Minutiae

Whenever a film comes out that is based on a published novel, you are bound to hear bunches of people coming out saying "I like the book better," and for good reason. In most cases, the characterization and detail that an author can spread liberally over 400 pages is too heavy a load for a screenwriter to condense into 160 pages of dialogue and action beats.

As I searched through the archives of this blog, I realized that I never gave the late TV series Love Monkey the attention I gave it in real life. I adored the show, and am still secretly hoping that I see Tom Cavanaugh back on the screen at the helm of his own series. The show featured a host of fascinating characters, each of whom could have had a whole season dedicated to them through the eyes of Cavanaugh's character. If that much detail could be hinted at in what amounted to a miniseries, certainly you'd see as much breadth of character in the source material, right?

( Well, yes and no... )

Like the graphic novellas that are central to it, Michael Chabon's The Amazing Adventures of Kavalier & Clay is at once a wild, exciting ride and a deep, introspective experience. As someone who fancies himself a low-level geek, this couldn't make me happier. The comic book world has transitioned quite easily into film (naturally - both are heavily visual media), and I'm sure it's been well represented in traditional print, but Chabon's well-researched, carefully crafted "loose fictionalization" of the origins of Superman is my first venture into this particular area of cross-genrezation (it's a word if I say it is), and I can't say I could find a better representative.

Kavalier & Clay are Josef Kavalieri and Sammy Klayman, cousins who live in New York during World War II. Sammy's had a blessed life in that he's a long-time American; Joe comes to the country via an escape from Nazi-invaded Prague (his journey is outlined in the first hundred or so pages of the book). Though he has one foot firmly set in Czechoslovakia, where his parents and younger brother are stuck, Joe is somewhat swept up in the excitement that comes with living in America. Joe reveals his artistic skills to Sammy, who suggests that they team up (Sammy's got a penchant for pulpy fiction writing) to write comic books. Together, they form the publishing team of Kavalier & Clay and create, among a host of other exciting characters, the Escapist, a hero gifted with the ability to break out of any trap, a skill informed by Joe's childhood training as a magician and escape artist. The Escapist's goal is to set free all those who are oppressed by the chains of injustice.

( Holy oppressive Aryans, Batman... )

Local author's debut novel brings a blogger's life to the page.

Everywhere you look, modern technology is sneaking its way into old, steadfast forms of entertainment. In one thriller movie trailer, I saw a kidnapper send a pix message to the hero to let him know that his family is okay. You've Got Mail is eight years old, and it dealt with e-mail. So it was only a matter of time before today's hottest trend (to the behest of those of us who have done it - well - for a while now), blogging, made an appearance in old media. Though it may not be the first time your favorite writing pastime and mine has made it to the pulp of those hefty rectangular things old people call books, Andy Greenwald's Miss Misery is certainly a worthy representative of the movement.

Miss Misery is about David Gould, who IRL (in real life, for those of you keeping score at home) is a writer up against the deadline for his book about the lively, exciting, often dark diaries youngsters keep online. Left by his girlfriend at the beginning of the book - not breakup; she's going to work in Europe for a while and he's staying behind in New York - David sees no reason to continue work on his book. Instead, he stay cooped up in his apartment, avoiding his editor's phone calls and stalking his book's subjects, particularly Miss Misery, who IRL is twenty-two-year-old Cath Kennedy, a stranger with perfect taste in music and, if her journal is to be believed, a social life that far exceeds "butterfly" levels.

Stretching for anything to do to avoid his deadline, David begins writing a fictional online diary, one where he has the kind of nightlife that Miss Misery would want to be a part of. But when Cath Kennedy actually moves to New York, David's journal - and the life attached - are hijacked by a David lookalike. The real David spends the remainder of his summer chasing down the doppelganger and learning how interesting life can be when you take a stake in it.

Greenwald, who apparently used to work at the Borders in Bryn Mawr, has also published a non-fiction book about the history of emo and writes for Spin magazine, so it's no surprise that his fiction story is laced with references to real music that will make even the most amped-up aficionado's head spin. These bands and songs play a huge part in David's life, but if you're not hip enough to nod your head at all of the music choices (I think I could only understand Death Cab, Dashboard, The Decemberists, and Jimmy Eat World), Greenwald's prose is welcoming enough that you can glaze over them and get the story. His writing is rich and descriptive, sometimes to a fault, and you can really feel the scenes as you read them.

The evil twin angle is a bit goofy, but it churns the story along at a lightning pace. What's at the heart of Greenwald's book is his characters (and yes, the music, I guess), and he writes them well. David is a likable guy, even when he's making terrible decisions. Cath carries ample mystery and accessibility. Tangential characters, like Ashleigh Bortch and Franta the bartender, provide hilarious side stories that level the wild A-plot.

The end of Greenwald's novel is a bit of a train wreck, and I think it ends with more of a thud than an easy stop, but you can come out of it unscathed and happier for having taken the ride.

Rating: * * * of 5

Hornby's musings on suicide mix deep thought, long jumps, soft landings.

That's the thing with the young these days, isn't it? They watch too many happy endings. Everything has to be wrapped up with a smile and a tear and a wave. Everyone has learned, found love, seen the error of their ways, discovered the joys of monogamy, or fatherhood, or filial duty, or life itself. In my day, people got shot at the end of films, after learning only that life is hollow, dismal, brutish, and short.

Sound like perfect fodder for movie dialogue, no? It shouldn't come as a surprise if it does - Nick Hornby has shaped the vernacular of several films, from High Fidelity to Fever Pitch (the Brit version more than the Fallon/Barrymore one). And the above quote, which comes 261 pages into Hornby's latest novel, A Long Way Down, seems to encapsulate the kinds of stories that he writes. After finishing off his How to Be Good over the Christmas break - it wasn't, so much - I decided I was going to put Hornby aside for exactly that reason. Good kind of plodded along for however many pages and never resolved much, which is a great statement of the characters that Hornby wrote but not a very fun read. But, when I was preparing for a train ride home from D.C., a friend offered me something from her bookshelf to pass the time, and I spotted A Long Way Down and grabbed it, remembering that, when I saw the man read from it last summer, it sounded like a romp to read.

You'll find no complaints from me. A Long Way Down is the story of four strangers - Martin, a washed up television host who was incarcerated for sleeping with a 15-year-old (not so bad in Britain, the age of consent is 16); Maureen, a middle aged homemaker with a son who's been brain dead since birth; J.J., a washed up American musician who is stuck in England after losing his band and his girl; and Jess, a teenager who is generally messed up in the head - who meet on a New Years Eve in the most unlikely place to make friends: the roof of Topper's House, a popular suicide point. I'm not ruining the book by telling you that the four come down from the roof together (by way of the stairs) and begin a complicated and interesting friendship.

Hornby tells the story from each of his tagonists' - at times both pro and an - perspective. It seems gimmicky, and I can understand how it might get old, but the four-person narrating duties are a breath of fresh air for me, especially coming off of Good, which featured a single female narrator. The technique lets readers in on the fullest view of each of the characters, both in how they see themselves and how they are perceived by others. It also lets Hornby explore several different writing style: Jess writes her dialogue without quotes, Maureen blanks out curse-laden speeches, and so on.

One thing that Hornby is extraordinarily talented at is finding lightheartedness in life's darkest moments. Infidelity, bitter breakups, and yes, even suicide, are treated with balanced introspection and humor. There is seemingly no topic that Hornby can't look at and find something to smile about, and he passes those savings along to the reader, filling his prose with genuine feeling and generous satire. The questions that the characters raise are important ones, too, from why you would want to kill yourself to the meaning of friendship and family to what depths of depression people can reach and still claw their way out.

A Long Way Down can be a quick read; Hornby's simple writing turns the book into a rapid page-turner. But even the speediest reader can pick up real value from the story. If High Fidelity is Hornby's masterpiece, A Long Way Down isn't far behind.

Rating: * * * * of 5

Mature reading from the "young adult" section.

I entered Saint Joseph's University as an education major, convinced that I would return to my high school to teach. But midway through my second semester, a friend from high school who wound up at SJU with me helped me decide to switch to an English major, something that I had been contemplating lightly. Six years later, I have that English degree, a master's in writing studies, and work as a writer, thanks in part to that friend.

Since then, I've paid it forward by inspiring at least one person (or so she's told me) to jump head first into the blogosphere, and now I get the opportunity to let that first friend see what writing online is like. Perhaps this will inspire him to blog. So, without further adieu, I give you the first in a series of who knows how many columns from guest writers. If you want to write for me - FYI, I pay nothing - feel free to leave a comment.

Red Between the Lines
by Matt Switliski

If you avoid the bookstore’s young adult section for fear of being seen, you’re missing out on some real gems of fantasy. Pullman’s His Dark Materials, L’Engle’s Time Quartet, and Lewis’ Chronicles of Narnia are proof that enjoyable literature isn’t just on the grown-up shelves. Take as another example Brian Jacques’ Redwall.

The first in a long-running series, Redwall tells the story of Matthias, a bumbling neophyte mouse in the Order of Redwall Abbey. Marching upon the abbey with his horde is Cluny the Scourge, the most sinister rat in all of Mossflower. Matthias plays a key role in defending against Cluny, and soon enough he quests to follow in the footsteps of Martin the Warrior, Redwall’s greatest hero. Along the way he exhibits wisdom, courage, and a steadfast will as he braves dangers and finds unlikely allies.

As I was reading, I couldn’t help but wonder whom Jacques intended the book for. The cast of woodland creatures and a very textbook heroic journey gave the initial impression that it was squarely aimed at younger readers. Getting deeper in, I realized I might be wrong. There’s more gruesome death than I’d expect in a family-friendly title, and words that even I don’t recognize—“stentoriously,” anyone?—gear it toward a more mature, more literate audience. The fact that Jacques needs to tack an adjective onto almost everything will give those readers pause, though.

Redwall’s familiarity is both the tale’s greatest strength and greatest weakness. The characters are pure archetype; so too is the plot derivative enough to border on cliché. Even so, you can’t help but inwardly cheer as the forces of good inevitably prevail. There is an unmistakable charm in the little world, perhaps because it is so conventional.

If you can get past the trite tropes and overdone prose, you’ll find a simple delight of a story. If, however, you’re looking for more innovation in your fantasy offerings, Redwall won’t be to your taste.

*** of 5