Margaret Atwood pisses me off

In general terms, I like Margaret Atwood. She's not my favourite author by any stretch - I've only ever finished one of her books, the wonderful Handmaid's Tale - but I respect an author who's diverse, seemingly willing to write whatever she feels like without being bound in by audience expectations. The fact she's a successful Canadian author is a nice bonus. The Longpen may be kind of weird, and she's a bit odd in general, but I can respect that.

But sometimes, it appears she's kind of a dick.

Take, for example, this interview in the Globe and Mail about her new novel, The Year of the Flood. The article describes the novel thusly:

In the post-apocalyptic future Toby inhabits, maggots are both food and medicine. Indeed they are one of the few wholly benign creatures left in a world teeming with the misbegotten results of genetic tinkering – Day-Glo sheep, pigs with human brain power and dangerous “liobams” created by a literal-minded religious cult determined to make the lion lie down with the lamb.

Survival is no metaphor in The Year of the Flood. It is the immediate priority of all humanity – at least the fraction that survives the flood in question, called “waterless” by the fictional cultists who predicted it. Atwood describes the event as something like a worldwide outbreak of the Ebola-Marburg virus, producing “a hemorrhagic, dissolve-from-the-inside kind of fever.”

And yet, the Globe points out, Atwood insists it's not a science fiction novel.

"Science fiction takes place “somewhere in space, far, far away in a distant galaxy,” she explains. ... But “speculative fiction” of the sort she writes deals strictly with things people can experience on Earth “without being stoned,” she says. “It has to be based on real technology, real science, real possibility.”

Now, I can appreciate the desire of an author to avoid a genre label. Write the book you want to write, and let others decide in which category it belongs. And I suppose I can even understand wanting to avoid being stuck in a genre ghetto - science fiction books seldom win major awards or rack up the huge sales of a "literary" novel.

But this is just silly. I understand when someone says they don't consider Star Wars to be "science fiction", as there's very little science in it. But Atwood seems to be going off in a completely different direction - unless there's no basis for the existence of other planets in "science"? One wonders what Atwood might think of Alastair Reynolds, who writes stories about adventures in far-off outer space that nonetheless have a very strong basis in science thanks to a career spent working for the European Space Agency. Instead, her definition of science fiction as "fiction in which things happen that are not possible today" would seem to rule out any associations with the Reynolds or Iain M Banks of the world, and set her books on the shelf next to Terminator.

Now, I can get behind a label like "speculative fiction", since it's much broader and open to more diverse interpretations. But when you get right down to it, to "speculate" merely means to engage in thought or reflection, which would seem to cover a great deal of fiction.

Atwood clearly doesn't want to be restrained by labels, but she's labelling herself with her outright rejection of labels. It's one thing to call your book what you like, but entirely another to reject others' descriptions of it, particularly when those descriptions make rather a good deal of sense.

Doctor Parnassus lives again!

At long last, it appears The Imaginarium of Doctor Parnassus is close to getting a theatrical release. It'll probably get more publicity as Heath Ledger's final performance, and the casting of Johnny Depp, Jude Law, and Colin Farrell as his replacements, but jumps to the top of my must-see list - possibly behind Where The Wild Things Are - because it looks to be the first film in a long time to feature the full-on madness of Terry Gilliam.



Tideland was interesting - and one of the weirdest, most uncomfortable films I've ever sene - but it's actually been 10 years since Gilliam totally set himself loose, on the beautifully demented Fear & Loathing in Las Vegas. Parnassus looks like a return to the good old days.

There doesn't appear to be a North American distributor yet, but I assume it will happen eventually.

Kieron Gillen knows how to sell a comic

Talking about the upcoming S.W.O.R.D. series, he says,

"They’re less Men in Black, more Contact/Special Circumstances from Iain M Banks’ The Culture (on a budget)."

I'm not sure how much of Marvel's target demographic know Iain Banks, but it's good enough for me.

(Read Use of Weapons if you want to understand what he's talking about. You'll thank me later.)

Marvelman? Marvelous?

So Marvel has bought the rights to Marvelman.

That's interesting news... but I'm not quite sure what it means just yet. The press release is fairly vague - they bought Marvelman from Mick Anglo. Joe Quesada drew a poster. Okay.

The ownership of the character is still pretty cloudy, but the press release only mentions Mick Anglo. It's unclear if they just bought the trademark to the character, or the rights to all the stories.

And let's face it, the only reasons anyone cares about Marvelman (or Miracleman - will they retitle those stories now that Marvel is unlikely to sue itself?) are Alan Moore and Neil Gaiman. Anyone can write their own Captain Marvel knockoff if they want.

So if Marvel has the rights to reprint the Moore/Gaiman stuff, that's awesome. If Neil Gaiman wants to finish his story, that's awesome. But if they just have the rights to publish a book called Marvelman, well, that's not so impressive.

So hurrah for making a potentially very cool move, but boo for being vague about what you're actually going to do with it.

Saying Goodbye

I gave up my cat yesterday.

The reasons aren’t really relevant at the moment, but suffice it to say that it had to be done. It moved, quietly and unexpectedly, from a possibility to a probability to a certainty. There was no small amount of denial on my part, accompanying honest and sincere attempts at prevention and amelioration. But when I finally realized I couldn’t keep Wesley, it hit me like a hammer.

(Presumably. I have no idea what getting hit by a hammer feels like, aside from a minor “ouch, I missed the nail” sort of way. It was much worse than that, with a much larger hammer.)

There was no way I’d ever consider taking him to the humane society, and I’d have been extremely reluctant to leave him with anyone I didn’t already know, or who at least came with a strong recommendation from a good friend. Thankfully, neither of these options was necessary, as my parents were willing to adopt Wesley.

They were more than willing. They were thrilled, as they love Wesley. They fuss over him whenever they come to visit, and on the few occasions I’ve taken him to visit them, he’s had a lot of fun with their three-year-old Siamese. (after some initial hissing and growling, of course; Satchel, the Siamese, enjoys sneaking up on Wesley from behind at every opportunity, which is a particularly unwelcome strategy when Wesley is trying to eat.)

It’s altogether a good situation for Wesley: A bigger house with a backyard (and accompanying birds and squirrels to stalk and/or be afraid of), another cat to play with and two loving “parents” to pamper him. It’s hard not to see that as an improvement over staying with me, where he’d have a smallish two-bedroom, several rooms of which he’d be shut out of, no access to outside, and just me to give him his daily rationing of affection.

It made the decision much easier. But it still felt like I was ripping out one of my internal organs. Worse than that, because I don’t have any particular sense of duty or responsibility to my kidney. (Though I am extremely squeamish where needles and scalpels are concerned.)

First, there’s the general principle: A pet is supposed to be forever. You make a commitment to look after it, not just when it’s convenient for you. So I feel like a failure on some level.

More importantly, it feels like I’m giving up a huge part of my life. For the past four years, no matter what happened – lousy jobs, dysfunctional relationships, good moods and bad moods – Wesley was there to meet me when I got home. Yes, it was largely because he wanted to be fed, but there was also some small amount of affection. He’d sit on the couch with me, claw at my chair when I spent too much time on the computer, and hop into bed with me at the end of the day. And in the morning, if I slept too late, he’d bite my face to let me know it was time to eat.

At the beginning, Wesley picked me out. When I went to the Toronto Humane Society in search of a cat – an exciting but saddening experience for any animal lover – he stood up against the bars of his cage when I walked by. Maybe he did that for everyone, but it didn’t matter. I walked around for a bit looking at other cats, but my decision had been made for me.

When I filled out paperwork, I received his medical records. He’d been found in rough shape, bad nutrition and hostile, and the notes suggested the possibility he’d have to be put down. Thankfully he didn’t, and after a visit with a foster family there was little sign of the vision problems or weak hind leg that were noted on the form. He was friendly and relaxed, the only sign of his time on the streets a slight notch in one ear.

When I brought him home, I expected him to run for cover as soon as I let him out of his box. But he took his time getting out, and proceeded to pace around my apartment for half an hour before finally finding a comfortable spot under my bed. He was a bit skittish if you stood right in front of him or snuck up on him, but settled in quite quickly.

Perhaps that’s the worst part of it: Wesley’s the most relaxed and easy-going cat I’ve ever known. He’s rarely made anything resembling an escape attempt, preferring to stay close to home; the closest he’s come is sneaking under the balcony divider and walking into my neighbour’s living room one summer evening, an event I’m fairly certain was mostly accidental.

Which makes it more likely that someone abandoned him. Someone couldn’t, or wouldn’t, look after him, and left him on the street, where he almost died.

Not that you’d ever know it if you met him. But that thought stays with me. And aside from the principles and the memories and friendship, perhaps that’s what makes giving him up so hard.

It’s not comparable, at all. I know that. Wesley is, if you’ll excuse an expression that makes it sound like he’s dead, in a better place. He was nervous at first, and a bit grumpy towards my parents’ other cats, but was settling in by the time I had to leave. Not that that made leaving any easier; I spent much of the day feeling miserable, depressed, and occasionally nauseous. I considered staying another day, but I knew I’d still feel same way the next day, or the next week.

And so I left, and didn’t feel too bad on the bus ride home.

I was just about feeling almost okay by the time I got home. Until I put my key in the lock, and realized there was no one waiting for me. No cat to feed, no litter to change, nothing to do at all but amuse myself. The silence and emptiness was striking, different from almost every day of the past four years.

I’m still getting used to it. It’ll take some time. One day, hopefully not too far, but without being disrespectfully soon, I’ll come home and not immediately notice what’s missing.

I Kill Giants review

You probably know the story.

A child retreats into a fantasy world, which may or may not be real, to escape the problems she is experiencing in the real world. In the end, she learns a valuable lesson and is better able to face her fears.

The first thing the concept of I Kill Giants reminds me of is Terry Gilliam’s Tideland, a particularly demented escape-from-reality fantasy that’s not particularly good. There’s Pan’s Labyrinth, or even My Neighbour Totoro.

I Kill Giants has many familiar parts: A would-be friend who is initially rejected; a kind guidance counsellor who wants to help; a school bully; a big sister who’s trying to hold everything together. It definitely feels like something you’ve read or seen before.

So all that said, you might be expecting a fairly negative review. But as it turns out, I Kill Giants is one of the best comics I’ve read in a long time.

Why does it work? These stories are familiar because they resonate; everyone remembers being a child, and everyone has some fantasies about escaping real life for something better, happier, or more exciting. (See also Gilliam’s Brazil for one of the best examples.)

I Kill Giants, in particular, works because it’s honest, even if it’s honest about lies and fantasies. The protagonist, Barbara, is unvarnished: She’s rude, arrogant, dismissive of people who are trying to help her, and occasionally violent. In fact, it’s easy to interpret the early chapters as the story of a girl with serious mental health issues. If you’re the sort of person who needs a likeable, easily relatable character, this may not be for you.

But Barbara’s rough edges make the story’s eventual payoff far more rewarding: We grow to like her, even love her, because it’s not forced upon us. We learn about her gradually, and come to understand her view of the world. (For my part, I totally fell for her when she explains the origin of her hammer’s name.)

The other key to the book is the art of JM Ken Niimura, a relative newcomer to North American comics, and his work with writer Joe Kelly. Niimura’s a bit rough around the edges – action scenes don’t always come off as clearly as they could – but it frequently works to the story’s advantage. His sketchy, manga-influenced art captures the characters perfectly, particularly Barbara: As the story and her mood shift, Niimura’s art keeps up with it.

The mythical, monstrous, possibly imaginary giants are wonderfully realized as well: Vague and threatening, likely influenced by any number of sources without looking like any sort of monster in particular. His covers, too, are beautiful, though they aren’t reproduced in the trade.

And Kelly, for his part, is brave enough to let Niimura tell some of the most important parts of the story himself. Because Barbara’s problems are rarely on the surface, much of the story is left to the audience’s interpretation of events, which is chiefly influenced by Niimura’s visuals. Some of the final scenes in the book are largely wordless, and have some of the greatest impact you’ll find in a graphic novel.

I’ve stayed away from describing the plot, since I Kill Giants benefits, at least on a first reading, from the story’s ambiguity and mystery: Kelly & Niimura keep things vague enough to be mysterious, but not so obscure to be actively frustrating. (There’s one cop-out, with scratched out text in a speech balloon, but it works quite well in the context of the story.) Truth be told, I had the impression the story was about something else entirely, given some preview art. It’s not really a mystery, and I’m not sure you could really “spoil” such a story, but it’s structured in an incredibly rewarding fashion: It works as well on subsequent reads as it did the first time around, but for different reasons.

I Kill Giants is contradictory is many ways: It’s a tried-and-true formula and concept, but executed in an unconventional fashion. Perhaps that’s why it works so well: It’s a story we all know, but presented in a way that still gives us something new. It’s predictable in its way, but also holds as much emotional impact as any comic I’ve read in a long time. A must-read.

(There’s an interview with Kelly and some preview art at CBR.)

New Bryan Talbot!

One of my favourite artists - Alice in Sunderland is one of the most visually impressive books I've ever seen - has a new book coming out in the fall!

It's... Steampunk Anthropomorphism? I can totally dig it.


(I actually got a print of this image when I met Talbot on his Sunderland book tour. It's a nice looking piece.)

Summer movies bonanza

So I plan on avoiding Wolverine like the plague - X-Men III was bad enough, and there was way too much slow-mo in the trailer. And while it may be pretty good, I just can't work up much enthusiasm for Star Trek; George Lucas has pretty much turned me off anything involving the word "prequel". Don't even get me started on movies based on action figures from my youth.

But! It's summer, and there are still many movies to be seen that I'm actually excited about seeing.

Up

It's Pixar. Do you really need another reason? They've always been good, but they keep getting more unique and original. It'll be hard to top Wall-E, but I had similar thoughts after Ratatouille, too.

The Brothers Bloom

This looks fun, and the cast is lovely, Rachel Weisz in particular. I'm concerned it may be one of those movies that looks much better in trailer form, but I'm willing to take that chance.

500 Days of Summer

They're talking about The Smiths in the trailer! That is enough, right there. This could be the best music nerd movie since High Fidelity.

Ponyo on the Cliff By the Sea

All right, I don't actually know a whole lot about this movie. It may be excessively cute. However, it's Hayao Miyazaki. He gets the benefit of the doubt. And while I have philosophical problems with dubbing, at least this will be done properly, with Cate Blanchett, Tina Fey, Liam Neeson, and Lily Tomlin among the English voiceover cast.


(Side note: Could this year be the first time there's actual competition at the Oscars for Best Animated Picture? With Coraline, Up, and Ponyo, there are a lot more heavyweights than I can ever remember in the category.)

Whatever Works

Woody Allen's been erratic for the past few years, and over the last decade has managed to demote himself from my "Must See Automatically" list. But Vicky Cristina Barcelona was very good, the cast here is promising - you can't go wrong with Patricia Clarkson - and it looks to be the sort of movie Woody does quite well, if only because he's been doing it for the last 30 years. I'm optimistic.


(Intresting find while looking this up: Woody's next movie, currently untitled, features Nicole Kidman, Naomi Watts, Josh Brolin, Anthony Hopkins, and Antonio Banderas. That's pretty damn impressive.)

2010 Can't Come Fast Enough

I was a late convert to The Wire, but I'm hoping to get in on the ground floor for David Simon's new series, Treme. The cast list alone looks fantastic - Wire's team supreme of Clarke Peters & Wendell Pierce, Melissa Leo, and Deadwood's Kim Dickens. Plot details are still fairly minimal - it's about New Orleans, post-Katrina - but this article makes it sound damn intriguing.

When Did the National Post Become Cool?

Also known as That Other Paper I Never Bother to Read, The National Post has been running a series of Q&As with artists, writers, and cartoonists appearing at this weekend's Toronto Comic Art Festival. It's surprisingly cool.

Maybe I should ignore The Post less. Maybe.

The Greatest Movie Endings of All Time

I have many deep thoughts. I have a blog. But I am sick and have neither time nor energy to produce something deeper. So: A list!
(These are spoiler free, mostly.)

• Manhattan: "You have to have a little faith in people."


• Magnolia: Aimee Mann's Save Me and Melora Walters' smile.


• Fight Club: The world falls apart, and the Pixies provide the soundtrack.


• Brazil: The real ending, obviously. Which is unreal. Sort of.


• Casablanca: Duh.


• Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind: Just because.

Yes, I enjoy ambiguity. So what?

Wait, what?

I should know better than to look at this sort of thing, but curiousity compelled me to look at DC's look at the spectrum of lanterns.

Immediate thoughts:

• "Willpower" is an emotion?


• There is probably something to be said about the fact that the Pink Lanterns - the Lanterns of Love - are exclusively women. Or that DC apparently had to deviate from their template and change the name entirely to "Star Sapphires".


• "Love" and "Compassion" are pretty close. You could probably make a case for "Hope", too.


• I'm possibly repeating myself, but: "Death" is an emotion?

I understand that DC is trying for a theme here, but they really could have put a bit more thought into it.

That's what I call ENTERTAINMENT

(Background info at The Beat.)

There are no attempted puns about philately in this post

Stamp collecting is probably one of the most boring and generally lamest hobbies one can find. (One might think there'd be problems with someone who spends most of his time writing about comic books pointing that out, but I have no regrets. To be fair, collecting stamps is much cooler than collecting spoons.)

Until now:

"Mythical creatures" is a pretty nifty theme unto itself, but having them illustrated by Dave McKean? Totally awesome.

The Royal Mail rocks.

Canada Post continues to rock quite a bit less.

A beaver playing hockey. Outrageous! Truly, Canada Post is the Andy Warhol of stamp design.

Someone find Wildstorm a dictionary so they can look up the meaning of the word "quit"

It's probably not too harsh to call Wildstorm's revamp of a couple years ago a failure that should best be forgotten. It's not that the books were bad or didn't sell, but that the really important ones didn't show up at all. The two flagships of the line, Wildcats by Grant Morrison and Jim Lee, and The Authority by Morrison and Gene Ha, managed a combined 3 issues before disappearing into the publishing ether. First they were just late, then they were really late, then people stopped asking about them. It took even longer for Wildstorm to get around to telling anyone they probably weren't going to come out at all.

It was either atrocious planning, or another sign that Wildstorm is right near the bottom of DC's priority list, since both Lee and Morrison abandoned their books to work on other, DCU-oriented projects. Morrison has since announced he has no interest in continuing Authority - something that strikes me as grossly unprofessional - Gene Ha has moved on to other work, and apparently Lee will come back to finish Wildcats, now planned as a graphic novel, whenever All-Star Batman takes a break.

But now, two years after the second and apparently final issue of Authority, Wildstorm has decided to finish the story. But instead of Morrison, Keith Giffen will now be writing it. And while an artist has not been announced, I'll be surprised if it's Gene Ha.

I don't have any real problem with Giffen - he's a solid writer, and will always have my affection for JLI and the various Superbuddies stories. But you just can't go from Morrison to Giffen. Regardless of your personal evaluation of their talent - and I've been losing interest in Morrison's work over the last year or so - they're not at all the same sort of writer.

And if there's one lesson Wildstorm should have learned by now, it's that very few people really care about their characters. Authority didn't set the sales charts ablaze two years ago, so will anyone be lining up for the new book now, without the two marquee creators attached?

Wildstorm seems to have achieved some level of stability now, or at least figured out a system whereby they manage to publish the books they say they're going to publish. The Authority/Wildcats relaunch was an embarrassing mess, and I can't imagine reminding people about it is going to do anyone any good.