GeekReads

Also "CILIP Carnegie Medal WINNER 2010" according to my copy

I’d love to be a writer in England. It sounds as if they’re all amazingly talented, get together regularly, hang and do stuff, and get all sorts of opportunities to work in movies, TV, radio, and so on. Nick Hornby (About a Boy, etc.) and Ben Elton (Chart Throb, Dead Famous, etc.) are both multitalented and well respected; Audrey Niffenegger regularly pops over there and runs graveyard tours at Highgate Cemetary; and Susanna Clarke (of Strange & Norrell) went to a writer’s course where the facilitator thought her work was awesome, and therefore just introduced her to Neil Gaiman (which would be kinda like writing a cool program in computing class, and being introduced to Bill Gates).

Neil Gaiman is one of those people whose name seems to come up a lot. I’ve reviewed him before here on GeekReads, albeit indirectly via the movie adaptation of his story Coraline, and he’ll almost certainly make another appearance in future since Jenny gave me the first volume of the Absolute Sandman series for Christmas. It’s a beast of a thing, so don’t expect it any time soon…

Obviously, the existence of this review indicates that I have actually finished reading something of his, and that is The Graveyard Book, a deceptively simple but extremely imaginative little novel. Because of the timing, it’d be easy to accuse Gaiman of jumping onto the whole occult bandwagon what with the soaring popularity of books dealing with witchcraft and wizardry, and other mythical creatures that – shall we say – suck. You wouldn’t last two pages before that prejudice is completely dispelled. Gaiman’s writing disarms you with a one-two punch of wistfulness and charm before delivering a fatal blow to any remaining doubt with its sheer inventiveness.

Nobody Owens is a boy whose family was murdered while he was still a baby. Brought up by the residents of the graveyard where he had crawled to, “Bod” for short, is the quintessential outsider – the loner who’s different to everybody else, who has trouble fitting in. His nemesis is “the man Jack”, who was responsible for the killings and considers the boy to be a loose end that needs tying up, and it’s only by learning the lessons from the dead that Bod hopes to defeat his enemy.

You wouldn’t pick it for a childrens’ book, but despite leaning very heavily on the macabre Gaiman never lets the story get gross or grisly. This is the kind of story kids would have read prior to Disney turning everything cute and cuddly, and before political correctness whitewashed everything out of fear that something might offend somebody. At the same time, it’s not “dark” in the same sense as Harry Potter’s most recent outings – it manages to retain that sense of child-like innocence from start to finish compared to the latter Rowling books, which reek of adult weariness and cynicism.

Graveyard isn’t perfect – the chapters are a little too episodic and the writing has a certain mechanical feel about it: insert a clue here, refer back to it there, etc. but that’s like complaining that Bach’s Preludes and Fugues are too mathematical, or dismissing Mozart because Eine Kleine wasn’t exactly his finest moment. But like those pieces, the story of Nobody Owens will delight and entertain for a very long time to come.

I'm still a bit baffled by the title; it's like saying

I still clearly remember the day in high school English when my teacher decried the evils of formulaic writing, citing Stephen King as a prime offender. I’ve long since forgotten my teacher’s name but King’s popularity prevails, as does that of another serial offender, children’s author Brian Jacques. His Redwall series has been around since 1986 and the cover of High Rhulain, the 18th book in the series, proclaims “over 5 million Redwall books sold”.

So in spite of what I was taught in school, formulas seem to work well for both authors and readers. High Rhulain shows Brian Jacques at the top of his game: he seems comfortable with the elaborate animal world that he’s created, and the comfortingly familiar plot flows easily from his fingers. The usual elements are present: the Abbey and its peaceful-yet-feisty inhabitants, the comically militant hares and their solemn badger lord from the mountain fortress of Salamandastron, an evil race of vermin (in this case, wild cats) bent on oppression and destruction of their enemies, a group of oppressed innocents looking for a leader (otter slaves), and an unlikely hero in the guise of young otter maid Tiria Wildlough.

The animal races are a very simple and effective shorthand to help younger readers understand the various allegiances, and also make for affable characters, with different species identified by their accents. Like Terry Pratchett, Jacques has a great talent for representing these in text form. The battles are violent and young readers are not spared from both the horrors war and death, although bravery is rewarded and the forces of good prevails. (A quick aside: conservative political ideology resonates with kids, resulting in leftists worrying about a new generation of conservatives that will undo their efforts.)

I only wonder how much longer Jacques can keep his stories fresh – there are only so many animal species and so many types of accent. Having said that, 3 more Redwall books have been published since Rhulain, so if nothing else, it could just be that Brian Jacques has found a winning formula.

Another classic Paul Kidby Discworld book cover

Despite the tragic early onset of Alzheimers, Unseen Academicals shows that popular fantasy author Terry Pratchett is still in top form. He’s got the “diamond in the rough” schtick down to a T, but the difference is that at the end of each story, those polished diamonds don’t disappear off into obscurity – they sparkle on in subsequent novels, imbuing the Discworld with an extreme richness (pun intended).

The 37th novel in the Discworld series(!), Academicals continues the recurring theme of the modernisation of the capital city of Ankh-Morpork. Recent books have seen A-M gain a postal service, a telecommunications system known as “the clacks”, a shiny new banking system, its own currency, and now, football (soccer) and, er… a high-end fashion industry*.

Pratchett still has the touch, and the book offers unnervingly accurate insight into the human psyche, as the plot bores deeply into the inner workings of players, fans, and of course – because it’s soccer – hooligans. The British humour, Flintstones-style take on the modern world, and the satire of fantasy conventions are all exquisitely funny for sure, but beneath the veneer of slapstick he hits hard at issues such as taking the ambiguity of dwarven genders and putting them into the context of the high-end fashion industry, to explore ideas of sexual identity and individual choice, without speaking of sex whatsoever (although there’s more sexual innuendo than usual for Discworld novel as far as I can recall).

The "Jolly Sailor Tobacco Football Cards" depicting characters from Unseen Academicals, available separately and also illustrated by Paul Kidby

Rather than following the escapades of a single character, several plot threads weave their way in and around of each other:

• The wizards of Unseen University, who need to put together a football team or risk losing the significant financial benefits of a bequest that funds their lackadaisical academic lifestyle
• Trevor Likely, trying to grow out of the shadow of his late father Dave – a legend who scored a record number of goals the historical game of “foot-the-ball”
• Nutt, a genteel so-called goblin who discovers the truth about his enigmatic past
• Glenda Sugarbean, the homely head of the university’s Night Kitchen, and her ditsy, comely friend Juliet (“Jools”) Stollop whose modelling debut (heavily armoured and wearing a dwarf beard) leaves the fashion world abuzz and has them trying to find the mysterious “Jewels”
• The dwarf Madame Sharn, head of the fashion label Shatta, and her flamboyant assistant Pepe, at the launch of their new line of micromail.
• The ins-and-outs of the “Shove” – the collective of football followers, being that when they get together to watch a game, nobody can really see anything and all that happens is a lot of shoving.

… and of course the welcome appearance of recurring characters such as Havelock Vetinari, the seemingly omniscient Patrician of Ankh-Morpork; and brief cameos by Death, and Cut-Me-Own-Throat Dibbler.

What I love most about Pratchett even more than the insights, is his mastery of the written form, and his ability to ignore the conventions of language that we take for granted, as when one of the characters in the book is described as being full of “charisn’tma”. And like most of the other Discworld novels, he pushes the boundaries of typography by using bolds, italics, font-sizes, Death’s dialogue ALWAYS IN CAPS and more, to eke every bit of meaning possible out of the words on the page.

To confuse my sporting metaphors, Unseen Academicals adds another home run to an already impressive scoreboard, and I seriously hope that Pratchett hits a couple more before the end of his innings.

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* For this reason, if you’re new to Discworld I don’t recommend starting with this book – check out the reading order in Wikipedia for more details.

The otherworldly Lily Cole

You will quite likely have heard of The Imaginarium of Doctor Parnassus, probably because Heath Ledger died of an accidental drug overdose during its filming. Ledger’s death also occurred at around the same time that he was being lauded for his superb performance as The Joker  in The Dark Knight, further increasing the anticipation for this movie.

Without wanting to make it a recurring theme here at GeekReads, I tell you: don’t let yourself get affected by the hype. Parnassus is a clever and entertaining movie and Ledger is good in the lead role of Tony, a disgraced charity mogul being used as a pawn in a bet between Mr. Nick (the devil) and the doctor, but it’s not a performance that will win him the same accolades that he received for playing the deranged nemesis of Batman (inevitable awards given as a posthumous “tribute” notwithstanding). Nevertheless, I still much prefer Heath Ledger to Eric Bana, who can’t seem to shake off his “Australian-ess”.

The rest of the cast – including the very exotic looking and doll-like Lily Cole (Valentina), and Verne Troyer (Percy), who must be the only short-statured actor who can act if his ubiquity is anything to go by – play their roles well, and provide plenty of circus freak-show moments to keep the movie interesting. Unfortunately, the characters never quite fit together, and lack the chemistry necessary to hook you into the story emotionally. Completing the triangle with Tony and Valentina is Anton (Andrew Garfield), an orphan adopted by Dr. Parnassus, who is more annoying buffoon than viable love interest.

The look and feel is hard to describe, but the feel of the movie is dirty, gritty and gypsy-ish – the seedy bits somewhere in between past and present London, although it is set in modern times. In contrast, the bright and surreal scenes inside the Imaginarium take some getting used to, and like the characters (or maybe because of the characters) vary greatly in consistency. The movie certainly lives up to its name though, with lots of very imaginative sets, costumes and visuals.

The four Tonys: Heath, Johnny, Colin and Jude

Mention must be made of the stand-in actors – Johnny Depp, Jude Law and Colin Farrell and who donated their time and effort to help complete the movie (their fees are being donated to a trust fund for Ledger’s daughter, Matilda). Each of them does a marvellous job of channelling Ledger. Personally, I thought Johnny Depp did the best job.

I really do wonder how the movie would have turned out had Heath Ledger lived. The ending did feel somewhat tacked on, and I never did quite figure out whether I was supposed to like or hate Tony. Surprisingly, Parnassus is an original idea from (director) Terry Gilliam and Charles McKeown, so maybe a few years down the track they’ll do a remake using the original concept.

If you do go see this, try not to think of it as “Heath’s last movie”. You’ll enjoy it more.

I need to stall for time until I actually finish reading a book, so let me quickly tell you about The Order of the Stick. This brilliant Web comic, also affectionately known as OotS, pokes gentle fun at role playing games such as Dungeons and Dragons. Though you’ll get more of the jokes if you know a little bit about D&D, it’s still very funny, compelling and thoroughly endearing even if you don’t.

The strip is drawn using cutesy, colourful stick-figures – a conscious design choice by its creator, Rich Burlew, as opposed to a lack of skill like other entertaining-but-crudely-drawn Web comics (*ahem* xkcd *ahem*) – and tells the story of a band of adventurers on a quest to thwart the evil plans of Xykon the Lich and his goblin minions. Along the way, they also cross paths with “NPC’s” or “Non-player characters” in the vernacular, the odd monster, and even a kind-of bizzaro anti-Order called “The Linear Guild”.

Although the comic is coming up on 6 years old at the end of September, now’s the perfect time to jump in because the previous story arc has just concluded, and a new one begun with 673 (you can catch up the other 672 later!) Check it out, or else you’ll be missing out on one of the best Web comics ever.