Catching Up, part 1: Books

Wow. Four whole months and not a single post. Not so much as a "hey, I'm really sorry, I have x, y, and z going on in my life right now." Nada. Zip. If somebody were to ask me why I couldn't even be bothered to put up a measely "temporary hiatus" notice I would have to respond in the immortal, if rather lame, words of Beatrix Kiddo: "I don't know... because I'm a bad person?"

But seriously, my main excuse for not writing is that I've been busy moving to Paris. And yes, I know, it's not like they don’t have the Internet here in Paris, but still. I’m not saying that moving here hasn’t had it’s perks, because it certainly has, but not everything has been a walk in the Luxembourg gardens if you know what I mean. But that’s a discussion for another day and another blog. The point I’m trying to make here is that not only has this relocation been a huge adjustment for me overall, it also means that some of the series I was following and writing about in the States aren't as readily available to me anymore. (And I was just starting to get hooked on Sarasah and The Name of the Flower!) I still haven't quite worked out how or if I'm going to continue them, since I don’t think I’ll be in Paris forever, but I decided to pick this blog back up again anyways, since I never seem to run out of random things to obsess over and I'd hate to think of what might happen if I didn't have some kind of outlet.

So before I return to writing more detailed reviews, I thought I’d briefly revisit some of the items I’ve had on backlog since last November. This will actually be quite like the summer summary I posted last August after recovering from surgery, in which I gave a mini-review of everything I hadn’t been posting about lately. This time the whole batch will be broken up into several posts, with the first one (this one) being all about books. So here goes: a condensed review of what I’ve been reading recently.

Fyodor Dostoevsky, Notes from Underground (translation by Constance Garnett)

So I’d been meaning for a while to tackle the great gaping whole in my high school education that is nineteenth century Russian literature, but I was a little nervous about starting off with one of those famously epic and wildly intimidating thousand-page novels. So what better way to warm up than with a shorter novella written by one of the period’s most celebrated authors? Well, I’m not sure exactly what I was expecting from Notes from Underground but in the end I was completely blown away. By way of introducing the story, I’d like to pull a quote from the text itself:

Every man has reminiscences which he would not tell to every one, but only to his friends. He has other matters in his mind which he would not reveal even to his friends, but only to himself, and that in secret. But there are other things which a man is afraid to tell even to himself, and every decent man has a number of such things stored away in his mind. The more decent he is, the greater the number of such things in his mind.

Notes from Underground is the narrator’s confession of one such “reminiscence”, a confession made in old age and infirmary, made out of spite as much as from any moral or philosophical conviction. Although the first third of the book consists mostly in the narrator’s rambling internal monologue, Dostoevsky’s writing has the rare ability to pierce right into your heart, giving one the impression that the author has discovered your most intimate thoughts and feelings, even (perhaps especially) the ones you’re not very proud to own. And yet while you could also say all of that about Madame Bovary, for example, I found that Notes from Underground managed to retain, in spite of its cynicism, a sort of romantic beauty and wistfulness to which Flaubert’s book certainly never aspired. All these elements made for a very striking combination, and an engrossing read I’ll not soon forget. I’m not sure if any of this is making any sense, but I’m finding it quite difficult to articulate my impressions of the book. It really deserves so much more discussion than I’m affording it in this laundry-list of reviews. Before moving on to the next book, a few more quotes from Notes. What I think so impressed me about the book was that even the parts that didn’t make total sense seemed intimately familiar, perhaps because they were so universally human. I think the following quotes exemplify that a little bit. From the pages of Notes from Underground:

Man is a frivolous, incongruous creature, and perhaps, like a chess-player, loves the process of the game, not the end of it… He loves the process of attaining, but does not quite like to have attained, and that, of course, is very absurd.

But why am I made with such desires? Can I have been constructed simply in order to come to the conclusion that all my construction is a cheat? I do not believe it.

I hated his stupid but handsome face (for which I would, however, have gladly exchanged my intelligent one).

Fyodor Dostoevsky, The Idiot (translated by Constance Garnett)

So after being so incredibly enamored with Notes from Underground I felt quite brave enough to attack one of his longer novels. I read [The Idiot] rather than the (perhaps more obvious) Crime and Punishment simply because I already had a copy; a friend had given me an old, tattered, paperback version many years ago and it had been sitting on my shelf ever since, just waiting to be read. And I have to admit that the novel caused me to fall a little bit out of love with Dostoevsky. I still think I genuinely admire and enjoy his work, but I don’t have as much of a crush on him as I did after finishing Notes from Underground. Essentially, The Idiot examines the question of what would happen when a truly pure and virtuous soul is thrust into the midst a humanly corrupt and degraded society. Reading this book was a very frustrating experience, because I cared so much about the fascinating main character, but in the end I don’t think the author did justice to his own creation and that’s something I have a hard time forgiving. Especially after reading a thousand pages of a story that really could have been told in less than half that amount. I also felt that the ambiguous, selective narration was a bit of a cop-out only rendered necessary by the excessive complexity sheer length of the story. On the other hand: I absolutely LOVED reading any scene with Lizaveta Prokofyevna, a truly delightful character whose personality quirks reminded me a lot of my own mother. From the pages of The Idiot:

There is something at the bottom of every new human thought… which can never be communicated to others, even if one were to write volumes about it and were explaining one’s idea for thirty-five years; there’s something left which cannot be induced to emerge from your brain, and remains with you forever; and with it you will die, without communicating to anyone, perhaps, the most important of your ideas.

Don’t let us forget that the causes of human actions are usually immeasurably more complex and varied than our subsequent explanations of them.

François Mauriac, Thérèse Desqueyroux

Coninuing with the theme of psychological novels we have Thérèse Desqueyroux In brief, this is not a happy book. A short, intriguing, psychological character study? Sure bet. Overly melancholic? Perhaps just a bit. It tells the story of a woman who cannot escape from her unhappy marriage even after she’s caught trying to poison her husband. In order to preserve their reputations, both sides of the family decide to keep her as a prisoner in her own home. Believe me, it’s not as melodramatic gothic as it sounds; it’s actually a quite sensitive psychological study, and rather subtle in some of it’s finer points. Throughout the story, which is told out of chronological order, it becomes less and less clear who is the real monster and who is the victim: Thérèse or her husband. In spite of its depressing nature (there were plenty of internal monologues about loneliness and despondency), I really enjoyed the way the unique and clever way this story was constructed. It was short enough that the heaviness didn’t really get me down, and there were enough twists to keep me interested. All in all, I’d definitely recommend this to any francophone readers out there. From the pages of Thérèse Desqueyroux :

Rien ne peut arriver de pire que cette indifférence, que ce détachement total qui la sépare du monde et de son être même. Oui, la mort dans la vie : elle goute la mort autant que la peut gouter une vivante.

Sa solitude lui est attachée plus étroitement qu’aux lépreux son ulcère.

Rien n’est vraiment grave pour les êtres incapables d’aimer.

Ok, that’s it for now. After all that I think I’m ready for something a little lighter next time. More short reviews coming up soon (I promise!).

Memorable TV opening themes

Ok, this is kind of random, but I was just thinking today about how much I love the opening sequences of television shows. On the one hand, if it’s a show you really love, it doesn’t even matter how good the opening is, you still react to it like Pavlov’s dog to a bell; the very first notes of the theme song cue that instant rush of excitement and anticipation as you await the imminent commencement of another episode. On the other hand, there’s a lot to be said for opening sequences that are creative and exciting in and of themselves, even if the show itself doesn’t really do much for you. Yet if one of your favorite shows has a killer opener, one that is dynamic and interesting and perfectly captures the unique tone of a unique show – the effect is amazing. It’s an art form, really.

And so here are some of my favorite television opening sequences, in descending chronological order (i.e. in reverse order of when the shows premiered with their openers).

True Blood (2008). It’s gritty, it’s grotesque, it’s bizarre, it’s strangely fascinating. Just like the show itself, in fact. None of the main actors appear in this opening, but the images used perfectly convey the show’s tone and its stylized northern Louisiana setting. And the song is just perfect! I usually cannot stand country music at all, but I actually had Jace Everett’s “Bad Things” as my cell phone ring for like six months. I can’t really describe the effect of the True Blood opening; it speaks for itself.


Conspiracy in the Court (2007). Ok, this comes from a kdrama, not an American show. But I had to include it because I really thought it did a wonderful job of introducing this fusion sageuk political thriller drama. Conspiracy in the Court stands apart from other dramas in a lot of ways – it really sets out to achieve something different (hence the fusion aspect), and does so extremely well – and this opening really reflects that. When you consider also that most kdramas have pretty lame, generic openings if they have them at all, this sequence becomes all the more remarkable. Observe:


Dexter (2006). Honestly, I never really got into this show. I admire it, I think it’s very cool, I just never got hooked on it enough to make the time to watch it. But the opening is just so amazing. It was expertly shot and edited so as to make an ordinary, tame morning routine appear violent and savage. Thanks to this sequence, I will never look at breakfast in quite the same way again.


Veronica Mars (2006). I say 2006 even though the show premiered in 2004 because they revamped the opening sequence for the third (and, unfortunately, final) season. For the first two seasons the VM opening was pretty average. I liked the song (“We Used to Be Friends” by the Dandy Warhols), but other than that the sequence was pretty unremarkable. For the third season they reworked the song, making it more subdued and stylized, and set it to a series of sepia-toned stills. All in all, I think the new version was much more interesting, and a much better representation of the series. Veronica Mars was, at its core, a noir-influenced detective show set in southern California and featuring a petite blonde heroine. The new opening reflected that.


Cowboy Bebop (1998). I think I’ll just let this one speak for itself. You don’t need to know anything about the show in order to watch this opening and think its just plain awesome. The brass music, the bright solid colors, the animation…


The X-Files (1993). My parents were both diehard fans of this show in the 90s, and they let me watch with them on Sunday nights even though I was probably too young. Even to this day the eerie whistling music gives me the shivers. I remember waiting anxiously each week to see what message would appear at the very end, whether the typical “The truth is out there” or that once in a blue moon substitution. Exciting times indeed. (Sorry about the quality.)


Cheers (1982). Oh, this makes me miss Boston so much! This is just another example of an opening in which all the elements work. The lyrics of the song, combined with the slideshow of images, evoke a powerful nostalgia in me – for Boston, my former home, for the show and all its incomparable characters, for the time when I used to watch it with my family. This was a great show. So simple, so fantastic, so hilarious. It really does make me think about going home, and the theme song hits a very special place in my heart. And now I think I might cry. But it’s a good, happy kind of feeling. That’s how powerful a good tv opening, with strong personal associations, can be.


So although I’m sure there are many more great television openings out there, these were just a few of my favorites. A good opening sequence can be a very powerful thing. May this special art form continue to flourish for many years to come!

TV pairings: an evolutionary study

I realize that the title of this post might seem a little heavy-worded, but I really couldn’t really think of a good way to summarize this topic. Hopefully my meaning will become clear once I explain it a bit more. I got the idea to write this post last month, when some of the fall primetime premiers prompted me to reflect on one of the things I love most about the open-ended, multi-season format of US television: the evolution of TV relationships. By that I mean the inherent possibility of the medium to slow development of relationships over long periods of time, allowing viewers to watch them change drastically from what they originally were and grow slowly towards what they will become. This cannot be achieved in the same way in other media such as movies, dramas, or miniseries, which are more limited in scope. Of course these kinds of developments are a long time in the making, and aren’t usually the main focus of a given show on an episode-to-episode basis, but sometimes the emotional payoff is just that much greater in the end. Yet whenever shows alter the relationships between main characters they the risk of changing the characters themselves too drastically, which is never a good thing. You don’t want to see a beloved character going against the grain for no good reason. And yet it can be such fun to watch them cope with the awkward, uncomfortable realization that they’re seeing things (and people) in a new and different light. It’s a high-stakes game that sometimes backfires on writers, and sometimes makes for the most interesting and enjoyable television out there. If this isn’t making any sense yet, please bear with me, and hopefully it will.

You may have noticed that the title of this post reads “TV pairings” and not “TV relationships in general” and that’s because I’m going to focus on the romantic ones. More specifically, I’d really like to talk about something I refer to as "evolved pairings", which I define as TV pairings that occur some time relatively late in a series between two central characters who were not previously romantically linked. That might sound kind of specific, but it’s actually a relatively common trend. Yet I’m not just talking about couples with lots of romantic vibes who somehow manage to keep delaying the inevitable (à la Luke and Lorelai); I'm talking about the ones that somehow come together after having a decidedly un-romantic relationship for a long time. So if we were to take Friends as an as an example, Monica and Chandler would be an evolved pairing whereas Ross and Rachel would not. While Ross and Rachel were highly anticipated right from the series' pilot, Monica and Chandler would have been impossible for season one viewers to predict. When relationships start changing in a series, as Monica's and Chandler's did in season 5 of Friends, it can be a lot of fun for long-time viewers who know all their history. And so this was a really long intro for my topic, but today I'd like to talk about some "evolved pairings" that I've really gotten on board with in the past.

Buffy & Spike (Buffy the Vampire Slayer): The first example on my list of awesome evolved pairings is a little on the old side, relatively speaking (the show’s been off air for over six years), but it’s a classic example and one of my favorites. Spike was introduced as a major villain to Buffy’s hero in season 2, but he would eventually become something much less easily defined; he was extremely popular with fans and became first a recurring character in seasons 3-4 and then a leading role in seasons 5-7. Over the years, Spike was slowly given tons of backstory and meaty development, and I still consider him to be the most complex and compelling character in Buffyverse. He’s in turns hilarious, sympathetic, and downright pathetic. In one of the most famously quotable shows of all time, Spike often had the best lines. One of his most well-known utterances is this: “Love isn’t brains, children. It’s blood… I may be love’s bitch, but at least I’m man enough to admit it.” (Ha! He’s not even talking about Buffy in this one, but it’s still great, no?) Of the two, Spike is definitely the first to develop romantic feelings for Buffy, slowly (and painfully) falling for her over the course of season 5, and it’s quite a long time before she sees him as anything but a monster. When I say that the Buffy/Spike pairing works, I don’t mean that they have a happy ending, because they don’t. I just mean that they had great chemistry, and that for a couple that started out on opposite sides of nearly everything they had a relationship that people really cared about and wanted to see happen. Yes, it was painful at times, and yes it went some really weird places (season 6, anyone?), but ultimately it was one of the things that made the show so popular. It’s amazing to think about where they started out in season 2, and where they ended up five years later in the series finale, and the epic journey that happend in between.

Barney & Robin (How I Met Your Mother): This example is a bit more contemporary than the first, as the show is still airing, and one of it’s hottest topics right now is the couple in question. Robin is first introduced to the show as the primary love interest for main character Ted in seasons 1 and 2 (although it’s revealed in the pilot that she is not the titular “Mother” of Ted’s future children, to whom future Ted narrates the entire series). Barney, meanwhile, is Ted’s eccentric and totally hilarious friend, who also happens to be a shameless womanizer. Although Barney is primarily played for laughs (Neil Patrick Harris is a hoot), what really makes him interesting are his rare flashes of real sensitivity. This includes the way he deeply and very genuinely cares about his friends, for example, and of course his feelings for Robin. After their spontaneous, "one-time-only" hookup in season 3, it was tremendous fun to watch the skirt-chasing Barney struggle to accept that there’s a girl 1) whom he actually wants to sleep with a second time, 2) whom he doesn’t like to see with other guys, 3) who is also one of his closest friends, and 4) not to mention, their mutual friend’s ex. Poor guy! For her part, Robin's also kind of a one-in-a million character: a "sophisticated, scotch-swilling, cigar-smoking, red-meat-eating, gun-toting New Yorker” who's also very loveable, and Canadian. We're supposed to believe that in a bizarre way, they're actually kind of perfect for each other. Does it work? I actually think this one's a bit of a stretch, but I'm willing to go along with it becase it's just so much fun and I adore this show. (Btw, this recap clip does a much better job of summing up their relationship than I did.)

Logan & Veronica (Veronica Mars): Man, this was such a great show. And one of the great things about it (but certainly not the only great thing) was all the Logan/Veronica LoVe that happened. She's the petite, blonde, tough-as-nails, hardboiled teen detective with all the quippy one-liners. He's the spoiled, rich bully with an abusive past and deep-rooted insecurities. Their relationship - is complicated. You can read a 5,000-word summary of it on wikipedia. All I'm going to say here is that in spite of Veronica introducing him to us as her school's "obligatory psychotic jackass" in the pilot voice-over, they actually turned out to share a very intense, and often quite sad, but totally awesome relationship. Now that's what I call relationship evolution.

Blair & Chuck (Gossip Girl): I actually almost didn't include this one since they first hooked up kind of early on (half-way through season one). Yet if you just look at the show within the context of that first season, it works. They didn’t officially get together until much later, and, more importantly, their pairing caught me completely off guard, and then really swept me up in its intensity and general epic-ness. Considering these two weren’t even on each other’s radar at first, I’d say they’ve earned their spot on this list. Blair is the quintessential Upper East Side princess (rich, controlling, self-centered), but with her own share of insecurities and a fighting spirit it’s hard not to admire. It’s not until her perfect little world starts to crumble that she first turns to Chuck for comfort. She and Chuck have always known each other (the UES set is an small and exclusive one), but he was definitely not part of her plan. He’s kind of a wonanizer, and just about the only person on earth who’s as manipulative as she is. Unsurprisingly, their first fling ends rather messily, but that doesn’t mean the feelings weren’t real. Quite the contrary, especially on his part. I really liked their storyline back in those days. They’re both interesting characters, and it was really fun to watch them together; they had this great rapport, and even when they were being truly horrible to each other you knew that deep down they really cared. Unfortunately, I think that their storyline, like the show itself, has gotten a lot less exciting over the past season. These days, I’m mainly watching for the fashions.

Lois & Clark (Smallville): Okay, so Lois Lane and Clark Kent are one of the most iconic couples in the cannon. So what, you might ask, are they doing on a list of romantic relationships that develop from strictly unromantic ones? Because on Smallville, that’s exactly what happens. The show, as people generally know, tells the story of Superman’s youth, and is based very loosely on the Superboy Adventure Comics. When the character of Lois Lane was first introduced in season 4, her relationship with Clark was quite different from the one we all know and love from the Superman cannon. They shared a sort of grudging respect, but for the most part they just annoyed each other. It was almost like a brother-sister kind of vibe. And yet over the past five years they’ve been slowly but steadily growing closer in a way that’s been really great to watch. Smallville’s definitely a story with an endgame, but that certainly doesn’t mean there’s no dramatic suspense. The whole premise of Smallville is to show how things were before they got to be the way we know, and the show often does so in unexpected ways, especially with Lois and Clark. The development of their relationship has been, in my opinion, THE highlight of the series, especially recently. When I remember how little I cared for this show in its earlier seasons, it’s amazing how much I now anticipate each week’s episode. And I think the Lois/Clark relationship has a lot to do with that.

There are probably lots of other TV pairings that fall into this category, but these are the ones I thought of first and the ones to which I’ve paid the most attention recently. Besides, this post has gotten kind of long and I’m kind of burnt out.

How do I love thee, Provensen Book of Fairy Tales

(Tiny disclaimer: this is a subject which most likely won’t interest anyone other than myself, yet since it’s quite near and dear to my own heart, and since I write primarily for myself anyways, I’m going to give it the full attention I believe it deserves.)

Once upon a time, a little girl was given a gift by her stepmother. The stepmother was not evil, you see, but very gentle and kind, if only a little scatterbrained. The gift she gave to her little stepdaughter was an old storybook, very worn and with positively hideous illustrations, but nevertheless containing the most extraordinarily beautiful and magnificent tales. The book afforded the girl countless hours of delight, and she treasured the book among her most prized possessions. And so the years passed, and the little girl grew a little less little, and she visited the stories of the book a little less often, though she still cherished it. One fateful morning, her stepmother came to her with a very apologetic look on her face and regretfully informed her that she could no longer keep the beloved book. It had originally been given to the stepmother’s evil sister by their late father, and now the evil step-aunt demanded its return. The poor stepmother was too gentle and kind to object, and the little girl had no choice but to surrender the book forever, though it nearly broke her heart.

A few more years passed, as they inevitably do, and the little girl was now all grown up. So many other things filled her crowded head that she had all but forgotten about the lost book that she’d loved so long ago so well. Until one day when she was perusing an edition of Grimm’s Fairy Tales from her father’s collection of old books, and some little thing made her think of what she hadn’t thought of in years. And then, oh how she longed to see that book again, with all the wistful nostalgia of a homesick traveler. But how could she find it? Communication with the evil step-aunt was so not an option, but she didn’t even remember the book’s name, only vague fragments of the stories it contained. Fortunately for her, she was equipped with some mad research skills, and after about an hour of intensive searching on the web she finally and triumphantly discovered the name of the book: The Provensen Book of Fairy Tales. But what’s this? Out of print and widely unavailable? The girl was not afraid. She boldly availed herself of her trusty library card and within a few short days the book was back in her hands. And then, how it all came rushing back to her as if no time at all had passed. And she lived happily ever after (I hope). The End.

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I don’t care how old I get, I’ll always have plenty of room in my heart for good fairytales well told. Which is exactly what fills the Provensen Book of Fairy Tales, a delightful little out-of-print collection of fairytales both common and obscure recounted by a variety of authors. In fact, this book left such an impression on me in my childhood that even after it was long lost to me I retained enough affection and consideration for it that I was able and willing to track it down many years later, and that having finally found it I want to write about it here.

The Provensen Book of Fairy Tales contains what it refers to as “literary fairy tales” as opposed to “folk fairy tales”, explaining in the foreword that “The literary tale borrows shamelessly from the folk tale but gives it a new twist or dimension.” As such, these stories somehow manage to feel delightfully fresh and new, yet also old as the earth itself. Not to mention the fact that many of them are also expertly and ingeniously crafted works of literature. (Although I never did care much for the strange illustrations.) This collection contains several well-known works, such as Hans Christian Andersen’s “The Nightingale”, Oscar Wilde’s heartbreaking “The Happy Prince”, and a version of "Beauty and the Beast" by famous illustrator Arthur Rackham. Yet my personal favorites from among this collection (with the possible exception of “The Happy Prince”) are the more obscure stories taken from lesser-known anthologies. In particular:

“The Lost Half-Hour” by Henry Beston. In which a poor simpleton named Bobo volunteers to find the half-hour lost by the princess when she overslept one morning. His journey takes him around the world and eventually to the land of Father Time and his twelve sons. The hard-won lost half hour proves instrumental in rescuing his true love the kitchen maid upon his return. (Along the way, Bobo also finds a lost reputation, a lost temper, and a lost princess as well.)

“The Seven Simons” by Ruth Manning-Sanders. In which a ridiculously vain emperor sends seven brothers named Simon, who each have a special skill, to steal the only princess in the world beautiful and clever enough to be his bride. But as clever as the beautiful princess may be, is she any match for the seven Simons?

“The Prince and the Goose Girl” by Elinor Mordaunt. My all-time favorite, which is NOT to be confused with the Grimm tale of a similar name upon which the inexplicably popular Shannon Hale novel is based. In this story, a powerful prince rules his kingdom through fear and intimidation, and only a little goose girl (equally proud and stubborn, but infinitely more gentle) refuses to fear him. He falls in love with her, of course, but being proud and stubborn he goes about it all wrong. For herself, she insists she’ll never marry him unless he gets down on his knees and asks politely. Think that’s not too much to ask? You’ve clearly never met the prince.

These are only a few of the wonderful stories contained in this book. For anyone who has an appreciation for truly great fairy tales, I suggest you hunt down the Provensen collection as soon as feasibly possible; it will not disappoint. Now, I’ve just got to see to hooking my own copy because the library’ll probably be wanting theirs one of these days.

Two words: Surgery. Sucks.

Oh, sure, the drugs are kind of trippy. Coming out of the anesthesia-induced stupor, you might be feeling pretty darn good. There’s not a hint of pain, just an extremely pleasant and drowsy contentment. Everything is so wonderful, and you just want to lie in this lovely hospital bed and let the nice nurses take care of you. What was I so worried about?, you think to yourself. This place is great. Hardy har har. Just wait a couple of hours. Wait ‘til the intense nausea kicks in and you feel like puking your guts out. Wait ‘til they sick the urinary catheter on you. Wait till you get home and you’re so constipated from all the pain killers that you’re thinking of checking yourself right back in to the hospital all over again.

Ok, so maybe I’m exaggerating a tiny bit, but still. I just had my first surgical procedure (and my first experience with general anesthesia) last week, and I’m posting this by way of excuse for not writing anything for so long. I had kind of thought that the recovery would give me plenty of time to work on this blog and write up some things that have been stewing in my brain recently, but alas, such was not the case. I just haven’t been feeling up to it yet, but hopefully soon I’ll be able to put in some time.

I also want to say that although I do like to complain and have been feeling pretty under it since the surgery, all things considered it’s been a pretty decent experience for me. Everyone at the hospital was really great I felt very well taken care of the entire time. Sure, there were some unfortunate side effects from all the drugs, but the benefits of the procedure far outweigh them. All in all, I’m a pretty happy patient.

Gustave Flaubert is an evil genius

I finally finished Madame Bovary this week, but I almost didn't write anything about it here for a couple of reasons. Since its initial publication in 1857 the novel has been one of the most widely discussed/debated/dissected works of western literature. At the time of its publication it represented a significant rupture with classic French literature that was not really understood by critics of that period. Both modernist and post-modernist literary critics would later hearken back to Flaubert and identify in his work the roots of their own ideals (which in and of itself speaks to the multiplicity of interpretations the book affords). Considering all the historical and ongoing discussion surrounding Madame Bovary, not to mention the novel's sheer complexity, what could I possibly say about the book that would be worthwhile? But then I thought, Aw hell, I slogged my way through this whopping 19th century novel, in French no less, and I'll be damned if I don't at least have an opinion about it. Or at the very least a reaction, however insignificant. So here goes.

In the course of my reading of Madame Bovary I found myself constantly torn between the desire to laugh and the desire to cry. By that I only mean that all aspects of the novel afford many potential interpretations that range from the cynical to the satirical, but rarely fall unequivocally into one camp or the other. The book's just dripping in irony, a fact that nevertheless allows for certain characters to be portrayed both sympathetically and negitavely in turn. Even the penultimate scene of the book (Emma's death) has elements of both humor and tragedy alike. That's what Madame Bovary really is, among other things: a tragicomedy, deftly told by a rather ambiguously affiliated narrator.

Certain elements of the book were also very disturbing to me. It isn't just a novel about adultery with respect to Emma's extramarital affairs, but rather a novel about adulteration on a much larger scale: the corruption and perversity that pervades all aspects of society. One definitely gets the sense, reading Madame Bovary, that Flaubert didn't really think too highly of nineteenth century France, or of the human condition in general. But what really scared me about this book more than anything else was how close to home parts of it hit, and how it made me relate to a very unlikable heroine.

Like many aspects of this novel, the character of Emma Bovary is complex, elusive, difficult to pin down from a reader's perspective, and open to a variety of interpretations. For someone of my relative insecurity it was difficult not to read in her the confirmation of the things I most fear to be true about myself: for example, her warped view of reality, overly distorted by the medium of fiction and fantasy, her duplicitousness, and ultimately her weakness. I do consider myself to be rather more self aware of my own problems than Emma is, but I can't help sympathizing with her in all her misguidedness. I'm not her, but if I had lived under the intellectual, psychological, and social restraints that were placed on women in 19th century France, I can understand how I might have turned out similarly. Which is kind of a sobering thought considering the fact that by the end of the novel Emma is wretchedly miserable, a psychological mess, a liar, an adulteress, a debtor, and a suicide victim.

Of Flaubert's genius there can be no doubt. Yet did he use his powers for good or for evil? That's a harder question for me to answer. When I was reading Madame Bovary I felt like his writing exposed me in some way, revealing and forcing me to confront something banal and unattractive about myself. Needless to say, it did not leave an entirely pleasant taste in my mouth. Yet nor was it wholly unpalatable. It was rather like the bitter taste of just desserts. Something Emma would have hated.

(***Quick language note: I read the novel in the original French, but I also referenced the English translation from time to time on the internet. I tried to balence out my desire to stick to the original text with my desire to maximize my actual comprehension of this really complex novel. It took me quite a while to get through it, but I felt pretty good and proud when I finally did.)

"I want more" Claudia: Interview with Lestat the Musical

Ok, so funny thing happened to me this weekend. I'm minding my own business, going about my life, when BAM! I'm suddenly sucked up into the magnetic vortex of Anne Rice's vampire universe. Why do I let this happen to myself? Why? WHY? I wasn't even looking for it or anything. It's like stepping out into the street when you think the coast is clear and getting blindsided by a huge truck. The truck of fandom. The fan van, if you will.

Oh, well. First, a sort of disclaimer: I've never actually read any of Anne Rice's books, but I now have an actual interest in possibly doing so, thanks to the 1994 movie and the musical. Am I planning on going out and reading them right away? Probably not right this second, what with school and everything. But whereas before this weekend I'd never have even thought of picking up one of these books, I can now see myself doing so sometime in the future.

So anyways, it all started with Youtube, the evil sucker of time. I was looking something up, and I sumbled quite by acident onto a clip from the '94 film "Interview With the Vampire". So I watch the scene, in which Claudia (played by a 10-year-old Kirsten Dunst) argues heatedly with Louis (Brad Pitt), and I though to myself, Huh. This is kind of interesting. And wouldn't you know, some evil person has uploaded the entire film on Youtube? So I somehow mysteriously end up watching the whole thing from start to finish. What can I say? I am weak, and cannot help myself, and I shall never ever learn.

Parts of the film were weird and icky and gross, but then other parts were very strongly and strangely compelling. Especially the character of Claudia, the eternally ageless vampire child, whom I found really tragic and fascinating. And boy did Dunst do an awesome job of portraying a person of great age as such a young actress, not to mention Claudia's intense pain and anger. I don't think I've seen Dunst act better in any other role she's taken on since. Brad Pitt was also awesome as Louis. (Who knew the sexiest man alive could look so delicate - all flowing hair and big eyes. Me like.) My very favorite part of the movie *spoiler coming* was towards the end when Louis rejects Armand after Claudia's death. I shall not deny that a part of me was saying Boo ya! In your face, Armand, take that! Sooooo, anyways. For the record, I'll also say that I thought Antonio Banderas was poorly cast as Armand, and although Tom Cruise did very well as Lestat his character was way too creepy and gross for me. All in all, the film went a little too over the top at points, but nevertheless managed to pull me in and make me care.

So, I watch the movie and end up getting pretty into it. But wait, there's more. Youtube's not quite finished with me yet, oh no, because one of the 'related videos' that pops up on the side of the page is a bootleg from the musical version, Lestat. I just so happen to be a musical theatre fan, so here we go again. Turns out, the show draws a lot from at least one other book in the series in addition to Interview, so there was a lot in it I didn't fully appreciate. It got pretty horrible reviews, and closed early on Broadway (although that doesn't always mean anything), but there were a few scenes/songs that I really liked. The best, in my opinion, was "I Want More", sung by Claudia. (She is the best character, after all. Great performance by Allison Fischer, by the way.) I also liked "I'll Never Have That Chance", "Kill Your Kind", and "After All This Time". The score's by Elton John, whose musicals in my opinion tend to range from bland to beautiful, but HE NEVER RELEASED THE SOUNDTRACK. It was recorded by the cast, but its release was postponed indefinitely and, as far as I can tell, no real reason was given for this. That was three years ago. Wtf? Grr, arrg, frustration. Oh, well. In scouring the internet for some kind of clue, the only thing I managed to find was a partial press demo of some of the songs from the live try out runs in San Francisco. Totally not good enough.

So thank you Youtube. Thank you for sucking up a significant portion of my weekend and giving me one more thing to be all fan-y about, and for seeing to it that I spend my entire Sunday with "I Want More" stuck in my head. I hope you're happy.

Memories of Inu Yasha, and of falling in love with manga

Ugh, school’s been a bitch recently. I don’t know when all the professors got together and decided that March was the new April, but it’s starting to tick me off. My course load was just as heavy last term, but I don’t remember being this swamped in the first half of the semester. Sigh, it’s almost as if they wanted me to actually learn stuff. They can be like that sometimes. Anyways, enough whining for now.

Inu Yasha (by Rumiko Takahashi, creator of Ranma ½, One Pound Gospel, Maison Ikkoku and others) is a series that I’ve read most of, but own very little of. I never buy the new ones when they come out (the series is really long and it’s been quite a while since I’ve read it), but I recently acquired the first four volumes in a trade, and I really enjoyed rereading them. It evoked pretty strong feelings of nostalgia for me because Inu Yasha was basically like my first manga love from way back when. So rather than try to review these first four volumes, or even (God forbid) the series as a whole, I’d like to reminisce a bit about what it was like to get sucked into the wonderful and strange world of manga when I was just a clueless kid.

I don’t remember exactly how old I was, but I think I was in middle school. It was summer vacation, and I’d stayed up watching television after everyone else in my family had gone to bed. Flicking randomly through the channels, it was the anime version of Inu Yasha, playing on Adult Swim, that captured and held my attention, probably because it just seemed so strange to me at the time. What exactly was this weird, un-cartoonlike cartoon? And why was it so intriguing? I don’t think I even really knew what anime was at that point, and I certainly hadn’t any interest in it. To me, anime was Pokemon and Yu-gi-oh, and it was for boys. But this Inu Yasha stuff was way different, and became almost immediately engrossed in the story. When the half-hour episode ended, the story was cut off abrubtly. I stayed up the next night to watch the continuation, but I didn’t talk about it to my parents or to any of my siblings.

It didn’t take long for my piqued interest to make the connection between the anime and the funny little backwards books in the back of the bookstore. So the next time the weather was nice, I asked my mother if I could go for a bike ride. I rode to the nearest Barnes and Noble, found the Inu Yasha books, and started at the very beginning. I read for hours, and I came back the next day. I came back as often as I could. I think my mom was vaguely pleased that I’d taken such an interest in bike riding. For my part, I liked the manga of Inu Yasha even better than the anime. I loved the art, the demon/ghost mythology, the backdrop of feudal Japan, the romance. I found it all irresistibly new and different and appealing.

I think I read over twenty volumes of Inu Yasha in that way, without anyone buy myself being the wiser. (I don’t even know why didn’t share any of this with anyone, but I think it has a lot to do with the fact that from the very beginning I always had the distinct sense that manga and anime weren’t exactly mainstream, and a part of my kid self didn’t want to admit that I liked it. There was a reason that Inu Yasha only played on TV after midnight, at least that’s how I saw it. I’ve always had a secretive, reclusive streak in me and this just really brought it out.) Although my obsession with Inu Yasha eventually died down a bit, though not before I’d read all the volumes in the bookstore, I wouldn’t soon forget the experience. From then on, manga has always been an interest of mine, which has grown with me over the years and which I don’t think will go away anytime soon.

Given our history together, I probably am not capable of judging this series with anything resembling objectivity. I know that it’s flawed, of course. The plot becomes very repetitive and endlessly cyclical as the series goes on, and it drags on way too long. Yet it was so thoroughly captivating for me when I first encountered it that I’ve never been able to regard it with anything less than fondness and affection. As the first manga I ever read and truly loved, I think it’ll always hold a very special place in my heart, and, now, on my shelf.