A new article in Smithsonian Magazine talks about how lifelong reading habits prolong a person’s brain power. So pick up a book and flex that gray matter!
In other news, I came across this gem from The Oatmeal. In case you’re not familiar, The Oatmeal is like a cross between The Onion and comic strips. They sell a variety of hilarious items; this one about the difference between who and whom is particularly amusing.
One of the best. His style, his dialogue, his wit. With the possible exception of Mickey Spillane, no one could match Elmore Leonard’s unique brand of writing. He passed away yesterday, after suffering a serious stroke earlier this month. He was 87. Read his obituary in The New York Times.
I linked this before, and it’s worth reiterating now: Elmore Leonard’s Ten Rules of Writing.
The World Fantasy Award nominations have come out; congratulations to all the nominees. Winners will be announced at the annual World Fantasy Convention, to be held this year on November 3 in Brighton, England. (List taken from Tor.)
Novel
Novella
Short Story
Anthology
Collection
Artist
Special Award—Professional
Special Award—Non-professional
The Life Time Achievement Award will go to Susan Cooper and Tanith Lee
One of the best series currently on television is the reboot of Britain’s Doctor Who. The namesake character, The Doctor, has been played by eleven actors over the show’s fifty year history. This week the 12th Doctor was revealed with great fanfare to be Peter Capaldi. Capaldi is a fantastic choice, as he’s one of the UK’s more celebrated actors (not to mention an Academy Award-winning director). I look forward to the 12th Doctor’s tenure; the TARDIS is in safe hands.
In other news New York Times Magazine did a terrific spread on the King family writing dynasty. Stephen King is the most well known, obviously, but his wife is also an accomplished novelist, as are both his sons and a daughter-in-law. Read all about it here.
I’ve posted about Alma in the past, one of the best animated short films I’ve ever come across. Here are a couple more — Blackwater Gospel and Death Fails — both of which gave me a kick.
A few bits of note:
Vulture published a lengthy essay about Harlan Ellison. To mangle a Mark Twain quote: Rumors of his death have been greatly exaggerated — mostly by Harlan Ellison. Bonus points for the awesome photo of Harlan with Robert Bloch and Arthur C. Clarke.
And check out this long audio interview (80 minutes) with Joss Whedon, conducted by geek-guru Chris Hardwick as part of his Nerdist podcast.
Hardwick first came to my attention as a stand-up comic, along with his comedy partner Mike Phirman. My favorite of the duo’s early songs is “American Dinosaurs.” You’re welcome.
SPOILERS AHEAD
Graham Masterton has stated in interviews that he wrote The Manitou, his first novel, in a feverish five-day writing sprint. Most times when authors rush through a rough draft, it shows in the final product. Readers may not be able to tell when a novel was written in less than a month, but other writers certainly can. I must admit, however, that The Manitou doesn’t feel hurried. That’s a rare feat, indeed.
Anyone who’s read my books can attest that I’m a fan of world mythologies, and I often try to weave other cultures’ monsters and legends into my own stories. Masterton has been doing this since the 1970s; frankly, no horror writer does it better. The Manitou reads as a blend between Neil Gaiman’s American Gods and HP Lovecraft’s Cthulhu Mythos.
A woman named Karen Tandy consults her physician about a strange growth on the back of her neck. When her doctors are stumped, she turns to the narrator, Harry Erskine, a pseudo-psychic who’s more adept at scamming old women out of their money than contacting the dead. Harry eventually gets a “real” medium involved, and they realize the growth that’s quickly draining the life out of Karen is in fact a growing fetus. More than that, it’s the reincarnation of a powerful Native American shaman named Misquamacus (“Gesundheit!”). The Indian seeks revenge against the White Man and will stop at nothing to achieve victory. Harry teams up with a contemporary shaman, Singing Rock, and the two men battle Misquamacus and the hellish creatures he summons, the Great Old Ones.
The book was turned into a fairly decent movie in 1978, starring Tony Curtis. I saw it years ago, and by today’s standards it comes off a little hokey. That’s to be expected. In my opinion the book’s best sequence revolves around Misquamacus’ “birth” scene. It’s a seriously disgusting highlight, and one that reminded me of Edward Lucas White’s classic short story, “Lukundoo.”
One glaring logical fallacy involves Misquamacus’ motives. When he sees the first Dutch ships land on American shores in 1650, he’s so frightened by the White Man that he uses magic to send himself 300+ years into the future to exact his revenge. He jumps from the seventeenth century straight to the twentieth, skipping over the whole eighteenth and nineteenth centuries — the time period when Native Americans really were conquered and oppressed. How much more pissed would Misquamacus have been had he actually seen the Indians’ mistreatment?
Masterton is one of my favorite authors, and this novel is the one for which he’s best known. He’s revisited the Manitou universe in several other books, most recently in Blind Panic. The Manitou is very entertaining, and lives up to the lofty reputation it enjoys.
My Rating:
This book is AWESOME
SPOILERS AHEAD
Jaws is a great movie, a true cinematic classic. The book? Not so much. Think back to the first time you saw the film. Picture the best moments, the most quotable lines, the scariest scenes. Now strip them all away and pretend they never happened. What’s left? One boring-ass book by Peter Benchley.
Benchley co-wrote the screenplay with Carl Gottlieb — the two never working directly together — with additional script doctors doing uncredited work on the project as well. These other writers deserve recognition for elevating the premise-driven notion of a shark terrorizing summer beachgoers into a true study of terror. Sure, Benchley created the characters of Martin Brody and Quint, but the screenplay really breathed life into them. Quint’s whole backstory as a survivor of the USS Indianapolis wasn’t in the book, for example. And Benchley has the shark slowly drown in the novel, while in the movie it’s blown to pieces. One of those death scenes is way cooler than the other.
The movie’s better than the book in every way. The 300-page story only gets interesting once Quint’s introduced, 80 pages from the end, and the main characters actually start hunting for the great white shark. The other 200+ pages are interminable, padded by unnecessary subplots that involve Brody’s wife having an affair and the town mayor getting in over his head with the mob. The novel is broken up into three main sections. Benchley could’ve excised the whole second part and not hurt the overall plot.
The movie had a long-lasting impact on the environment itself. Imbued with a newfound fear of sharks, people started killing the animals in mass. Ironically, Benchley spent the rest of his life advocating for marine conservation, especially protection for sharks. First he got folks terrified of the predators, then he tried to teach us that sharks aren’t really mindless killing machines that attack people out of malice. By then the damage was already done.
I’m trying to think of something I liked about the book, and I’m coming up empty. It strings you along, promising drama and terror on which it never delivers. Don’t bother with this one, ladies and gentlemen. It suuuucks.
My Rating
This book is BULLSHIT
SPOILERS AHEAD
Invasion of the Body Snatchers has been filmed several times: first in 1956, again in 1978, once more in 1993 and most recently in 2007. It’s one of those rare archetypal plots that each generation remakes to reflect the issues of their particular era. Of all the novels I read to review, Jack Finney’s book was the oldest, originally published in 1954. At that time, the height of the Red Scare, the story of insidious suburban infiltration by Outsiders resonated with American readers. If your closest neighbors, friends or family members could be secret Commie spies, why not go one step further and consider them extraterrestrials bent on world domination?
The plot focuses on a small town doctor, Miles Bennell, and his high school sweetheart, Becky. Townspeople start coming to Dr. Bennell in droves, each convinced that their loved ones have been replaced by near-perfect clones. He refers them to a psychiatrist friend of his, certain he’s dealing with a rare case of mass hysteria. After discovering one of the “pod people” in another friend’s basement, Miles realizes the truth is far stranger. Over the next couple of days, the aliens take control of the town then instigate a hunting party to track down Miles and his allies. Miles and Becky run for their lives, eventually hatching a plan to defeat the oppressors.
This book has some issues, chief among them the characters themselves. Oftentimes they act on nothing more than lucky guesses or hunches (which miraculously always pay off), and they’re able to craft complex theories based on flimsy data. Most of the actions they take seem more out of authorial convenience than anything else. They don’t react the way “real” folks would in a given situation, which makes them feel like pod people from the first page. At one point the characters pack up and flee town . . . only to spend the night in a motel and head back home the next morning (?!).
I give Finney props for building suspense, especially in the second half of the book. He does a great job instilling a sense of claustrophobia and inevitability that the protagonists aren’t going to win. Because the aliens can only assimilate your body when you’re asleep, there’s no fighting against them. Everyone has to sleep sometime, which only adds to the impending doom.
One annoying habit I noticed was Finney’s apparent eye fetish. All his characters say things, “with happy eyes” or “with dancing eyes.” Always with the eyes, over and over. Find some new shtick, Finney.
I thought the ending was a tad expedient as well. After realizing humanity will put up a fight, the aliens leave Earth. They just leave. Float up into the sky and take their leave. What the hell? Even the total copout ending for War of the Worlds had some kind of rational, scientific basis. It wasn’t good, but at least it made sense.
My Rating:
This book is MEH
Last weekend the Shirley Jackson Awards were handed out at Readercon 24. Congratulations to all the winners and nominees. (List taken from their website.)
NOVEL
Winner: Edge, Koji Suzuki (Vertical, Inc.)
Finalists:
NOVELLA
Winner: “Sky,” Kaaron Warren (Through Splintered Walls, Twelfth Planet Press)
Finalists:
NOVELETTE
Winner: “Reeling for the Empire,” Karen Russell (Tin House, Winter 2012)
Finalists:
SHORT FICTION
Winner: “A Natural History of Autumn,” Jeffrey Ford (Magazine of Fantasy and Science Fiction, July/August 2012)
Finalists:
SINGLE-AUTHOR COLLECTION
Winner: Crackpot Palace, Jeffrey Ford (William Morrow)
Finalists:
EDITED ANTHOLOGY
Winner: Exotic Gothic 4: Postscripts #28/29, edited by Danel Olson (PS Publishing)
Finalists:
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