an audience is to have the world explained to another character, but Misaki just discovering the game is a little implausible, given the rest of the story's universe. Angelic Layer tournaments are broadcasted on TV, and champions are bigger than pop idols. How did Misaki manage to miss all this? I don't watch sports, but even I could give you a basic explanation of how each game works, and even name some players. Did Misaki live under a rock before coming to Tokyo, or what?
Thursday, May 26, 2016
It's not just me, right?
When I began this blog, it was so I could look back at all the books
I've read over the years and decide what I wanted to do with them. I've
made some headway now, managing to give away a few books, swap, or
occasionally sell them. I've been enjoying re-reading them and writing
about them here a great deal.
Tonight, I found myself wrapping up two books from the Angelic Layer series, three Rave Master books, the .hack manga that came out in the early 2000s, and Me Before You. Tomorrow, I'll be mailing them out to their new homes.
I'll be glad to cut down some of the clutter, but when I was wrapping up Angelic Layer and Rave Master, I found myself unexpectedly sad. They were the first manga I ever owned, and even though I hadn't picked them up in years, I was still attached to the books themselves. I can't say that it's the end of an era--my manga phase ended long ago--or that I'm nostalgic for a better time. No one ever gets nostalgic about junior high, I can promise you that.
Because I anthropomorphize everything, I feel a little guilty that the books I've owned in each series are getting split up and sent to different owners. But mostly, I think I just liked having them around. But as I was packing everything up, I really wanted to flip through the pages one more time, re-read them just once more. And wonder, just for a second, if maybe I shouldn't send them out at all.
But then I remind myself that they'll have new owners that will (hopefully) love these books as much as I did.
Does anyone else have trouble getting rid of books? Have you ever felt emotionally attached to a physical copy of a book, even if you haven't picked it up in years?
Tonight, I found myself wrapping up two books from the Angelic Layer series, three Rave Master books, the .hack manga that came out in the early 2000s, and Me Before You. Tomorrow, I'll be mailing them out to their new homes.
I'll be glad to cut down some of the clutter, but when I was wrapping up Angelic Layer and Rave Master, I found myself unexpectedly sad. They were the first manga I ever owned, and even though I hadn't picked them up in years, I was still attached to the books themselves. I can't say that it's the end of an era--my manga phase ended long ago--or that I'm nostalgic for a better time. No one ever gets nostalgic about junior high, I can promise you that.
Because I anthropomorphize everything, I feel a little guilty that the books I've owned in each series are getting split up and sent to different owners. But mostly, I think I just liked having them around. But as I was packing everything up, I really wanted to flip through the pages one more time, re-read them just once more. And wonder, just for a second, if maybe I shouldn't send them out at all.
But then I remind myself that they'll have new owners that will (hopefully) love these books as much as I did.
Does anyone else have trouble getting rid of books? Have you ever felt emotionally attached to a physical copy of a book, even if you haven't picked it up in years?
Friday, May 20, 2016
The Magician's Nephew, Chapter 15: Why We Read
Oh, Narnia. It's here that we go our separate ways...for now. Books transport you into a whole new world, and the best part is, they can do it over and over again. Of course, you wouldn't be here if you didn't know that already. As I've mentioned earlier, I never actually read any of the books after Prince Caspian. Re-reading The Magician's Nephew now makes me want to go back and read through the entire Narnia series. I think I'd like to go back and read the rest of the books and see what I missed. Aware, of course, of all the religious symbolism, racism, and sexism that I missed the first time around.
The final chapter is perhaps the most insightful; at the very least, it gave me the most to think about as a child. Aslan takes Polly, Digory, and the sleeping Uncle Andrew back to the Woods Between the Worlds and shows them a hollow in the grass.
"'When you were last here,' said Aslan, 'that hollow was a pool, and when you jumped into it you came to the world where a dying sun shone over the ruins of Charn. There is no pool now. That would is ended, as if it had never been. Let the race of Adam and Eve take warning.'
'Yes, Aslan,' said both the children. But Polly added, 'But we're not quite as bad as that world, are we, Aslan?'
"'Not yet, Daughter of Eve,' he said. 'Not yet. But you are growing more like it. It is not certain that some wicked one of your race will not find out a secret as evil as the Deplorable Word and use it to destroy all living things. And very soon, before you are an old man and an old woman, great nations in your world will be ruled by tyrants who care no more for joy and justice and mercy than the Emperor Jadis.'"This book was published in 1955, though it takes place before World War I. I can't help but think that Aslan's warning to the children about the Deplorable Word was a thinly veiled reference to the atomic bomb. I couldn't have known that when I read this more than a decade ago, nor could I understand just how bad the world could really be.
Now I see that our world is a scary place, and I've been very fortunate to have a comfortable life. Perhaps the question I've asked myself the most over the past two years, the one that I can't answer, is, "Is the world getting worse, or am I just paying more attention?"
Unfortunately, I'm usually an optimist. I want to believe that there is more good than bad, that love will conquer hate. More and more, it seems like the opposite of that is true.
But there's some good in this world, Mr. Frodo, and it's worth fighting for.
And that fight is terribly, terribly frustrating. Because everyday I want to change the world, but I'm just one person.
And that's why we need books. Because Digory and Polly protect Narnia from the evil they brought into it; because Digory saves his mother with a magical apple. Because they give us simple solutions to our complex problems. Because the world is terrible, the characters we love go through endless trials and tribulations, and things turn out okay.
Because real life needs more happy endings.
Final Verdict: Keep
For now, anyway. This will likely make it to the collection of children's books my mom has on the unlikely chance that I'll ever give her a grandchild.
I'll be taking next week off, but starting on May 30, I'll be back with Angelic Layer by CLAMP, which just happens to be the first manga I ever read. Stay tuned!
Monday, May 16, 2016
The Magician's Nephew, Chapter 14: All Allegories Aside, Though...
I thought the last two chapters of this book would be rather short, but it turns out they're more substantial than I remember. Well, maybe not the first part of this chapter, which is all about Uncle Andrew. The animals have now put him in a home-made cage and have tried to feed him their favorite foods, which resulted in squirrels pelting him with nuts and a bear throwing a honey comb at him, for example. It's kind of funny, but like the toffee dinner, just takes up too much time. I guess it's his comeuppance for being disagreeable ant the beginning of the book, but now it just feels undeserved. Ever since Jadis arrived, he's no longer scary or threatening. He's already learned his lesson; cut the guy some slack. And now that I can't unsee all the religious parallels, it's obvious that Uncle Andrew represents atheism, as he simply refuses to hear the animals--and Aslan--talking.
I do like that the animals want to keep Uncle Andrew as a pet, though.
There was more time spent on Uncle Andrew's treatment than there was on the coronation of the new king and queen of Narnia, wherein C.S. Lewis shows us how little he knows about blacksmithing. The dwarves make crowns for them right then and there, with apparently very little effort. I actually do know a bit about smithing (because college was a weird time), and I think it's preeeetty doubtful that the animals were able to make a fire that would get hot enough in just a few minutes to make gold and silver crowns on. Whatever, I'll give it a shrug and chalk it up to magic. I'm fairly certain that this is a point no one else cares about except me.
And while I'm sure that the coronation is terribly important for the history of Narnia, it may be the least interesting part of this chapter. It's not until the tree that Digory planted that I start caring about what's going on. Aslan confirms what the Witch told him--that taking an apple from the tree would make him live forever, and heal his mother. However, Aslan also tells him
...chilling.
And reveals yet another difference between myself now and the elementary school student who read this long ago. Back then, I couldn't comprehend regret like that, nor could I understand why anyone would think they're better off dead. I could only think of it as a curse, and use the irrational explanation of magic to comprehend something that wasn't rational to me.
Now, unfortunately, I understand regret perfectly well, and can see why someone would rather be dead than alive.
Like I said, growing up is harsh.
To end on a lighter note, I'm glad that Digory is rewarded for his honesty, and loyalty to Aslan, by being allowed to take an apple for his sick mother. That's probably the best message this book has for kids, whether or not it's read as a religious allegory.
I really love the idea that the magical fruit itself is neither good nor evil, and it's all about the person who takes the fruit. The tree would protect Narnia, whether or not its fruit was stolen, but the land it protected would change. Because Digory took the apple at Aslan's bidding, Narnia will become a kind and gentle world. Had he stolen it, Narnia would have become cold and cruel. I really like the idea that the fruit will do its job, no matter what, but the intent of the one who takes it truly determines what happens. I wish my good intentions had that much power in real life.
I do like that the animals want to keep Uncle Andrew as a pet, though.
There was more time spent on Uncle Andrew's treatment than there was on the coronation of the new king and queen of Narnia, wherein C.S. Lewis shows us how little he knows about blacksmithing. The dwarves make crowns for them right then and there, with apparently very little effort. I actually do know a bit about smithing (because college was a weird time), and I think it's preeeetty doubtful that the animals were able to make a fire that would get hot enough in just a few minutes to make gold and silver crowns on. Whatever, I'll give it a shrug and chalk it up to magic. I'm fairly certain that this is a point no one else cares about except me.
And while I'm sure that the coronation is terribly important for the history of Narnia, it may be the least interesting part of this chapter. It's not until the tree that Digory planted that I start caring about what's going on. Aslan confirms what the Witch told him--that taking an apple from the tree would make him live forever, and heal his mother. However, Aslan also tells him
"'Understand, then, that it would have healed her; but not to your joy or hers. The day would have come when both you and she would have looked back and said it would have been better to die in that illness.'"
...chilling.
And reveals yet another difference between myself now and the elementary school student who read this long ago. Back then, I couldn't comprehend regret like that, nor could I understand why anyone would think they're better off dead. I could only think of it as a curse, and use the irrational explanation of magic to comprehend something that wasn't rational to me.
Now, unfortunately, I understand regret perfectly well, and can see why someone would rather be dead than alive.
Like I said, growing up is harsh.
To end on a lighter note, I'm glad that Digory is rewarded for his honesty, and loyalty to Aslan, by being allowed to take an apple for his sick mother. That's probably the best message this book has for kids, whether or not it's read as a religious allegory.
I really love the idea that the magical fruit itself is neither good nor evil, and it's all about the person who takes the fruit. The tree would protect Narnia, whether or not its fruit was stolen, but the land it protected would change. Because Digory took the apple at Aslan's bidding, Narnia will become a kind and gentle world. Had he stolen it, Narnia would have become cold and cruel. I really like the idea that the fruit will do its job, no matter what, but the intent of the one who takes it truly determines what happens. I wish my good intentions had that much power in real life.
Friday, May 13, 2016
The Magician's Nephew, Chapter 13: Does This Remind You of Anything?
There's apparently a lot I've forgotten about this book, but some parts I remember vividly. Chapter 13 has one of those scenes. Recalling the disappointment of re-reading the previous chapter, though, I approached this one with caution.
Polly, Digory, and Fledge all find what's simply called "The Place", where the magical tree is growing. It has high walls and golden gates, warning against climbing the walls or stealing the fruit from one of the trees. Digory goes into the garden alone, and there's a few paragraphs dedicated to that decision.
Near the end of a lot of fantasy stories, the main character finds often her or himself facing off against their main antagonist alone. I'm never sure how I feel about this trope, because if their allies are readily available, then they should also join in the fight. There should be a reason given as to why the protagonist has to go it alone. If the supporting cast is busy fighting a dragon, and the main character is the only one that can kill the sorcerer, fine. If you go it alone for drama, or tradition's sake...that's sort of dumb. The movie Labyrinth probably has the weakest excuse, with Sarah facing off against Jareth (and his mighty crotch) by herself because, "that's the way it's done". I understand that it's an important moment for the character to stand up to something to face their fears, but sometimes doing it alone out of choice is impractical.
In this case, the only reason Digory goes into the grove alone is because Polly and Fledge can see that it's a "private place", somewhere you wouldn't want to walk into unless you've been invited. I'm actually okay with this. Maybe it's the way this scene was written, or maybe it's because even from the air, all three characters could feel that this place was special. I'm also okay with this because Digory isn't in any apparent danger, nor has he been since Jadis ran off.
This chapter was probably the most memorable in the book, and holds up very well even now. Digory is sorely tempted to take one of the apples for his own, and tries to rationalize eating one for himself. Just like we all do, when we want something really badly but know that we shouldn't. It also shows us the magical quality of the fruit, that he had been planning on returning it to Aslan right away, until he smells it. This passage was as difficult for me to read, because I love fruit, and they all sounded so delicious.
The most important part of the chapter, (and the novel, if you ask me), is Digory finding Jadis in the garden, happily eating one of the apples. It's made her stronger, but also made her skin and hair completely white, setting her up as the White Witch in The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe. It's obvious she hasn't been invited into the garden and that she's stolen the apple for herself. She tries to convince Digory to eat one as well and become strong and immortal like her. When he refuses, she aims below the belt.
Holy shit.
This is the reason I've remembered this chapter so well. Growing up with a sick aunt and chronic illness as a backdrop in everyday life, I would have given just about anything for an apple like that. I remember holding my breath while this scene was read to me. Of course I wanted Digory to take the apple back to Aslan. That was the right thing to do. I hoped that Aslan would be able to heal Digory's mother, but what if he couldn't? The Witch said that it was Digory's only chance at eternal life--what if it was the only way to heal his mother?
I connected with this passage, this dilemma so well. I was such a shy and straight-laced kid, always doing what I was told. If I were in Digory's shoes, though, I may have very well stolen an apple for my sick aunt. It's a test of faith; how loyal Digory feels towards Aslan, or how much he wants to save his mother. He hesitates, though, giving Jadis an opportunity to remind him that she's evil. The reminder is all Digory needs to refuse, and leave with Polly and Fledge to return to Aslan with the magic fruit.
I chose to read The Magician's Nephew again for a few reasons. It was the first in the Narnia series I ever read; I thought I remembered the basic story well enough and...
Well, this last one just makes me sound silly.
It took me awhile to come around to the "Aslan is Jesus" allegory. Sure, it made sense--Aslan comes around at Christmas, is killed for Edmund's sake and is then reborn (which just about made me cry)...it's not a difficult connection to make. I never liked it all that much because it sort of demystified this really cool, powerful character. When I was a child, it made Aslan feel less approachable. As an adult, it's because I'm not terribly religious, and don't enjoy having religion shoved down my throat, even if it's in the form of a fuzzy lion. Because, c'mon, you can't watch the Disney Narnia movies and tell me that you don't want to cuddle with Aslan.
But back to the point...I chose The Magician's Nephew because I thought it wouldn't be overly religious.
Oh, how wrong I was.
The scene that I remembered the best was nothing more than a gender-swapped Garden of Eden story. How the hell did I miss that? If it were any more transparent, this book would be made of glass.
Aslan help me, I'm an idiot.
Polly, Digory, and Fledge all find what's simply called "The Place", where the magical tree is growing. It has high walls and golden gates, warning against climbing the walls or stealing the fruit from one of the trees. Digory goes into the garden alone, and there's a few paragraphs dedicated to that decision.
Near the end of a lot of fantasy stories, the main character finds often her or himself facing off against their main antagonist alone. I'm never sure how I feel about this trope, because if their allies are readily available, then they should also join in the fight. There should be a reason given as to why the protagonist has to go it alone. If the supporting cast is busy fighting a dragon, and the main character is the only one that can kill the sorcerer, fine. If you go it alone for drama, or tradition's sake...that's sort of dumb. The movie Labyrinth probably has the weakest excuse, with Sarah facing off against Jareth (and his mighty crotch) by herself because, "that's the way it's done". I understand that it's an important moment for the character to stand up to something to face their fears, but sometimes doing it alone out of choice is impractical.
In this case, the only reason Digory goes into the grove alone is because Polly and Fledge can see that it's a "private place", somewhere you wouldn't want to walk into unless you've been invited. I'm actually okay with this. Maybe it's the way this scene was written, or maybe it's because even from the air, all three characters could feel that this place was special. I'm also okay with this because Digory isn't in any apparent danger, nor has he been since Jadis ran off.
This chapter was probably the most memorable in the book, and holds up very well even now. Digory is sorely tempted to take one of the apples for his own, and tries to rationalize eating one for himself. Just like we all do, when we want something really badly but know that we shouldn't. It also shows us the magical quality of the fruit, that he had been planning on returning it to Aslan right away, until he smells it. This passage was as difficult for me to read, because I love fruit, and they all sounded so delicious.
The most important part of the chapter, (and the novel, if you ask me), is Digory finding Jadis in the garden, happily eating one of the apples. It's made her stronger, but also made her skin and hair completely white, setting her up as the White Witch in The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe. It's obvious she hasn't been invited into the garden and that she's stolen the apple for herself. She tries to convince Digory to eat one as well and become strong and immortal like her. When he refuses, she aims below the belt.
"'Do you not see, Fool, that one bite of the apple would heal her? You have it in your pocket. We are here by ourselves and the Lion is far away. Use your Magic and go back to your own world. A minute later you can be at your Mother's bedside, giving her the fruit. Five minutes later you will see the color coming back to her face. She will tell you the pain is gone. Soon she will tell you she feels stronger. Then she will fall asleep--think of that; hours of sweet, natural sleep, without pain, without drugs. Next day everyone will be saying how wonderfully she has recovered. Soon she will be quite well again. All will be well again. [. . .] And what would your Mother think if she knew that you could have taken her pain away and given her back her life and saved your Father's heart from being broken, and that you wouldn't--that you'd rather run messages for a wild animal in a strange world that is no business of yours?'"
Holy shit.
This is the reason I've remembered this chapter so well. Growing up with a sick aunt and chronic illness as a backdrop in everyday life, I would have given just about anything for an apple like that. I remember holding my breath while this scene was read to me. Of course I wanted Digory to take the apple back to Aslan. That was the right thing to do. I hoped that Aslan would be able to heal Digory's mother, but what if he couldn't? The Witch said that it was Digory's only chance at eternal life--what if it was the only way to heal his mother?
I connected with this passage, this dilemma so well. I was such a shy and straight-laced kid, always doing what I was told. If I were in Digory's shoes, though, I may have very well stolen an apple for my sick aunt. It's a test of faith; how loyal Digory feels towards Aslan, or how much he wants to save his mother. He hesitates, though, giving Jadis an opportunity to remind him that she's evil. The reminder is all Digory needs to refuse, and leave with Polly and Fledge to return to Aslan with the magic fruit.
I chose to read The Magician's Nephew again for a few reasons. It was the first in the Narnia series I ever read; I thought I remembered the basic story well enough and...
Well, this last one just makes me sound silly.
It took me awhile to come around to the "Aslan is Jesus" allegory. Sure, it made sense--Aslan comes around at Christmas, is killed for Edmund's sake and is then reborn (which just about made me cry)...it's not a difficult connection to make. I never liked it all that much because it sort of demystified this really cool, powerful character. When I was a child, it made Aslan feel less approachable. As an adult, it's because I'm not terribly religious, and don't enjoy having religion shoved down my throat, even if it's in the form of a fuzzy lion. Because, c'mon, you can't watch the Disney Narnia movies and tell me that you don't want to cuddle with Aslan.
But back to the point...I chose The Magician's Nephew because I thought it wouldn't be overly religious.
Oh, how wrong I was.
The scene that I remembered the best was nothing more than a gender-swapped Garden of Eden story. How the hell did I miss that? If it were any more transparent, this book would be made of glass.
Aslan help me, I'm an idiot.
Monday, May 9, 2016
The Magician's Nephew, Chapter 12: Strawberry's Disappointing Adventure
This was a chapter that I was really excited to get to. I remembered it being so magical. Aslan gives Strawberry wings, and he becomes Fledge, Narnia's first flying horse. He takes Polly and Digory on an adventure, flying far above Narnia. They explore the world, eat toffees, and have a marvelous time. What more could a child want in a story?
As an adult, however, it turns out that this chapter leaves a lot to be desired. I expected that my childhood memory of this chapter wouldn't hold up to the reality, and I was right. I just wasn't aware of how right I was actually going to be. It starts promising, with Digory agreeing to find the magical tree that will protect Narnia. There's also a very sweet part where Aslan grieves with Digory about his ill mother.
"But please, please--won't you--can't you give me something that will cure Mother?' Up till then he had been looking at the Lion's great feet and huge claws on them; now, in his despair, he looked up at its face. What he saw surprised him as much as anything in his whole life. For the tawny face was bent down near his own and (wonder of wonders) great shining tears stood in the Lion's eyes. They were such big, bright tears compared with Digory's own that for a moment he felt as if the Lion must really be sorrier about his mother than he was himself."
But this chapter is mostly description, like Digory describing the land to Aslan. When Polly and Digory are riding on Fledge's back, most of the narrative is description of what they're flying over. The "adventure" isn't so much a story, as it is a nice sight-seeing tour.
On the other hand, they're the first humans to ever see all this, so I guess that's exciting. Of course I would have loved to be riding on a flying horse through a brand-new world. But I don't get that thrill from reading this. It's like going through a photo album of someone else's vacation. You try to care, you really want to, but you just can't make yourself.
Man, growing up sucks.
There's also a disproportionate amount of time dedicated to the children having dinner. There are two pages that are just Digory and Polly trying to figure out what they're going to eat when they stop flying for the night. Polly has some toffees in her pocket, so they decide that will be their meal.
"The little paper bag was very squashy and sticky when they finally got it out, so that it was more a question of tearing the bag off the toffees than of getting the toffees out of their bag."
Okay, great, but what about the adventure?
"Some grown-ups (you know how fussy they can be about that sort of thing) would rather have gone without supper altogether than eaten those toffees."
No, I still eat candy for dinner sometimes. So about this adventure...
"There were nine of them all told. It was Digory who had the bright idea of eating four each and planting the ninth; for, as he said, 'if the bar off the lamp-post turned into a little light-tree, why shouldn't this turn into a toffee-tree?' So they dibbled a small hole in the earth and buried the piece of toffee."
Man, the word toffee sounds weird now. You ever notice how you say a word a lot, and it loses its meaning? Toffee, toffee, toffee...
At least there's still magic, when the toffee does grow into a toffee tree overnight. That's pretty cool.
There is one small detail in this chapter that I still really like. When Polly and Digory go to sleep, Fledge spreads his wings over them to keep them warm at night. It sounds cozy, and of course I would love to have a pegasus to snuggle with at night. In fact, a great deal of my wish-fulfillment stories I wrote in sixth grade were based on that exact premise.
Monday, May 2, 2016
The Magician's Nephew, Chapter 11: Bit Characters and Other Matters
I've praised some of the ideas C.S. Lewis had, but there's one thing that's a little harder to get over: the chapter titles. Some of them are just so incredibly bland. Take a look:
Chapter 6: The Beginning of Uncle Andrew's Troubles
Chapter 7: What Happened at the Front Door
Chapter 10: The First Joke and Other Matters
And we've finally reached Chapter 11: Digory and His Uncle Are Both in Trouble.
Chapter 7: What Happened at the Front Door
Chapter 10: The First Joke and Other Matters
And we've finally reached Chapter 11: Digory and His Uncle Are Both in Trouble.
The first half of this chapter is nothing but the animals trying to figure out what, exactly, Uncle Andrew is. They eventually decide that he's a tree, and plant him in the ground. It's amusing, but it has nothing to do with the rest of the story. To be honest, I'm not even sure why Uncle Andrew even had to come to Narnia with the other characters. He's been demoted from intriguing Magician to comic relief, by way of misfortune. At this point, he has nothing to do with the rest of the story. I also don't like to see clever and brave Polly relegated to the background. She should have a much bigger part in the story right now; certainly, she deserves a bigger role than Uncle Andrew. Much more so than the Cabby as well, who has only just been given a name. Seriously, this man's horse is named before he is.
Aslan decrees the Cabby, Frank, will be king of Narnia. This is presumably because Frank is the only human adult in the group who isn't evil. This also begs the question why Aslan wanted a human to run the country in the first place. So far, Uncle Andrew, Jadis, and Digory (to a point) haven't been shining examples of our species. All the sentient beings in Narnia are either animals or some kind of mythological creature, like dryads and fauns. Why not let one of its native people rule the country, maybe someone that Aslan specifically chose for his council? And how is Frank going to know what's best for the animals, talking or otherwise? It reminds me of reading an X-rated fanfiction that was clearly written by a virgin. Maybe you know what's supposed to happen, but it's obvious to everyone reading it that you've got no clue what you're writing about.
Do you think C.S. Lewis was pro-Imperialism?
Despite that head-scratcher, I'm kind of okay with Aslan's reasons that Frank qualifies as king. Writing this during an election year, I wish politics really were this simple and straightforward.
"And will you build a wall between Narnia and Archenland, and deport all Archenlanders who have not legally come to this country?"*
But between Uncle Andrew being planted in the ground and Frank becoming king, Aslan has to deal with Digory, as he was the one who woke Jadis and brought her into Narnia. Aslan says that Digory must find a magical tree far away, take one of its fruits, and plant it in Narnia. This tree will help protect Narnia from Jadis for hundreds of years. When Digory owns up to the role he had in waking Jadis, his exchange with Aslan is a little...disappointing.
But that was so cool! It was scary and intriguing and now you're saying that the magic was all in Digory's head?
Thanks for taking away the scariest part of the book, Aslan.
Digory, you broke Narnia. C.S. Lewis, you broke my heart.
*Please note that Donald Drumpf's point of view does not reflect the author's, and that Drumpf is a tool.**
**Though it is worth saying that the Calormenes are C.S. Lewis's view of Muslims, and are not portrayed in a flattering light. So really, building a wall between Narnia and Calormen would make more sense for this predictable joke.†
†Please don't vote for Trump. Please, please, please.
Aslan decrees the Cabby, Frank, will be king of Narnia. This is presumably because Frank is the only human adult in the group who isn't evil. This also begs the question why Aslan wanted a human to run the country in the first place. So far, Uncle Andrew, Jadis, and Digory (to a point) haven't been shining examples of our species. All the sentient beings in Narnia are either animals or some kind of mythological creature, like dryads and fauns. Why not let one of its native people rule the country, maybe someone that Aslan specifically chose for his council? And how is Frank going to know what's best for the animals, talking or otherwise? It reminds me of reading an X-rated fanfiction that was clearly written by a virgin. Maybe you know what's supposed to happen, but it's obvious to everyone reading it that you've got no clue what you're writing about.
Do you think C.S. Lewis was pro-Imperialism?
Despite that head-scratcher, I'm kind of okay with Aslan's reasons that Frank qualifies as king. Writing this during an election year, I wish politics really were this simple and straightforward.
"'Begging your pardon, sir,' he said, 'and thank you very much I'm sure (which my Missus does the same) but I ain't no sort of chap for a job like that. I never 'ad much eddycation, you see.'
'Well,' said Aslan, 'can you use a spade and a plow and raise food out of the earth?'
'Yes, sir, I could do a bit of that sort of work: being brought up to it, like.'
'Can you rule these creatures kindly and fairly, remembering they are not slaves like the dumb beasts of the world you were born in, but Talking Beasts and free subjects?'
'I see that, sir,' replied the Cabby. 'I'd try to do the square thing by them all.'
'And would you bring up your children and grandchildren to do the same?'
'It'd be up to me to try, sir. I'd do my best: wouldn't we, Nellie?'
'And you wouldn't have favorites either among your own children or among the other creatures or let any hold under another or is use it hardly?'
'I never could abide such goings on, sir, and that's the truth. I'd give 'em what for if I caught 'em at it,' said the Cabby."
"And will you build a wall between Narnia and Archenland, and deport all Archenlanders who have not legally come to this country?"*
But between Uncle Andrew being planted in the ground and Frank becoming king, Aslan has to deal with Digory, as he was the one who woke Jadis and brought her into Narnia. Aslan says that Digory must find a magical tree far away, take one of its fruits, and plant it in Narnia. This tree will help protect Narnia from Jadis for hundreds of years. When Digory owns up to the role he had in waking Jadis, his exchange with Aslan is a little...disappointing.
"'She woke up,' said Digory wretchedly. And then, turning very white, 'I mean, I woke her. Because I wanted to know what would happen if I struck a bell. Polly didn't want to. It wasn't her fault. I--I fought her. I know I shouldn't have. I think I was a bit enchanted by the writing under the bell.'
'Do you?' asked Aslan; still speaking very low and deep.
'No,' said Digory. 'I see now I wasn't. I was only pretending.'"
But that was so cool! It was scary and intriguing and now you're saying that the magic was all in Digory's head?
Thanks for taking away the scariest part of the book, Aslan.
Digory, you broke Narnia. C.S. Lewis, you broke my heart.
*Please note that Donald Drumpf's point of view does not reflect the author's, and that Drumpf is a tool.**
**Though it is worth saying that the Calormenes are C.S. Lewis's view of Muslims, and are not portrayed in a flattering light. So really, building a wall between Narnia and Calormen would make more sense for this predictable joke.†
†Please don't vote for Trump. Please, please, please.
Friday, April 29, 2016
The Magician's Nephew, Chapter 10: C.S. Lewis is a Jerk
There was a sequence in this chapter that rather confused me as a kid: the first joke.
I like that Aslan included jokes and laughter in Narnia right away. Laughter is important. I know a lot of people will say that they'd like to die in their sleep; if I had a choice, I'd like to die laughing. Besides, I think most of us would agree that God has a sense of humor, and so it's only fitting that Lion Jesus would, too.
As the Talking Animals pledge to Aslan that they will remain Talking Animals and not revert back to their mute counterparts, a jackdaw embarrasses himself, and everyone laughs.
Aslan selects his council of animals, saying they have much to discuss, because evil has already entered the new world. It makes me kind of sad that Narnia has always known evil, even though it was literally formed seconds ago. It was never a pure, incorruptible place, and never will be.
The other thing that caught my attention in this chapter was when Aslan called the animals for his council, he chooses "the chief Dwarf, and you the River-god, and you Oak and He-Owl, and both the ravens and the Bull-Elephant."
There was something that bothered me about this when I was a kid, and there's something that still bugs me about it now. Can you spot it?
The characters called into Aslan's council are almost all male. The one exception is that Aslan called both talking ravens - a male and female - and we can probably make the assumption that a tree is genderless. The Narnia series - and C.S. Lewis - have both been called sexist. And...it's not an unreasonable thing to say. For example, in The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe, when Santa gives Susan her bow and arrows, he says that he hopes she never has to use it, because "battles are ugly when women fight." I still remember that line perfectly, because it enraged me so much, and was so happy that it was removed from the Disney adaptation. Susan's treatment in The Last Battle is also questionable, as she gets booted from Narnia for...growing up? Becoming interested in nylons and lipstick? Susan's fate isn't exactly clear, and neither are the reasons why she was no longer allowed back in Narnia. This might be a comment on growing up, but the eldest Pevensie child is allowed back in Narnia. This can be interpreted in a couple different ways, one of which is that she's kicked out for discovering sex, or for being and adult woman.
Discussing just The Magician's Nephew and no other books in the series, there are still some big problems. Reading the book as an allegory for the story of Adam and Eve, Jadis (who would become Lewis's most iconic villain, the White Witch) represents both original sin, and the serpent. Her holy counterpart is represented by a male. Even without reading deeper into the text, the adult woman is still the antagonist. Upon returning from Charn, Polly is quickly shoved to the back, out of the action as well. The Cabby's wife, Helen, also makes an appearance, and becomes the first Queen of Narnia, but she has a decidedly bit part in the story, to the point where I didn't even remember she was in it.
On the other hand, Jadis is the most powerful character for a good portion of the book, and a true magician, unlike pathetic Uncle Andrew. Polly also seems to be a bit brighter than Digory, and they wouldn't have woken up Jadis at all if he'd listened to her. Throughout the series, there are a number of female characters presented in a positive light--Lucy most notably comes to mind. It's also worth noting that these books were all published in the 1950s, a time when women were supposed to get married, have kids, stay home and cook the roast. It may be that these books are just a product of their time. However, it's disheartening to think that even in a fantasy world, personally built by God, women are not equal to men.
Thanks, C.S. Lewis.
Jerk.
I like that Aslan included jokes and laughter in Narnia right away. Laughter is important. I know a lot of people will say that they'd like to die in their sleep; if I had a choice, I'd like to die laughing. Besides, I think most of us would agree that God has a sense of humor, and so it's only fitting that Lion Jesus would, too.
As the Talking Animals pledge to Aslan that they will remain Talking Animals and not revert back to their mute counterparts, a jackdaw embarrasses himself, and everyone laughs.
"'Laugh and fear not, creatures. Now that you are no longer dumb and witless, you need not always be grave. For jokes as well as justice come in with speech.' [. . .]As a kid, I didn't understand how the jackdaw was the first joke, and I re-read the passage several times before I figured it out. Now I think it's just kind of mean. God is personally making fun of you. Of course, probably a lot of people feel like that...
'Aslan! Aslan! Have I made the first joke? Will everybody always be told how I made the first joke?'
'No, little friend,' said the Lion. 'You have not made the first joke; you have only been the first joke.'"
Aslan selects his council of animals, saying they have much to discuss, because evil has already entered the new world. It makes me kind of sad that Narnia has always known evil, even though it was literally formed seconds ago. It was never a pure, incorruptible place, and never will be.
The other thing that caught my attention in this chapter was when Aslan called the animals for his council, he chooses "the chief Dwarf, and you the River-god, and you Oak and He-Owl, and both the ravens and the Bull-Elephant."
There was something that bothered me about this when I was a kid, and there's something that still bugs me about it now. Can you spot it?
The characters called into Aslan's council are almost all male. The one exception is that Aslan called both talking ravens - a male and female - and we can probably make the assumption that a tree is genderless. The Narnia series - and C.S. Lewis - have both been called sexist. And...it's not an unreasonable thing to say. For example, in The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe, when Santa gives Susan her bow and arrows, he says that he hopes she never has to use it, because "battles are ugly when women fight." I still remember that line perfectly, because it enraged me so much, and was so happy that it was removed from the Disney adaptation. Susan's treatment in The Last Battle is also questionable, as she gets booted from Narnia for...growing up? Becoming interested in nylons and lipstick? Susan's fate isn't exactly clear, and neither are the reasons why she was no longer allowed back in Narnia. This might be a comment on growing up, but the eldest Pevensie child is allowed back in Narnia. This can be interpreted in a couple different ways, one of which is that she's kicked out for discovering sex, or for being and adult woman.
Discussing just The Magician's Nephew and no other books in the series, there are still some big problems. Reading the book as an allegory for the story of Adam and Eve, Jadis (who would become Lewis's most iconic villain, the White Witch) represents both original sin, and the serpent. Her holy counterpart is represented by a male. Even without reading deeper into the text, the adult woman is still the antagonist. Upon returning from Charn, Polly is quickly shoved to the back, out of the action as well. The Cabby's wife, Helen, also makes an appearance, and becomes the first Queen of Narnia, but she has a decidedly bit part in the story, to the point where I didn't even remember she was in it.
On the other hand, Jadis is the most powerful character for a good portion of the book, and a true magician, unlike pathetic Uncle Andrew. Polly also seems to be a bit brighter than Digory, and they wouldn't have woken up Jadis at all if he'd listened to her. Throughout the series, there are a number of female characters presented in a positive light--Lucy most notably comes to mind. It's also worth noting that these books were all published in the 1950s, a time when women were supposed to get married, have kids, stay home and cook the roast. It may be that these books are just a product of their time. However, it's disheartening to think that even in a fantasy world, personally built by God, women are not equal to men.
Thanks, C.S. Lewis.
Jerk.
Tuesday, April 26, 2016
The Magician's Nephew, Chapter 9: Uncle Andrew is "That Guy"
In this chapter we have the first appearance of Aslan, singing the world to life. We have the stars, a young sun, grass and trees...even after all these years, it's still a magical moment. The thing that detracts from it most, however, is the characters. The children, the Cabby, and the horse all know that something important is happening, and that they are witnessing a rare and breath-taking event. Unfortunately, Uncle Andrew and Jadis can't enjoy it, and they let everyone know.
The magic in Narnia is more powerful than Jadis's own magic, but the real reason she can't stand it is because she's evil. It doesn't get any deeper than that. It's disappointing, but I should have known to expect that by now.
I guess I just don't appreciate it when children's books treat kids like they're idiots. Children are smarter than we give them credit for, I think; they can handle a little moral ambiguity. I remember reading books like The Giver and Tuck Everlasting when I was in elementary school. Books that dealt with pretty heavy themes--euthanasia, mortality, freedom--many of which would not necessarily be called "kid-friendly". They didn't always wrap things up in neat and tidy ways, and would leave me with questions. They challenged the way I usually thought ("Why does my teacher think that Winnie dying was a happy ending?"), and helped introduce us to new ideas. You see that the world doesn't fit in nice, neat boxes, and those are the lessons--and the books--that make a real impact on you. It seems pretty obvious as I write this, considering how well I remember those books, and how much of The Magician's Nephew I forgot over the years.
Don't get me wrong--the Narnia books (at least the ones I've read) are part of a wonderful series that I hold close to my heart, and I'm really enjoying The Magician's Nephew right now. But as an adult, I can now see flaws in the books that I overlooked before.
My favorite part of this chapter was probably when the animals came to life. They rose out of the ground, and Aslan selected two of each kind to be talking animals. Uncle Andrew, however, continues to ruin the birth of a new world by freaking out. He keeps trying to get Polly and Digory to use their rings to get out of Narnia and back to their world, leaving Jadis (and the cabby) behind in Narnia. Digory doesn't want to leave, though, because he believes Aslan could help save his mother.
Uncle Andrew could learn something from him.
The magic in Narnia is more powerful than Jadis's own magic, but the real reason she can't stand it is because she's evil. It doesn't get any deeper than that. It's disappointing, but I should have known to expect that by now.
I guess I just don't appreciate it when children's books treat kids like they're idiots. Children are smarter than we give them credit for, I think; they can handle a little moral ambiguity. I remember reading books like The Giver and Tuck Everlasting when I was in elementary school. Books that dealt with pretty heavy themes--euthanasia, mortality, freedom--many of which would not necessarily be called "kid-friendly". They didn't always wrap things up in neat and tidy ways, and would leave me with questions. They challenged the way I usually thought ("Why does my teacher think that Winnie dying was a happy ending?"), and helped introduce us to new ideas. You see that the world doesn't fit in nice, neat boxes, and those are the lessons--and the books--that make a real impact on you. It seems pretty obvious as I write this, considering how well I remember those books, and how much of The Magician's Nephew I forgot over the years.
Don't get me wrong--the Narnia books (at least the ones I've read) are part of a wonderful series that I hold close to my heart, and I'm really enjoying The Magician's Nephew right now. But as an adult, I can now see flaws in the books that I overlooked before.
My favorite part of this chapter was probably when the animals came to life. They rose out of the ground, and Aslan selected two of each kind to be talking animals. Uncle Andrew, however, continues to ruin the birth of a new world by freaking out. He keeps trying to get Polly and Digory to use their rings to get out of Narnia and back to their world, leaving Jadis (and the cabby) behind in Narnia. Digory doesn't want to leave, though, because he believes Aslan could help save his mother.
"Digory's heart beat wildly; he knew something very solemn was going to be done. He had not forgotten about his Mother; but he knew jolly well that, even for her, he couldn't interrupt a thing like this."
Uncle Andrew could learn something from him.
Friday, April 22, 2016
The Magician's Nephew, Chapter 8: Big Song Theory
Halfway through the book, and we've almost made it to Narnia!
Right now, I think Jadis is my favorite character. She's certainly the most interesting. I suspect that the real reason C.S. Lewis decided to have her return to our world with Digory and Polly is because he wanted to see what would happen if he let someone like her romp around London. I wish we hadn't had to watch Digory wait around in the previous chapter, because Jadis sounds like so much more fun. When she she finally returns to the house, it's with score of people following her, including a Cabby, police officers, and a crowd of spectators. Jadis fully believes that she's going to take over our world, and most of the people following her think this is the most entertaining thing they've seen in their lives. It takes her a minute to realize that her followers are actually laughing at her.
Digory - and Polly, who was finally allowed out of bed - finally spots a chance to take the Witch to the Woods Between the Worlds. Jadis was suffering when she last went to the Woods, probably because she's evil and that place is pure good. Digory acknowledges that it would probably be awful to abandon her there, but he doesn't know what else he can do. Digory does manage to grab Jadis and put on his yellow ring, but in the confusion ends up taking a few extras along for the ride: Polly, Uncle Andrew, the Cabby, and the Cabby's horse, Strawberry.
Maybe the most satisfying part of this scene is Uncle Andrew, finally getting a taste of his own medicine and whining about it.
This is about as much character development that Uncle Andrew gets for the rest of the book. On one hand, it's a little unfortunate. On the other, it's kind of fun to see him miserable. He seemed like such a powerful figure when Polly and Digory first encountered him, but now he's like a small, bratty child.
One thing really intrigues me as the group is in the Woods. Strawberry begins drinking from one of the pools of water, that as we know, is a doorway to another world. My question is, what would happen if Strawberry drank the whole thing? Would the world vanish, or would it just be impossible to get to? This is what I mean when I said I thought Lewis should do more with the Woods, because it's just such a good idea. So many questions, so many possibilities, and we'll never know the answers.
I volunteer myself to write a spin-off series that answers all the questions I have.
After a little more confusion, the all the characters leave the woods and we're...finally...almost in Narnia. Sort of.
Instead, the characters are whisked away to Nothing. They're in the dark, they're alone, and the world they've stumbled into is empty. They're not in Narnia, because Narnia doesn't exist yet. It's dark, and then they hear a noise; a song, rather.
Most of this chapter is occupied with describing this song. I remember being enchanted by this scene as a child, but I thought I would be bored reading it as an adult. I was -- as I am about many things -- wrong. The world of Narnia is being sung into life, beginning with the stars. When I was a kid, this made sense to me. I didn't know how the world began, (there was something about a Big Bang, but also something about a Garden of Eden...) so why couldn't it have started with a song? It made about as much sense as anything else.
Even if Lewis is on the "Eden" side of the road and I'm now a fan of the Big Bang, I still enjoyed this chapter. As I reflect on it here, I can actually see some similarities between the two. The both have the same theme: From Nothing, Something. And that Something started small and grew until it's the Something that we know today. The difference is the time scale. Here might be a good place to put a creationsim vs. evolution debate, and discuss the obviously correct choice. But that's a little weighty for discussing a children's book, particularly a children's book where one of the characters is Jesus with four legs and fur.
Right now, I think Jadis is my favorite character. She's certainly the most interesting. I suspect that the real reason C.S. Lewis decided to have her return to our world with Digory and Polly is because he wanted to see what would happen if he let someone like her romp around London. I wish we hadn't had to watch Digory wait around in the previous chapter, because Jadis sounds like so much more fun. When she she finally returns to the house, it's with score of people following her, including a Cabby, police officers, and a crowd of spectators. Jadis fully believes that she's going to take over our world, and most of the people following her think this is the most entertaining thing they've seen in their lives. It takes her a minute to realize that her followers are actually laughing at her.
Digory - and Polly, who was finally allowed out of bed - finally spots a chance to take the Witch to the Woods Between the Worlds. Jadis was suffering when she last went to the Woods, probably because she's evil and that place is pure good. Digory acknowledges that it would probably be awful to abandon her there, but he doesn't know what else he can do. Digory does manage to grab Jadis and put on his yellow ring, but in the confusion ends up taking a few extras along for the ride: Polly, Uncle Andrew, the Cabby, and the Cabby's horse, Strawberry.
Maybe the most satisfying part of this scene is Uncle Andrew, finally getting a taste of his own medicine and whining about it.
"'Oh, oh, is this delirium? Is it the end? I can't bear it. It's not fair. I never meant to be a Magician. It's all a misunderstanding. It's my godmother's fault; I must protest this. In my state of health too. A very old Dorsetshire family.'"This reminds me of playing video games with my friends as a kid, and the sore loser's cries of, "that's not fair", "you're cheating", "my controller's broken", and, the most desperate of all, "MY DAD WORKS AT NINTENDO!"
This is about as much character development that Uncle Andrew gets for the rest of the book. On one hand, it's a little unfortunate. On the other, it's kind of fun to see him miserable. He seemed like such a powerful figure when Polly and Digory first encountered him, but now he's like a small, bratty child.
One thing really intrigues me as the group is in the Woods. Strawberry begins drinking from one of the pools of water, that as we know, is a doorway to another world. My question is, what would happen if Strawberry drank the whole thing? Would the world vanish, or would it just be impossible to get to? This is what I mean when I said I thought Lewis should do more with the Woods, because it's just such a good idea. So many questions, so many possibilities, and we'll never know the answers.
I volunteer myself to write a spin-off series that answers all the questions I have.
After a little more confusion, the all the characters leave the woods and we're...finally...almost in Narnia. Sort of.
Instead, the characters are whisked away to Nothing. They're in the dark, they're alone, and the world they've stumbled into is empty. They're not in Narnia, because Narnia doesn't exist yet. It's dark, and then they hear a noise; a song, rather.
Most of this chapter is occupied with describing this song. I remember being enchanted by this scene as a child, but I thought I would be bored reading it as an adult. I was -- as I am about many things -- wrong. The world of Narnia is being sung into life, beginning with the stars. When I was a kid, this made sense to me. I didn't know how the world began, (there was something about a Big Bang, but also something about a Garden of Eden...) so why couldn't it have started with a song? It made about as much sense as anything else.
Even if Lewis is on the "Eden" side of the road and I'm now a fan of the Big Bang, I still enjoyed this chapter. As I reflect on it here, I can actually see some similarities between the two. The both have the same theme: From Nothing, Something. And that Something started small and grew until it's the Something that we know today. The difference is the time scale. Here might be a good place to put a creationsim vs. evolution debate, and discuss the obviously correct choice. But that's a little weighty for discussing a children's book, particularly a children's book where one of the characters is Jesus with four legs and fur.
Monday, April 18, 2016
The Magician's Nephew, Chapter 7: Drawbacks of Childhood
In the first chapter of The Magician's Nephew, C.S. Lewis captures the magic and wonder of childhood. In the seventh chapter, it's all about the helplessness.
Digory and Polly go on the adventure of their lives, but it involves a lot of waiting around. Polly had to go home, and her parents punished her for getting her shoes and stockings wet under circumstances she can't quite explain, and is out of the picture for most of this chapter. Jadis ends up getting a horse-drawn cab and is taking a romp around the city with Uncle Andrew. Knowing how dangerous Jadis is, Digory contemplates going after them. However, he's faced with several limitations. He doesn't know where they are, and his Aunt Letty would never let him leave the house if he couldn't tell her where he was going. Besides that, he doesn't have any money to pay for trams to take him around the city.
When you're a kid, it seems like everything you do is on someone else's schedule. You have to depend on adults for just about everything. They're supposed to provide for you and protect you. Even as we get older and more independent, we still rely on our parents, and (in theory) live by their rules. Driving home the point is Polly, punished and unable to help. It's a little frustrating that Digory can't go after Uncle Andrew and Jadis, even though he knows that's what he should do. Watching Digory sit and wait for them to come back may not be the most exciting thing to read, but it is realistic.
Along with that, there's another part of this chapter that gave me chills, when Aunt Letty briefly discusses Digory's mother and her failing health.
It wasn't the talking about the obvious foreshadowing about fruit from the land of youth, but the part where the adults lower their voices so Digory can't hear. I can tell you from experience that when you have a chronically sick relative, conversations like that are a big part of your life. My sister and I would overhear things that we weren't supposed to, almost always worrying news. We almost never heard the end of those conversations. Either it would get quiet, or I'd become so uncomfortable that I'd somehow make my presence known. Hopefully in such a way that the adults wouldn't realize I'd been listening in, though I might never know for sure. It turns out they're a lot more perceptive than I thought. Of course, I used to sneak out of my bed and think that throwing a blanket over my head would prevent my parents from spotting me and sending me back upstairs.
Childhood logic.
I don't know how other kids in similar situations handled things like this, but I was too anxious to ask my parents questions about what was going on. The information I got about my aunt was either from what they told me directly, and what was overheard. It's funny, the things grown-ups will say when they think you're not paying attention. And for something this big, I always paid attention.
Let's not delve into childhood fear and sadness for a moment, though, and appreciate a very minor, nameless character: the maid. She has no idea what's going on, and it's something of a running gag in this chapter.
I don't know why I like this so much. It just makes me smile.
Digory and Polly go on the adventure of their lives, but it involves a lot of waiting around. Polly had to go home, and her parents punished her for getting her shoes and stockings wet under circumstances she can't quite explain, and is out of the picture for most of this chapter. Jadis ends up getting a horse-drawn cab and is taking a romp around the city with Uncle Andrew. Knowing how dangerous Jadis is, Digory contemplates going after them. However, he's faced with several limitations. He doesn't know where they are, and his Aunt Letty would never let him leave the house if he couldn't tell her where he was going. Besides that, he doesn't have any money to pay for trams to take him around the city.
When you're a kid, it seems like everything you do is on someone else's schedule. You have to depend on adults for just about everything. They're supposed to provide for you and protect you. Even as we get older and more independent, we still rely on our parents, and (in theory) live by their rules. Driving home the point is Polly, punished and unable to help. It's a little frustrating that Digory can't go after Uncle Andrew and Jadis, even though he knows that's what he should do. Watching Digory sit and wait for them to come back may not be the most exciting thing to read, but it is realistic.
Along with that, there's another part of this chapter that gave me chills, when Aunt Letty briefly discusses Digory's mother and her failing health.
"'What lovely grapes!' came Aunt Letty's voice. 'I'm sure if anything could do her good these would. But poor, dear little Mabel! I'm afraid it would need to be fruit from the land of youth to help her now. Nothing in this would will do much.' Then they both lowered their voices and said a lot more that [Digory] could not hear."
It wasn't the talking about the obvious foreshadowing about fruit from the land of youth, but the part where the adults lower their voices so Digory can't hear. I can tell you from experience that when you have a chronically sick relative, conversations like that are a big part of your life. My sister and I would overhear things that we weren't supposed to, almost always worrying news. We almost never heard the end of those conversations. Either it would get quiet, or I'd become so uncomfortable that I'd somehow make my presence known. Hopefully in such a way that the adults wouldn't realize I'd been listening in, though I might never know for sure. It turns out they're a lot more perceptive than I thought. Of course, I used to sneak out of my bed and think that throwing a blanket over my head would prevent my parents from spotting me and sending me back upstairs.
Childhood logic.
I don't know how other kids in similar situations handled things like this, but I was too anxious to ask my parents questions about what was going on. The information I got about my aunt was either from what they told me directly, and what was overheard. It's funny, the things grown-ups will say when they think you're not paying attention. And for something this big, I always paid attention.
Let's not delve into childhood fear and sadness for a moment, though, and appreciate a very minor, nameless character: the maid. She has no idea what's going on, and it's something of a running gag in this chapter.
"While Aunt Letty was hurtling through the air, the housemaid (who was having a beautifully exciting morning) put her head in at the door..."
"'Oh, Master Digory,' said the housemaid (who was really having a wonderful day)..."
"'Sarah,' she said to the housemaid (who had never had such a day before)..."
I don't know why I like this so much. It just makes me smile.
Friday, April 15, 2016
The Magician's Nephew, Chapter 6: Plus One
We're a third of the way through the book, and I'm getting pumped to go back to Narnia! Digory and Polly haven't quite escaped the clutches of Jadis, but they're able to escape back to the Woods Between the Worlds and...return to London?
Wait, when do they go to Narnia? No, seriously, I read this, I know Digory and Polly accidentally take the Witch to Narnia. Why are they going back to London?
Well, it turns out I forgot a lot more details in this book than I realized.
The children and Jadis wind up back in Uncle Andrew's study, and it becomes immediately apparent that Uncle Andrew just got a lot more than he bargained for.
Maybe that description is a bit cliche now, but I love it. Jadis's presence also puts Uncle Andrew in his place pretty quickly. I like the contrast between the two. When Digory and Polly see Uncle Andrew in the beginning of the book, they see him as someone frighting and powerful. Compared to Jadis, he's weak and cowardly. And, it would appear, not too bright, either.
We also see more of Uncle Andrew's character; along with being totally unprepared to deal with the consequences of meddling with magic, it turns out he's pretty lousy at being...well, being an adult. It's not just the "silliness" of thinking that Jadis would fall in love with him, but you can see it in other details. In one side note, the narrator says that Uncle Andrew has blown through his own money, and quite a bit of his sister's.
Honestly, I'm a little disappointed that Uncle Andrew ends up being this pathetic. He looks small, literally and figuratively, next to Jadis, and is something of a fraud when it comes to being a true Magician. But he was able to use magic to send the children to another world, and have them return (with an unexpected plus one). Using magic in a world where none exists is pretty awesome, even if he was a schmuck about it. But as soon as Jadis comes into the picture, everything interesting and intriguing about him is out the window.
I guess the moral here is: Playing with magic can be cool, but you're a jerk and not as cool as you think you are.
That's a strange lesson.
Wait, when do they go to Narnia? No, seriously, I read this, I know Digory and Polly accidentally take the Witch to Narnia. Why are they going back to London?
Well, it turns out I forgot a lot more details in this book than I realized.
The children and Jadis wind up back in Uncle Andrew's study, and it becomes immediately apparent that Uncle Andrew just got a lot more than he bargained for.
"In Charn she had been alarming enough: in London, she was terrifying. For one thing, they had not realized till now how very big she was. 'Hardly human' was what Digory thought when he looked at her; and he may have been right, for some say there is giantish blood in the royal family of Charn. But even her height was was nothing compared with her beauty, her fierceness, and her wildness. She looked ten times more alive than most of the people one meets in London."
Maybe that description is a bit cliche now, but I love it. Jadis's presence also puts Uncle Andrew in his place pretty quickly. I like the contrast between the two. When Digory and Polly see Uncle Andrew in the beginning of the book, they see him as someone frighting and powerful. Compared to Jadis, he's weak and cowardly. And, it would appear, not too bright, either.
"Children have one kind of silliness, as you know, and grown-ups have another kind. Uncle Andrew was beginning to be silly in a very grown-up kind of way."I'll give my compliments to Lewis for that one. Not only does he capture the magic of childhood, but also at least one true fact about adulthood as well: that we have no idea what we're really doing, but pretend that we do.
We also see more of Uncle Andrew's character; along with being totally unprepared to deal with the consequences of meddling with magic, it turns out he's pretty lousy at being...well, being an adult. It's not just the "silliness" of thinking that Jadis would fall in love with him, but you can see it in other details. In one side note, the narrator says that Uncle Andrew has blown through his own money, and quite a bit of his sister's.
Honestly, I'm a little disappointed that Uncle Andrew ends up being this pathetic. He looks small, literally and figuratively, next to Jadis, and is something of a fraud when it comes to being a true Magician. But he was able to use magic to send the children to another world, and have them return (with an unexpected plus one). Using magic in a world where none exists is pretty awesome, even if he was a schmuck about it. But as soon as Jadis comes into the picture, everything interesting and intriguing about him is out the window.
I guess the moral here is: Playing with magic can be cool, but you're a jerk and not as cool as you think you are.
That's a strange lesson.
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