The proliferation of supernatural novels raises the question of why this genre is so popular now. I think there are currents in writing, waxing and waning of popularity. A writing instructor told me once that successful writers told the exact same stories, only different. J.R.R. Tolkien may have been the progenitor of modern fantasy, with his legendary Middle Earth trilogy. He didn't have any vampires or werewolves, but certainly chronicled the societies of hard working dwarves, glittering and dangerous elves, and brooding wizards.
Another example is the tough-gal protagonist, with Sue Grafton's Kinsey Milhone its prototype. There have been many followers, of various twists, including Sue Dunlap's Jill Smith cop mysteries. Dunlap's creativity also produced a lowly meter reader P.I, as well as an independent female medical examiner with a gorgeous cook/house boy. V.I Warshovski and Carlotta Carlyle are two other tough broads, given life by Sara Paretsky and Linda Barnes respectively.
Movies of that era also began to abandon the female role of helpless female or girl Friday. Ass-kicking women are now the standard stereotype, from Carrie Moss of the Matrix series to any number of Angelina Jolie's roles. The average woman can't really beat up the average man, but this stereotype is much more fun than the fluttery kind.
Maybe in the future the Chinese will colonize Mars, and spacesuits and rockets will appear, but I predict that sexy, spooky Sookie and her friends will rule for now.
Monday, July 19, 2010
DEAD AS A DOORNAIL, Charlaine Harris, a Sookie Stackhouse novel
I was going to swear off the vamps when I saw the cute cover of this grocery store book. Now three chapters in, I'm wondering why I was prejudiced against this series. I think it was the fact that I don't like visual depictions of the supernatural scene (see previous postings). I was put off by my assumptions about the True Blood TV adaptation. This is obviously contempt prior to investigation. The book is a scream, in a good way. I already don't care much about the mystery, but I love the way Harris plays with her creations.
Fairies, the Fae, visit Merlotte's bar, with their usual untouchable glamour, but don't drink iced tea if you want to meet one. Fairies are as allergic to lemon juice as vampires to garlic. What? Is she just making this stuff up or something? And the mind-reading Sookie deflects the unwanted attention of an obnoxious bar patron by solemnly telling him she has x-ray vision and can read his driver's license through his pants. She's leading him on to ask the obvious next question, so he's pretty cocky as he struts back to his friends, sure she's seen what else he has in that area. Then she switches her attention back to Eric the pirate vampire, who may have information on a local shooting. Who cares, when the inventiveness and humor in this are so much fun.
Fairies, the Fae, visit Merlotte's bar, with their usual untouchable glamour, but don't drink iced tea if you want to meet one. Fairies are as allergic to lemon juice as vampires to garlic. What? Is she just making this stuff up or something? And the mind-reading Sookie deflects the unwanted attention of an obnoxious bar patron by solemnly telling him she has x-ray vision and can read his driver's license through his pants. She's leading him on to ask the obvious next question, so he's pretty cocky as he struts back to his friends, sure she's seen what else he has in that area. Then she switches her attention back to Eric the pirate vampire, who may have information on a local shooting. Who cares, when the inventiveness and humor in this are so much fun.
Saturday, July 10, 2010
HOUSE, TV SERIES
After breaking some ribs in a fall, I've been spending time on the couch watching TV shows. I've reinforced my dislike for HOUSE, the long-running series starring Hugh Laurie as a curmudgeonly but supposedly genius MD. It's not the trappings of the TV show which bother me. A glamorous hospital which has all the spiffiest procedures immediately available is much more fun than reality.
What I don't like is House himself. I first got to know Huge Laurie as a British comic actor, playing Bertie Wooster and other roles. The switch from comic roles to dramatic ones is not new; it's been done by Jim Carrey, Robin Williams, and Bill Murray, to name several quickly. I miss Wooster, but I'm impressed with Laurie's incarnation as a bitter American. Great work. I still hate HOUSE.
In the first I watched he had his team mislead a surgeon by a procedure which temporarily shrank a tumor to the size acceptable for surgery. You can't even think of such dishonesty, let alone not document anything in the chart. What a danger to patients!
That's not nearly as bad as in the next show, where he intubated a patient who had insisted on DNR orders. The patient thought he was dying of ALS, Lou Gehrig's disease. House arrogantly decides that the patient's own doctor, a young attending who was previously House's resident, is wrong, and hijacks the patient. Of course House is right, and gee, even the criminal charges of assault and battery are dropped, but the ethical precedent is unbelievable. He should have been immediately suspended from the hospital, or, preferably, put out to be eaten by predators.
Disruptive physicians such as House are coming under great scrutiny now by hospitals who question the assumption that brilliance overrides everything. Even if this were so, dishonesty and lawlessness are not excused. HOUSE should go.
What I don't like is House himself. I first got to know Huge Laurie as a British comic actor, playing Bertie Wooster and other roles. The switch from comic roles to dramatic ones is not new; it's been done by Jim Carrey, Robin Williams, and Bill Murray, to name several quickly. I miss Wooster, but I'm impressed with Laurie's incarnation as a bitter American. Great work. I still hate HOUSE.
In the first I watched he had his team mislead a surgeon by a procedure which temporarily shrank a tumor to the size acceptable for surgery. You can't even think of such dishonesty, let alone not document anything in the chart. What a danger to patients!
That's not nearly as bad as in the next show, where he intubated a patient who had insisted on DNR orders. The patient thought he was dying of ALS, Lou Gehrig's disease. House arrogantly decides that the patient's own doctor, a young attending who was previously House's resident, is wrong, and hijacks the patient. Of course House is right, and gee, even the criminal charges of assault and battery are dropped, but the ethical precedent is unbelievable. He should have been immediately suspended from the hospital, or, preferably, put out to be eaten by predators.
Disruptive physicians such as House are coming under great scrutiny now by hospitals who question the assumption that brilliance overrides everything. Even if this were so, dishonesty and lawlessness are not excused. HOUSE should go.
Saturday, July 3, 2010
COMMENTARY ON TERRY PRATCHETT, by CeeViews
I can't think of many authors who've created a whole universe as diverse yet unified as Terry's Pratchett's DISCWORLD. Larry Niven's KNOWN UNIVERSE, Jane Austen's witty and impoverished England, and Wodehouse's goofy and gentle one, are several which come to mind. The DISCWORLD is a flat circular planet carried on the back of four elephants who stand on the back of the turtle, an Indian legend Pratchhett has taken and run with.
Dozens of books define a DISWORLD of generally medieval technology whose greatest and sleaziest city is ANKH-MORPORK. The growth of the city's police force, mail service, long distance communications, and banking raises the city from medieval to modern, a development which pleases the Patrician, its dictator. The city has a diverse population of many species. The dwarfs and trolls are welcome if they can control their hereditary enmity, and the vampires if they've taken the Black Ribbon Pledge of Temperance.
Ancient guilds include the Thieves, where one can pay a yearly fee not to be robbed, and the Assassins, an elite school with a fine education, and incidentally training in dealing death. Swamp dragons, jingoism, a military regiment of women in disguise, many odd religions, and ANKH-MORPORK's scruffy City Watch flesh out this universe. There are fat, lazy urban wizards and their counterparts, cantankerous rural witches. And then there's DEATH, a character who makes appearances in every book and is the focus of several. DEATH, who speaks only in capital letters, is fascinated by the humans he has to harvest, and tries, in his bizarre and tragic way, to understand them.
The DISCWORLD is one of humor, wit, and wise reflections on our own society without being a fantasy reproduction of it. Terry Pratchett is much more fun than Larry Niven, has as much observation of social situations as Jane Austen, and is much worldlier than Wodehouse. Long may his wit flourish and thrive.
Dozens of books define a DISWORLD of generally medieval technology whose greatest and sleaziest city is ANKH-MORPORK. The growth of the city's police force, mail service, long distance communications, and banking raises the city from medieval to modern, a development which pleases the Patrician, its dictator. The city has a diverse population of many species. The dwarfs and trolls are welcome if they can control their hereditary enmity, and the vampires if they've taken the Black Ribbon Pledge of Temperance.
Ancient guilds include the Thieves, where one can pay a yearly fee not to be robbed, and the Assassins, an elite school with a fine education, and incidentally training in dealing death. Swamp dragons, jingoism, a military regiment of women in disguise, many odd religions, and ANKH-MORPORK's scruffy City Watch flesh out this universe. There are fat, lazy urban wizards and their counterparts, cantankerous rural witches. And then there's DEATH, a character who makes appearances in every book and is the focus of several. DEATH, who speaks only in capital letters, is fascinated by the humans he has to harvest, and tries, in his bizarre and tragic way, to understand them.
The DISCWORLD is one of humor, wit, and wise reflections on our own society without being a fantasy reproduction of it. Terry Pratchett is much more fun than Larry Niven, has as much observation of social situations as Jane Austen, and is much worldlier than Wodehouse. Long may his wit flourish and thrive.
SOUL MUSIC, by Terry Pratchett
Terry Pratchett again shows his unmatchable inventiveness in SOUL MUSIC. A young harpist, a good druid boy, moves to Ankh-Morpork, the biggest and sleaziest town in all the Discworld. His harp is soon broken, forcing him to get a guitar as a replacement. He falls in with Cliff, a rock-eating troll drummer, and with Glod, a dwarf horn blower. Soon they are playing "Music with Rocks In," a intoxicating type of music never heard before. Could it be that the guitar possesses the soul of the player, Imp y Celyn? After all, y Celyn means "of the holly," and "imp" is a small growth, a shoot; one might even say, wait for it, wait for it, a Bud. And it's perfectly good Welsh! One wonders how long Pratchet has waited to play that card.
Almost as long, perhaps, as the scene in The Cavern, a dive owned by the troll thug Chrysophase, where the band gets prepped for their gig. They're served snacks, and another card is played: they get three types of beer, smoked rat sandwiches with the crusts and tails cut off (dwarfs love rats), and for Cliff, a "bowl of the finest anthracite coke with ash on it." Badabing badaboom. The rest of the plot, which has something to do with Buddy's guitar keeping him alive when DEATH's timer runs out, and everyone in Ankh-Morpork, including wizards and barbarians, in love with the new music, really doesn't have to make much sense. It's pure Pratchett fun.
Almost as long, perhaps, as the scene in The Cavern, a dive owned by the troll thug Chrysophase, where the band gets prepped for their gig. They're served snacks, and another card is played: they get three types of beer, smoked rat sandwiches with the crusts and tails cut off (dwarfs love rats), and for Cliff, a "bowl of the finest anthracite coke with ash on it." Badabing badaboom. The rest of the plot, which has something to do with Buddy's guitar keeping him alive when DEATH's timer runs out, and everyone in Ankh-Morpork, including wizards and barbarians, in love with the new music, really doesn't have to make much sense. It's pure Pratchett fun.
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