I’ve been trying to write about the fact that this world is now short one (1) Terry Pratchett, but I’ve been struggling to come up with anything…worthy? Normally, I don’t have any issue with writing about writers, but Sir Terry was so very important to me, I feel like I need to do better when I’m writing about him. I’m not enitrely certain I’m up to it, but writing poorly is probably better than not writing at all, so here goes: My first exposure to Terry Pratchett was entirely accidental. I picked up a copy of Good Omens because I was a huge Sandman fan and it was co-written by Neil Gaiman. Of course I love Good Omens. As far as I know (and my direct knowlege is admittedly limited), everyone who has ever read that book has loved it. It’s one of the very few novels which not only produced guffaws when I read it, but I still giggle when I remember the scene with the four other bikers of the apocalpse. Reading Good Omens, you can certainly hear Neil Gaiman’s voice, but Terry Pratchett’s voice was equally strong and distinctive. Having now read every Discworld novel multiple times, I recognize the sound of Sir Terry’s voice, but at the time it was an enticing mystery. I have probably spent more of my hard earned money following that particular voice than I have on any other author’s works and I’ve never once felt like it was money badly spent. I had the good fortune to get to listen to Sir Terry reading and answering questions at an event hosted by a local bookstore. I’ve seen dozens of authors at book signings, but none of them have handled the job as gracefully or with so much humor. Each question, even the questions by the most ardent fans who were concerned with the tiniest minutiae, were answered as though they were from a dear friend inquiring about his children. He signed my copy of Small Gods (my favorite of his novels) and even drew a small turtle on it and that book remains one of my most treasured possessions. What was it I loved so much about Pratchett’s writing? He was funny, to be sure, but there was more to it than that. He had a marvelous ability to satirize almost any target, but not all subjects were equal. The well-meaning were gently spoofed, while the selfish, tyrannical, or just downright mean were giving a more blistering treatment. In Pratchett’s Discworld, there was no greater virtue than trying to do right, even though trying to do right didn’t always achieve the desired result and frequently ended with a visit from a gentleman who spoke in all caps. So, even though I didn’t really know Terry Pratchett, I know and love his writing and I miss him even though we only briefly crossed paths. I expect his books will remain beloved for generations, and that expectations makes me smile a little, but for right now, it doesn’t dull the sadness of knowing that someone who gave me so much enjoyment and insight is gone before his time.
Category: Journal
The Positive Aspects of Negative Feedback
On Twitter today, Gail Simone (if you don’t know who Gail Simone is, get thee to a comic book shop and correct this at once. you can thank me later) posed this question: GAIL SIMONE @GailSimoneQuestion of the day: Has an insult or negative feedback ever motivated you to make a positive change? Well, that’s an interesting question, and it’s not one which I can answer quickly, so instead of replying on Twitter, I’m going to stretch it out a little here. The short answer is: Yes, twice that I can recall, but not without a large-ish stack of caveats in both cases. The first one I can remember was in elementary school. I was something of a class…well, I thought of myself as a “clown” but the reality probably may have been closer to “asshole.” We had visitors in our class one afternoon who had brought a boa constrictor for us to “ooh” and “aah” over. In the sixth grade, a live, uncaged boa constrictor was awfully ooh-worthy. The guests commented that the boa constrictor was the largest snake in the world, at which time my hand shot up even though this wasn’t a Q&A presentation. “Um…yes? Little boy in the back?” “Correction: The largest snake in the world is the python.” “Uh…ok.” And I grinned broadly having displayed my superior knowlege of snake-stuff. After the class, one of my teachers took me aside to have a little chat. “Ridley, I looked it up (we had to look stuff up back in Ye Olden Days), and you’re correct. The rock python is the largest snake in the world…” I was still smiling, albeit a little uncomfortably. “…but I’d like you to think about how this made our visitors feel. They came here to show us some pretty cool stuff and teach us about snakes. Did you NEED to correct them like that?” My smile was gone. “And think about how this made you look to your classmates.” I think my teacher was about as gentle as any teacher could possibly have been in this case. However, his constructive criticism didn’t just make me think about how I looked to my classmates on that day. I started replaying my entire time at school, back to the first grade, and thought about how my actions must have looked to everyone over the entire six years. Sixth graders are not equipped to deal with that kind of self-awareness. I was devestated. I stopped talking in class, at all, except when it was required. I was terrified of doing anything that would single me out in any way. I make it sound like all of the actions were negative, but, let’s face it, I was being a real jerk and my teacher’s correction made me aware of how other people saw me and how my actions might affect them, so that’s a good thing. I’d like to think I have more empathy now, and that it started on that day. But man, it was harsh. I’d hope that there’s a less painful way to learn that lesson. The other had to do with always being late or no-showing at events and my sister commenting that “everyone pretty much just expects you not to show up.” I’d just finished reading East of Eden, which is a one-book cure for any excuses you might have for shitty behavior. When my sister told me that, and Disapproving Steinbeck looked over my shoulder, I made a conscious decision not to be That Guy anymore. That one wasn’t as painful, but negative feedback is a little easier to deal with when you’re older. Or, at least, for me it is. So, yeah….negative feedback has produced positive change in me a couple of times. Given the amount of negative feedback I’ve received (large) and the number of times I can recall it having a positive effect (few), I’m inclined to think that negative feedback is an extremely inefficient way to bring about positive change. P.S. Yes, the title of this post is a reference to this song.
A New House/An Old Friend
My favorite comic is back. I’m not gonna lie: I hold my breath a little when I start to read a new volume of Casanova. I don’t know if it’s the best comic book, but it’s my favorite. It’s as difficult to describe, but reading it gives me the sensation which I’ve always imagined really good drugs would provide. It’s fast, it’s fun, and it’s literally (for me, at least) mind-blowing. When I saw the first one-page ad for the new volume, Acedia, my expectations went through the roof. Not only was Fabio Moon doing the art, but Gabriel Ba was working with Michael freakin’ Chabon on the back-up story. Now, this had the potential to be a supergroup-type of problem, did it not? Supergroups very seldom produce music as good as you’d expect given the all-star (geez, I’m wearing out the ‘-‘ key tonight, aren’t I?) lineups. I’m not sure exactly why it seldom works, but, c’mon: Blind Faith. Need I say more? It turns out I had no reason to worry. The whole thing is a delight from start to finish. Even if I wanted to try to describe it, and even if I were a Writer of Some Note trying to describe it*, I don’t think that description would be especially useful to anyone. So, instead, I’ll just say “You really ought to be reading this book.” I will add one caveat, though: If you’re new to Casanova, you can start with Acedia, but I would strongly recommend you go back and read the other volumes first. The book is admirably self-contained for a fourth volume, but you’ll be missing a lot of the fun if you don’t know the back story. Hell, just getting to know the back story is a lot of fun. Now go away. I need to read it again. * I’d like to mention that I just spent five minutes trying to remember** the expression ding an sich and then trying to remember precisely what it meant as I thought I could use it in explaining why I couldn’t properly describe Acedia 1. Unfortunately, this time spent re-learning something I learned three decades ago, while worthwhile, did not yield a term which described why I couldn’t describe something. You’d think there would be a German expression for that, wouldn’t you? ** My memory didn’t get there. Fortunately, as residents of The Future, we have access to Wikipedia articles like this one.
Just Well Enough To Go To Work
Yesterday was pretty much a lost day for me. My throat got that peculiar tickle it gets when I’m about to Come Down With A Cold. By mid-day, my face was burning up and my whole body was achy. Fortunately, it was at this time that my beautiful wife leapt into action. She whipped up an extremely healthy veggie soup which may or may not have tasted delcious (I could’t taste much, but it probably was delicious), got me some orange juice and gatorade and cough drops, and made me a little nest on the sofa. Her actions bore fruit in less than twelve hours: Most of the symptoms have faded and, while I don’t feel good, I don’t feel bad enough to stay home from work. I’m sure my employer will send their regards. I really am spoilt to a ridiculous degree.
What to make of Jupiter Ascending?
In one specific sense, my reaction to Jupiter Ascending was much like my reaction to Interstellar. I don’t think either of them could properly be described as ‘good”, but they both left me with a lot of material to think and talk about. Ambitious-but-flawed films are frustrating, but I can’t help but chew on them after the fact, trying to work out what I think I just saw. It took me three viewings to feel like I “got” Brazil, so there’s always a better than zero chance that I’m just missing something. That said, I don’t think my initial reaction to Jupiter Rising is far from the mark. It’s a big glorious mess in the proud tradition of The Fifth Element, only not nearly as giddy. The biggest problem was that the leads (Mila Kunis as Jupiter Jones and Channing Tatum as Caine Wise) weren’t really characters. Jupiter Jones never came close to ascending. She went from peril to peril without ever learning or growing, just waiting for Caine Wise to save her at the very last moment…which he did…over and over…and over. If you’re going for a “retro” feel for your movie, maybe “obvious sexism” isn’t the part of old movies you want to reproduce. It didn’t help that the romance between the two of them felt forced, out-of-character, awkward, and, at times, unintentionally funny. They’re both solid actors and I don’t know if the problem was that they were miscast, or misdirected, or misedited, or what, but they never came close to clicking. Jupiter Jones wasn’t a protagonist in the traditional sense; she never instigated the action. Instead, the film was a series of events which happened to the hapless Jupiter. That wasn’t a problem, though, because the supporting cast were a great deal of fun. The baddies were sort of a cross between Dune’s Harkonnens and especially Neuromancer’s Tessier-Ashpool clan. They instigated all manner of schemes and betrayals which never seemed likely to come to fruition but it was fun to watch them plot. Speaking of plot….there really wasn’t much of one, or if there was, I sure couldn’t sort it out. That’s not a huge deal. This was always going to be a grand space opera and, unlike, say, Interstellar, there was never a promise that it was going to make any kind of sense. What was annoying, though, was that at times it felt more like a series of references to other films than a film which could stand alone. I sincerely wonder: Would I have enjoyed it more if I hadn’t picked out an homage to another film every few minutes? Were the references a distraction? Would it have seemed more fresh without them? I’ve read dozens of reviews of Jupiter Ascending and I’ve yet to see one which addresses what I felt was the central flaw of the film: Jupiter Ascending is, I am certain, intended to launch a trilogy or a franchise and is not really meant to be complete on its own. Jupiter only shows any kind of agency at the very end of the film and I’m sure that this was meant as a springboard for her further adventures. I wonder if the Wachowskis made the movie this way in part due to the reaction to the Matrix trilogy. The first film was a complete, brilliantly realized story which didn’t need sequels which is fortunate as the sequels were inferior and justly reviled. So, rather than release a complete work which would cast a shadow, they made Jupiter a pilot episode which established the world (magnificently) and the main characters (with far less success)? Regardless of whether or not my conspiracy theory holds water, the question remains: Would I recommend seeing Jupiter Ascending? I absolutely would. It’s gorgeous and the set up is compelling. It’s still not “good” and it’s extremely frustrating, but it’s fun and it’ll give you something to think about over coffee.
On watching the Super Bowl as something of an outsider
On watching the Super Bowl as something of an outsider Well, that was fun, wasn’t it? Last night, I saw my first football game in several years and I’m guessing I chose the right one. I’m not anti-sports; I love baseball and soccer. I have a passing interesting the other big American team sports (football, basketball, and hockey), and I can identify most of the others from a distance (“Hey, that looks like golf!”), but i’m not a huge football fan. I’m also not emotionally connected to either Boston or Seattle. I was about as neutral as you could get about last night’s game. It was a terribly interesting game from my perspective. New England’s game plan was obvious from the beginning; “We’re going to throw short slant passes all night. We’re not going to get huge games, but we can do this and there’s nothing you can do to stop us.” It worked, too. New England moved the ball down the field with beautiful efficiency. They seldom faced third-and-long, but they also seldom gained big yardage on any given play. New England’s plan on defense was equally simple: “Don’t let Marshawn Lynch beat us.” The big Seahawk back wasn’t neutralized, but he struggled to find much space as New England dared Seattle quarterback Russell Wilson to beat them. Wilson’s not a pocket passer like Tom Brady; he’s smaller, faster, and, while he’s not great at throwing timing patterns, he throws deep balls very, very well. New England made a couple of mistakes, including a very uncharacteristic turnover on the goal line, and Wilson made a huge play. Despite the Patriots’ looking very much the better team and Wilson only completing two passes in the first half, they went to the locker room tied at 14-14. The Seahawks discovered that they their receivers could win jump balls. This allowed them to move the ball very quickly and opened up some running room. The Patriots offense sputtered (it was predicated on every play working for 5 yards, so a mistake or two wiped ’em out) and Seattle took a 10 point lead. I remember remarking at that time that, if Seattle didn’t make any mistakes, they would win. Of course, New England played essentially perfect football after that and took a late lead. It all came down to the final drive. The ‘Hawks lined Lynch up as a wide receiver and ate up 30 some odd yards. Then, nearly perfect defense broke up a long pass to Kearse. The ball hit his feet, then his arms, and finally landed on his chest where he made the catch five yards from the goal line. It was a perfectly Seattle moment. The Seahawks gave the ball to Lynch who pounded it to the half yard line and then… I’ll never understand the play call. You have the NFL’s leader in rushing touchdowns, you have a time out, and literally the only thing that you have to avoid is a turnover. If you insist on passing, why not let Wilson bootleg outside the pocket and give him the choice of passing, running, or throwing the ball away? Like I said, I’m not a huge football fan, so maybe I’m missing something. So, in the end, it was a fascinating contrast of two very different styles and two very different gameplans. I think New England were a slightly better team and had a slightly better plan, but it could just as easily have gone the other way. Seattle’s ability to produce magic out of nothing would look like luck if they hadn’t been doing it all year. Both teams played to their strengths and it was might as well have been a coin flip in the end. I’d be remiss*, of course, if I didn’t mention the halftime show. I loved it. Whoever is picking the performers for the shows in the future would do well to avoid the legacy acts like U2 and the Rolling Stones and stick with current performers. I didn’t care about any of the music, but it was a hell of a spectacle. More of this, please. I think it was about as good an advertisement for the league as one could have hoped. Both teams played well and, I think just as importantly, played in very different fashions. If the NFL were normally like that, I’d be more inclined to pay attention on a regular basis. * I suppose I should also mention the commercials, but I watched the game online (legally) and didn’t see any commercials. You’ll have to tell me how they were.
Proximity
There’s nothing novel in saying this, but I’m still shocked by the degree to which your proximity to a tragedy affects your reaction to it. Last night, there was a fire in San Francisco’s Mission district which might have, but didn’t, affect my employer. One person died; several were injured, and a brilliant old building was utterly destroyed. I don’t know what I “should” have felt (and man, I dislike the word “should” in a context like this) but my reaction was strictly academic. I was slightly saddened and slightly relieved that it wasn’t worse and it didn’t impact anyone I knew personally. On the other hand, while waiting for the train this morning, I saw a cat on the tracks. The cat had obviously tried and failed to cross in front of the train and the result was precisely what one would expect of such an encounter. I didn’t recognize the cat and I’m not even sure if the cat had a home, but I was, and remain, absolutely gutted by the scene. I don’t imagine this was any more fun to read than it was to write, this I’m writing this to get it out of my head, so thank you for your patience with my self-therapy. Carry on, and if you get the opportunity, give a cat a pet or two.
Wintering
This is not my favorite time of the year. I pick up a bunker mentality, just keeping my eyes down and trying to get through the holiday season without losing it. I can’t say precisely why this time of year gets under my skin, but I have a few theories. The weather and the darkness aren’t my favorite, but I do like winter clothes and the lights in the town are awfully pretty. I don’t have any awful memories of the holidays, at least, none which would poison my feelings about the season. I don’t have any religious inclinations, so there’s no weight to the symbolism of the holidays bearing on me. When I was younger and less happy with my life, I assumed it was loneliness and lack of financial success bringing me down. New Year’s, in particular, always served as a signpost encouraging me to evaluate where I was versus where I felt I wanted or ought to be, and that was a bit of a bummer. Not having enough money to really “do” the holidays was stressful as well, particularly when my more well-off friends were being so generous. All of the above have contributed to my winter melancholy, but my current theory is that it’s the wave of obligations which brings me down and replaces joy with stress. It’s not that I don’t want to see, or talk to, or even exchange gifts with these people. It’s the fact that I’m obligated to do all of it in such a short span. I’d love to do all of these things when the mood strikes, not plan ahead and set dates and times and do so because I feel required to do it. I know it’s a pretty small and petty complaint, but I feel this way every year and I just wish I could enjoy this jovial time without the sense that there’s something which I have to do almost every day for a month. I’m not wired for social obligations of such frequency. So, instead, I stay in. I procrastinate. I not only don’t do the things I’m supposed to do; I don’t do other things I might actually want to do. There are distractions everywhere, and I am a past master at distraction. Which is to say, I think I’m done with my psychic hibernation and ready to get back in to the world. I hope you had a happy new year and a wonderful holiday season, but I’m ready to get back to The Rest of the Year if that’s ok.
Holiday Horror
Our writing homework this week is to write a holiday-themed horror story. I’ve been struggling with this one for a week and was about to write a half-hearted piece about the abomination that is the Elf of the Shelf. In a weird little coincidence, teacher decided to write on the same subject this morning. Normally, I would be deterred, but in this case, I’ll try to turn adversity into opportunity. Or, it could just be that I didn’t care for the story I was working on in the first place. So, as I prepare to write the completely-different story, I’d like to pass along this little tidbit: I really don’t care for the holidays. I don’t care for the food, I don’t care for the forced travel, I don’t care for the gifts (giving or getting), and I really, really, really don’t like the obligatory everything. My time off is precious to me and having all manner of social requirements heaped on me wears me out. I enjoy seeing a few people, and even my family, but I don’t get any joy out of an obligation being discharged. “Relief?” Yes. A lot of relief, but it isn’t worth the stress that I get prior to it. So, yeah, “bah humbug” to me. I get it. I don’t begrudge anyone their holiday merriment. Just please be kind if my smile seems a bit forced and I excuse myself from the party early.
Re-reading “Locke & Key”
I’m going to admit something right of the bat here: I don’t like scary stories. I don’t care for scary movies or books or comics or TV shows. It’s not because I find them “too scary.” I have the opposite problem: I don’t find them scary at all. This is due, in large part, to the fact that once you know it’s a “scary story,” there are very few surprises. Even the shock endings and “twists” are tropes by now. Or maybe that’s not it, maybe I’m just not wired to “get” these kinds of stories. The bottom line is that I’m not scared by scary stories. Or, rather, I wasn’t until I read Joe Hill’s and Gabriel Rodriguez’s “Locke & Key.” I’ve never encountered such a finely-balanced story of this type. The setup ensures that the balance of power between the heroes and their antagonist shifts in unpredictable but nonetheless true-to-the-story ways. I won’t give anything away here, I’ve never had that “I can’t wait to see what happens next month” feeling from any book, not even “Sandman” at its peak. The pacing and the art are pitch perfect, and, well, just go read the books. I finally bought the last of the trade collections so I decided I’d re-read the whole story, start-to-finish. I wasn’t sure if a scary story would survive multiple readings since I already knew all the twists and the conclusion. I needn’t have worried. “Locke & Key” not only continues to work as a scary story, but the emotional arcs of the characters are even more touching the second time around. Knowing what’s going to happen, it’s a little easier to delve in to the setup and marvel at how shocking but inevitable the twists and turns are. The villain of the piece is a genuinely worthy opponent, one who deserves everything they achieve. There’s nothing remotely cardboard about any of the characters, but by having a bad guy who seems to have real agency, who has the ability to counter setbacks and come up with new plans, Hill created something approaching timelessness. The villain felt real, the heroes felt real, and the sacrifices and losses felt especially real the second time around. I am not sure I cried the first time I read “Locke & Key”, but I can assure you I did so tonight when I finished it for the second time. If you haven’t read it for yourself, I encourage you to do so. If you have read it, read it again…just have a tissue or two handy.