Fun With Chemistry

So some crazy nuts with too much time on their hands in the chemistry department at the University of Kentucky have found a way to blend their two loves: comic books and, you guessed it, chemistry. They set out through decades of old comic books, searching for references to every element in the periodic table and put them up on their crazy website. According to the very excited patron at the library who told me about this yesterday, one of the hardest ones for them was the element Yttrium, but some writers for the 2001 comic book Star Trek: Dividid We Fall heard of their plight and included it in the series.

The site's pretty fun. You can search, of course, by your favorite element (calcium, anyone?). But you can also search by comic book, character, or pretty much any search term your brain can come up with. They also have links to some real science info on the web, so it's not all about being silly. Not surprisingly Metamorpho, a superhero who can alter the chemical makeup of his own body, makes a number of appearances, as do Superman, Ironman, and the Metal Men. But they really dug through some obscure stuff to fill out the periodic table. They are by no means done, but it's a fun if somewhat odd way to experience science.

Excelsior.

Review: A War of Gifts by Orson Scott Card

Set in the war-torn future of Card’s acclaimed Ender’s Game series, the focus for this short novella A War of Gifts moves from the series hero to Zeck, son of an abusive fundamentalist preacher. Zeck’s phenomenal abilities for memorization and judging a situation make him an ideal candidate for the International Fleet’s Battle School, an academy that trains boys to be brilliant military leaders in an ongoing interstellar war. Despite his mental aptitudes, Zeck proves an unwilling pupil when he refuses to participate in battle simulations, claiming them to be against the pacifism of his religion. This clash of personal religion vs. duty to society comes up early on, when Zeck is first "recruited".

Children have no religion," said the stranger. "That's why we take them so young---before they have been fully indoctrinated in any ideology."
"So you can indoctrinate them in yours," said Father.
"Exactly," said the man. p 22

Zeck's beliefs make him a pariah within the school, pushing him to cry foul when he sees two Dutch students quietly celebrate Christmas---or Sinterklaas Day---by exchanging satirical poems. This kicks off a cultural revolt, pitting students of different religions against each other and against the school in the name of religious freedom. Ender himself plays a small but pivotal role in the end of the story by confronting Zeck and forcing him to deal with the dark issues of his past.
I'll be honest, I wasn't sure what to think when I got this in the mail to review. The whole concept of a Sci-fi Christmas Story left me a little worried. Also, I've never read Card. For whatever reason he's one of those many authors I've just never picked up. But he handles it all well; what could easily have turned into an all-too-sweet mess developed into a thoughtful parable about religious freedom, cultural differences and knowing yourself.

Reader reviews on Amazon and other places claim Card put out this little novella---a slim, 128 page volume---to meet publisher deadlines. But I think what they are reacting to is not so much the thinness of the book but Card's approach; Sci-Fi purists will likely be let down by the lack of technology and big-scale military drama Card is often associated with. The overall approach here is one of a character-driven drama and not one based on intricate plots and Sci-Fi concepts. While this might disappoint some fans, it has a chance of drawing in readers who wouldn't otherwise pick up a Card novel.

Excelsior

Review: Dark Warrior Rising by Ed Greenwood

Ed Greenwood's new novel Dark Warrior Rising delivers a fantasy world heavily inspired by Norse mythology; dark elves known as Niflghar control a vast underground kingdom of pleasure and magic. Stolen from the surface world as a small child and forced to live as a slave under Niflghar rule, Orivon Firefist has grown into a skilled blacksmith and the most important servant for the beautiful yet cruel Lady Taerune Evendoom. When violence erupts in the city Taerune loses an arm and, because of her newfound ugliness, is banished by the beauty-worshipping Niflghar.

Although Orivon has dreamed of revenge since a small child he instead chooses to kidnap Taerune and forces her to guide him back to his home on the surface. On the run from skilled hunters and vicious monsters, the two must trust each other long enough to get through the dangers of the tunnels and to the freedom that waits for them above ground. A number of side-plots develop as different Niflghar families and even members within the same family use the chaos as an opportunity to raise their political stature by killing off rivals.

Greenwood is most widely known as the creator of the Forgotten Realms roleplaying universe (that’s old-school D&D, folks), and he puts his worldbuilding skills to wonderful use here. The system of magic has clear rules and the complex politics between families wonderfully heighten the dramatic tension throughout the novel. Although he tries to work in some minor sexual tension between Orivon and Taerune, it’s obvious it won’t come to be so it’s really no tension at all.

It reminds me of nothing more than Robert E. Howard’s Conan series----the basic events, the way he uses the language, the almost uncompromising dourness of the world all come together in a similar fashion. This dark, often grim tale doesn’t work in humor or romance, so while this action-packed novel will definitely satisfy fans of traditional sword-and-sorcery, unlike many other titles coming out these days it offers little to draw in readers who usually shy away from fantasy.

Excelsior

Now That's Classy

So several years ago Laphroaig, one of the world's premier makers of scotch whiskey, had this offer for fans. If you filled out a survey, they sent a certificate naming you a "part-owner". It's basically a fan club for the peaty drink, but if you show up at their factory with the membership certificate in-hand you are entitled one free dram of scotch a year. I figured what the hell, signed myself up and made it a Christmas present for all the fellow scotch drinkers I knew at the time----my dad, my uncle, my grandpa, and two friends I had at work at the time.

A few years ago the company started sending small holiday gifts. We've gotten cards, tree ornaments, recipes, and a bunch of other random things loosely associated with Laphroaig. But this year they topped themselves.

Yes, that's right. This year they sent out official Laproaig lapel pins! It's probably too small to read, but under the "L" logo it reads "Spirited Folk of Oak and Smoke". I might wear mine next time I visit my dad and see if he has his on. We'll be one big dorky family of scotch drinkers.

I can't believe how excited I am by this. I really don't care what else I get for holiday gifts this year.

Excelsior.

Pratchett News

I heard about this from one of my colleagues at the library. Terry Pratchett, author of the mega-popular Discworld series, has been diagnosed with a form of early onset Alzheimer's. This doesn't by any means suggest the end of his career, just a change to it. Having seen one relative go through Alzheimer's and now witnessing another go through dementia, I really feel for him, his family and his friends.

You can read a copy of Pratchett's official letter about this here. I'm amazed, and somewhat awed, that he's able to write this with his trademark touch of humor.

Excelsior.

Metro, Why Have You Spurned Me So?

Damn Metro

I was flying high earlier today. We finished up the group project on disaster plans for my University Libraries class, and I was feeling pretty good about it. I spent most of last night editing, streamlining and honing what we had and I think we had a pretty good paper set to hand in. On top of that, I was feeling pretty good about the presentation we had to make on the topic as well.

I left for class a good hour early. Sometimes metro gets spiteful and things can take 30 minutes or so longer than you plan on. It often happens when you least want it to, and I wanted to make sure I was on campus in plenty of time. Unfortunately an hour wasn't nearly enough of a buffer today.

I was happily sitting in my seat on the train, half reading an old interview with Mark Leyner and half watching the scenery flit by. The driver's voice came over the load speakers and I heard the least favorite words of metro commuters around the world, "I've just received reports of a suspicious package at the Pentagon Metro stop. We can't go any farther than Pentagon City. Any passengers wanting to go downtown can catch a free shuttle bus."

I shrugged my shoulders and thought I'd still be ok. But when I came out of the metro stop instead of finding a shuttle ready to take me downtown I found a writhing, angry mob full of people ready to be just about anywhere but that street corner. There were probably three train-fulls of people there, and more filing in behind me.

Shuttles were provided, but only about every 20 minutes. Each one barely made a dent in the crowd. And for some reason every other shuttle was going south instead north, the way to downtown. No one seemed to understand that, not even the metro employees doing what little they could to keep a frustrated mob informed. After an hour or so, I made it half-way through the mass of people. Only another hour of waiting and salvation would be mine. Fortunately, the trains started run soon after that and I finally made it to campus.

Long story short, I eventually made it. A ride that normally takes an hour and fifteen minutes took three and half hours. Thanks to a quick phone call to Miss L, I was able to get an email to the other two people in my group and they were very nice about the whole thing. I made it just in time to be the last group make a presentation and it went pretty well, despite my bedraggled look and spent emotions when I first got there.

Why am I blogging about this? I have no idea. I just know these metro problems have been hitting me more frequently the last few months than they ever did when I rode metro every day. But you never realize how much you depend on things like public transportation to work until they fail. We humans really are quite hopeless little creatures.

Ah well. One more paper to go. This one's an annotated bibliography on reference sources for science fiction. So hopefully this one will be fun.

Excelsior.

Review: Weirdling by Mike Dubisch

Weirdling is the perfect name for this odd but well executed sci-fi horror from Mike Dubisch. It tells the story of Anna Mandretta, a shipmate on a submarine far in the future. Mandretta, her ship and fellow crewmates all float through the dark, nightmarish oceans on a distant planet. Earth in this future is at war with the Xax, an alien species with technology and ways mankind doesn't really understand. The stress is palpable on the ship and it's obvious that everyone onboard is terrified of the inhuman aliens they are sworn to fight.

In their downtime hours Mandretta and the rest relax by smoking pot----both alcohol and tobacco are outlawed in this future, but there's cannabis aplenty---and logging plenty of hours with a lucid dreaming device that makes dreams feel as sharp are reality. It's this dreaming reality that becomes the second part of the story.

In Anna's dreams she's a doctor in Victorian England. We see her operating on a baby with tumor on its head that's slowing becoming a mouth---quite possibly the most terrifying image of the whole book. Anna is unable to save the boy, but the the boy's father doesn't seem upset or even disappointed. He apparently believes his son will come back to life and usher in a new age for an ancient god and that Anna is to play a major part in the god's return.

As the stories flip back and forth, paranoia plays a major part as both Anna and the readers question which reality is the one to believe in. The real fun begins, though, when the two stories bleed into each other. People from one reality start appearing in the other, and a good number of connections develop between the Xax in the sci-fi world and the demon-god in the Victorian world. Both stories twist into each other fairly well, with no hanging pieces left unattached to the main story.

The sci-fi elements, in general, are stronger than the Victorian-style horror, which owes a lot to Lovecraft. While I happily sit on the first pew at the church of HP Lovecraft, Dubisch doesn't bring in a lot to freshen up the old ideas. The Sci-fi sections certainly has its strong influences as well, particulary Philip K. Dick, but the story here is built up more so it feels both within in the tradition of PKD but also totally new. I suppose you could argue that since the sci-fi world is the real world in this story it should be the one that's more developed, but the tale could have worked in deeper layers if both sides were covered with equal depth.

Dubisch's artwork is a bit different from most comics of today. The backgrounds are highly detailed, while pieces in the foreground often more sketchy. The more terrifying moments often dip into psychedelia to highlight the terror. I personally love the artwork. It pulls directly out of the visual styles of the old horror zines of the 50's and 60's. Having seen the work in his new collection as well as his website, I've seen that he's capable of a broad range of styles. I have to think that it's purposeful.

Overall Dubisch delivers a well crafted comic with high appeal for fans of old-school sci-fi and horror comics. What he's created, while not entirely fresh is a blending of forms lovers of the old style of even aficionados of indie comics will love. I'm not sure, though, how much this can draw in readers more used to the big 2 of comics. But then I don't think that's who this book is for anyway.

Excelsior.

Status=Sleepy

I'm sleepy today because last after work and after dinner I did a stupid thing. Instead of working on any one of my still pending projects for grad school, I picked up young adult horror novel.

Darren Shan's Lord Loss, book one in his still ongoing Demonata series. I'm not going to do a full on review because, frankly, it's a bestseller and doesn't really need the publicity. But the damn thing grabbed me and wouldn't let go. It was a lot of fun, and I blasted through the 250 pages in about three hours.

When I was in sixth grade---probably about the right age for this novel---I had a fire in my bedroom right before Christmas. No one was hurt, but I spent the next several months sleeping on the sofa in the basement while my bedroom was repaired. I had just gotten into the wonderfully creepy books of John Bellairs. Reading them freaked me out. Reading things like The House with the Clock in it's Walls at night, I kept hearing noises and seeing shadows that weren't there, but I kept reading anyway. I had to know what happened. It's why I read so much as a kid and, at least partly, why I keep reading now.

After English classes and a writing program it's easy to forget that novels aren't always about deep character development, powerful themes and poetic prose. Sometimes they're just meant to be enjoyed, and critics and reviewers---myself included---forget that sometimes. I think that's part of why I like comics so much. They tend to pull me into the story in a more immediate way than most novels can do.

Anyway, reviews and other madness coming as the demon lord of grad school papers permits.

Excelsior

Review: Morbid Curiosity by Mike Dubisch

You may not know it, but if you've ever picked up a horror or sci-fi magazine in the last twenty years, chances are you've seen the artwork of Mike Dubisch. Throw in all the Illustrations for book covers and graphic novels he's created and Dubisch lines up as one of the more unique artists in the field. His new book Morbid Curiosity collects the best of his black and white illustration work.

One of the great things about a book like this is you get a real sense for how an artist evolves over time. The book opens with The End of History, a contest winner that appeared in Asimov's back in 1986. It's a great starter image for the book, showing immediately that he possessed a high level of talent and a keen eye for dramatic illustration. While it shows the strong influence of his predescessors---Wrightson, Corben, Frazetta, and more---it has hints of a vision all his own.

The End of History

The work become more distinctive as the book moves on. Bode Turtle Soldier is a strange humanization of a simple animal blended into something more.It doesn't take long for the work to give a stronger sense of his own personality. Mad Scientist---with a long neck and, heavy head, and maniacal smile---shows a twisted caricature of man. It's done so well that you don't even need the title to know what the crazy portrait represents.

Bode Turtle Soldier

Mad Scientist

The book continues with page after fantastic page of strange biomorphic images, terrifying monsters, sexy aliens, and other playfully dark twistings of form. overall we see a strong sense of line, a vivid imagination, and a love of experimentation. The illustrations take on a narrative quality, each one moving beyond the confines of simple illustration and transforming into a snapshot of the surreal imaginings inside Dubisch's mind.

The Survivalist

The images here in my review have been cropped and edited slightly to fit the narrow confines of the blog format. If you like what you see here, you'll find higher quality images on his website and, of course, in his book. Later this week I'll be reviewing Wierdling, a graphic novel Dubisch both wrote and drew.

Excelsior.

If It's Mid-November, It Must be Paper Season

I've been quiet this week because I've been struggling to figure out what I'm doing for all my papers and projects will be for my library school classes this week.

First on deck, due the Thursday after Thanksgiving, is a 20 page research paper that uses at least 5 academic journals as sources. Although I'm still pulling the ideas together, I'm doing social networking sites and how they are being used in academic libraries. Fortunately, it's an area I'm interested in. For the most part what I've seen libraries doing is using social networking tools as portals to get to already existing tools on websites. I'm hoping I find some examples that step beyond that. At least at the moment I'll be focusing on Myspace, Facebook and Second Life.

Due the following Thursday, I have a group paper/presentation on disaster plans----not my choice. I realize it's important, but it's fairly boring research. One person in our group took the task of a small case study of the University of Maryland's policies while I'm doing the broader background research on the topic. A third person is putting the presentation all together.

The third paper is due the Monday after that. This is for my Humanities Research class, and I've been debating back and forth about what I want to do. Basically we have to research and write an annotated bibliography of sources for a particular area of research. I initially wanted to create a bibliography for avant pop, a lit movement that ran from the mid 90's and into the early 21st century. It involves a lot of my favorite writers (Kathy Acker, Stephen Shaviro, Lance Olsen, and more), but the problem is that most of the sources are online. My prof wanted no more than 1/2 of the sources we use be online, so that one was out. My next impulse was to create one for Cyberpunk. But after spending four hours in the library last night, I decided to broaden it to Sci-Fi in general. It should be fairly easy to pull together. I definitely plan on doing one for avant pop at some point---I'm sad to say it doesn't even have a wikipedia entry. But in the interest of time and ease for my paper, the broader topic makes more sense at this point.

Anyway, I'm catching up on reviews for the magazine as well, so I should have some appearing here over the next several days as well. Until next time...

Excelsior

The Death of Norman Mailer

I heard the news on NPR on the way in to work this morning. Norman Mailer dead at 84. Sad to say I haven't read much by him. One of those authors I've meant to read for some time, but just hadn't managed to get to yet. I'll talk to my bosses here at the library and see if they'll let me throw a quick book display together.

Excelsior

Review: Dark Reflections by Samuel Delany

I almost decided not to write review of any kind for Samuel Delany's most recent novel, Dark Reflections. Not because I didn't like it---I loved it. But it came out about a year ago and received pretty favorable reviews in both the Washington Post and the New York Times. But the more I dug around for opinions on the book the less I found. Review mags like Rain Taxi, which usually do a good job at picking out works like this, pretty much ignored it. And with the exception of a thoughtful review by Steven Shaviro, most of the comments online are by sf fans who are peeved that it's not an sf novel.

In short, the novel is a biographical portrait of Arnold Hawley, a gay, black poet living in NY City. It's structure is mildly experimental; the novel is broken into three sections, each exploring a different period of his life and moving backwards in time. Each section could easily work as a strong novella, but together they create a moving image of a unique man.

The opening section focuses on his late adult life. Although I could paraphrase it for you, it's probably best to have it laid out in Delany's own words:

In 1987's rainy October, when squirrels stopped, stared, then sprinted along the bench-backs away from the kids with the earrings, combat boots, and dog collars, who for more than fifteen years now had been hanging out in Tompkins Square Park, Arnold's sixth book of poems, Beleaguered Fields, won the Alfred Proctor Prize---an award given once every three years that concerned a small circle of New York poets and men and women of letters. In the late afternoon of the day he received the news, as he walked home through the park, a wind gusted among the wet leaves, for moments making a rising roar, like the cheer of thousands.....Arnold smiled....acknowledging playfully the world's recognition. (3)

The Proctor Prize allows Arnold to quit the civil servant job he hates and take a teaching position at a small college---where he happily works with a small cut in salary. The section moves forward to his retirement years later, and we see Arnold struggle with the odd hypocrisies of the publishing world when he's asked to write a blurb for a young up-and-coming poet putting out work he doesn't respect.

The second section focuses on Arnold's life in his thirties, and his brief marriage to a suicidal homeless woman. The third section moves back further to his late twenties and his early days in college fighting with the realization that he's gay. We see some powerful scenes where he's disturbingly attracted to a well hung but mentally challenged man. Against all better judgement Arnold follows his desire into a run down section of New York, but when he's finally given the opportunity to explore his sexuality he runs away.

Although poetry isn't quite the focus with these other two sections, writing is still a vital part of the story. He meets his wife while writing a poem on a park bench, and we see some lovely moments of his life when he's inspired to write. Much of his daily struggle centers around finding that balance between making a living and following his dream to publish brilliant poems. Arnold is a man who lives, breathes and loves poetry and, although Arnold is very different from Delany, it's hard not to think of Delany himself at these moments.

As much as sex is a part of this novel, Arnold is confoundingly asexual. A number of Delany's books, Hogg especially, are noted for their strong pornographic scenes. Dark Reflections features pimps graphically pitching their wares, poetic descriptions of homo-erotic photography, and a number of other bizarre situations. The moments he gets closest to experiencing sex, something outlandish occurs that puts an end to it: his wife commits suicide, he thinks he's caught in a blackmail scheme, etc, etc. And while we know as readers that Arnold has had sex, we never actually see him having sex. This seems important to the novel somehow, although I'm not quite smart enough to figure out exactly why.

One thing at the novel's core is how Arnold continually explores his identity as a gay, black poet and questions what it means. He's a black man who enjoys country music, and gay man who doesn't pursue sex, and a poet who explores themes beyond the normal bounds of what it means to black and gay. It makes Arnold more than a character; it makes him a human dreaming the dream to be what he can despite the obstacles thrown in front of him. It's this thread of the novel that ties it together, makes everything work, and brings what's probably Delany's most accessible novel in years.

Tor or any other major SF publisher would likely pull a dumptruck full of money to Delany's home if he ever broke down and wrote the SF novel fans of Babel-17 and Stars in My Pocket Like Grains of Sand clamor for. Instead what we get is the novel Delany wanted to write, and a beautiful one it is.

Excelsior

Standing Up for Joyce

There's this woman in both of my classes this semester who drives me nuts. Whether it's just before class or during a break she spends her whole time complaining about or ridiculing everyone and everything in her life. Her professors aren't good teachers. Her classmates can't write well. Her coworkers aren't well read. And on and on.

Most of the people she talks about I don't know, but a few I do know. Up till now i've always kept my mouth shut. So what actually prompted me to speak up against her? Who was her target today? A close friend of mine? A professor I admire?

No.

Her target today was James Joyce.

She's apparently taking a class outside the Library Science program on Joyce's Ulysses. She was talking about it offhandedly to the professor for my class tonight, that she didn't understand why it's considered such a high point in literature. She said she didn't like the style, didn't like the writing and she had a hard time believing that Joyce was friends with Hemingway when they were both in Paris.

"Well, they were both out-of-towners in the pretty snobby art world of Paris," I said. "They probably needed the comraderie. And I think they were both able to appreciate one another's writing, even if their styles are vastly different."

She just shrugged her shoulders, and everything probably would have been fine if I left it at that. But I opened my big mouth again and tripped over my own big fat tongue.

"But I guess I can understand your feelings because I don't really care for Hemingway much," I said.

Her face snapped into my direction. "What...you don't like Hemingway?"

"No, not really," I said. "His characters have never seemed like people to me. They've always felt more like props for his ideas. Especially his women."

She then rattled off three or four stories to combat my opinion. I shrugged and said, "Sorry. I just don't like him."

I was very careful to stress that it was my opinion, that I didn't feel that people couldn't like him. But, whether it was my words or simply that I was contesting her own opinion, she took it personally. She glared at me the rest of the period and, after awhile, I started to feel guilty. I don't know why, I just did.

What's the point of all of this? I have no idea. I do wonder why, of all people, the person I stood up for was a dead Irish author.

Excelsior.

Today, for whateve reason, is write your own epitaph day. So now is your chance to dream and tout all those things you plan on doing before you die. There are a bunch of different approaches you can take.Do you prefer the elegiac mode, like Oscar Wilde:

"ALIEN TEARS WILL FILL FOR HIM

PITY'S LONG-BROKEN ERN,

FOR HIS MOURNERS WILL BE OUTCAST MEN,

AND OUTCASTS ALWAYS MOURN".

Or, perhaps, one based more upon anger and retribution. such as the epitaph of Jesse James:

"MURDERD (sic) BY A TRAITOR AND A COWARD WHOSE

NAME IS NOT WORTHY TO APPEAR HERE"


If I come up with something fun, I'll repost this later with my own.

Excelsior.

On My Comic Book High Horse

Comics blogger Jog has an interesting write up/reaction to New Engineering, a wild looking collection of Manga by Yuichi Yokoyama. After describing the nearly plotless content of the book filled with continual battle scenes and bizarre landscapes, Jog gets into a nice little discussion on the expectations of US readers of manga.

It's Naruto's library of symbols, stripped of warmth and purpose, and turned into something... else.

So, in essence, it's the style of Manga, using sweat drops and nose bleeds aplenty. but it's Manga knocked on its butt until it's doing something else. Sounds pretty cool to me. But this speaks a lot to the US perception of comics and cartoons in general; Sandman and Fun Home aside, mainstream media still hasn't embraced the idea that comics aren't just brain candy for kids. Probably every couple of weeks someone I work with at the library will ask me, "So...I know you read books, too. What's the point with all these graphic novels?"

I just shake my head. What people continually seem to confuse is that they relate comics to their idea of genre, while it's really a medium that can tell all the same kinds of stories told entirely through text (and even some that you can't tell through text). Sci-fi, super-heroes, romance, humor, somber tales of regret, even experimental fiction like Karasik & Mazzucchelli's wonderful adaption of Paul Auster's City of Glass. It's not the tools used but what's done with them that matters.

I admit I'm biased, though. And I have been checking out a lot of fluffy ones lately, mostly because they provide a much needed break from all the academic papers I have to read for my classes. Just try not to look at me with too much scorn when I check out an issue of One Piece, a Chris Ware Lit-comic, and the latest Jonathan Lethem novel all at the same time. I enjoy it all.

Excelsior

Thoughts on the Bus

I had a very long metro ride home from class tonight. Someone apparently smelled or spotted smoke (I'm not sure which, I heard both versions) at Union Station just after I got on at the Brookland/CUA stop. Just two stops down, at New York Ave, they made everyone get off the train and told us the tracks were closed down for the next few stops. We'd have to catch a shuttle bus to Union Station and then transfer to a second one to take us to a metro station that was actually open.

So I waited about twenty minutes, packed into a bus, and went on my way. It wasn't too bad. People complained. People yelled. I didn't have to be anywhere at at certain time, so I didn't really care. Since I was standing the whole time I couldn't read. So I put on my Ipod, hit shuffle and tapped my foot throughout the whole journey.

Now I've had this idea tucked in the back of my head for a teen novel. All I really know about it is that it's set in a high school and the main character thinks he's a ninja. I haven't decided yet if he really is or not, but he at least thinks he is. But standing there in those crowded busses and metro trains, ideas and even full scenes started to and swirl around and even gel in my head. I'm sure some people thought I was crazy, standing on the bus just chuckling at my own thoughts.

There's no main conflict yet, but now I'm thinking about doing it for NaNoWriMo next month. I'm still undecided. I'd like to do it, but between the Holidays and all the projects for school we'll have to see. I'll probably start up on on November 1 and just see what happens.

Excelsior

Jury Duty

Yesterday I had my first experience with jury duty. Well, almost.

Several months ago I got a friendly questionaire from the US District Court. Mostly it asked me about my job, how close I lived to the nearest court house (about ten miles) and a few other boring questions. Maybe a month ago I got a little packet that my time to serve had finally arrived. A lot of people do whatever they can to avoid jury duty. But I was (and still am) looking forward to participating. I had dreams of Twelve Angry Men level events in my head, or at least events as dramatic as the episode of Andy Griffith where Aunt Bea has to decide if Jack Nicholson stole a t.v. set or not.

They send you all kinds of rules before you get there. They tell you what to wear (dark-colored business suits) and give you a list of things you can't bring with you: cell phones, cameras, pda's, magazines, newspapers, books, and so on. You can't even bring pen/pencil and paper to take notes. They don't want anything to distract you at all from the trial, I guess.

I got to the court a little early, which was good because I witnessed another potential juror get turned away for showing up in flip-flops and sweat pants. After signing in, I was directed into a room with rows and rows of chairs and told to wait. I would be called by my official juror number if/when they needed to speak to me.

It wasn't exactly the most diverse room. With a couple of exceptions, they were all white, and probably 2/3 were male. Nearly everyone was complaining about having to be there. The most entertaining/annoying guy was the man I dubbed The Pacer. The Pacer was probably in his mid-forties, tall and slender and his hair just starting to enter those changes from black to gray. The whole time I was there he walked back and forth, back and forth, often touching his fingers to his lips as he paced. I'm pretty sure if they allowed smoking in Federal buildings he would have been, and he probably would have sucked down a whole pack in no time. Every few minutes he would mutter something about not having his Blackberry.

From time to time some court official would come in, call out a number and take a juror away. Sometimes the juror came back, sometimes they didn't. The whole time I was there, I kept thinking about Schrödinger's cat. That poor cat put in a steel box, waiting for someone to open up the lid so it would know if it was alive or dead. Would I get to take part in a trial, or would they send me home?

I sat there about an hour and half until my number was finally called. They pulled me into a smaller room and I sat down with a man who said he was a lawyer. He asked me questions about finance law, whether or not I invest in the stock market, and what I felt about insider trading. I was sent back, and waited for another hour. When my number was called again, they told me to go home and call back on Friday to see if they wanted me to come in next week.

So I'm a cat, still waiting in that box for someone to tell me my fate. We'll see what happens on Friday.

Excelsior

Review: Scalped Vol 1: Indian Country by Jason Aaron and R.M. Guera

Comics author Jason Aaron has a gift for building stories around the still-healing wounds of American history and culture. His comic The Other Side explores the horrors of the Vietnam War; with his gritty Native American crime series Scalped Aaron explores the grim conditions "on the rez".

After running away from his home on the Prairie Rose reservation at age 13, Dashiell Bad Horse returns fifteen years later, making trouble everywhere he goes. Bad Horse comes to the attention of the local crime lord, a ruthless and conniving man named Lincoln Red Crow who immediately puts Bad Horse to work as a tribal cop on his personal payroll. On the surface Bad Horse works as Red Crow’s muscle, stamping out competitors that threaten Red Crow’s hold on the tribe and silencing a contingent of protestors who oppose the developing casino that will increase Red Crow’s wealth ten-fold. But we learn early on that Bad Horse is a federal agent working undercover to bring down Red Crow and his criminal empire. Tensions increase when both a former girlfriend and Bad Horse’s mother question his return to Prairie Rose.

The basic plot owes a lot to typical mob stories, complete with an unflinching portrayal of violence, prostitution and drug abuse. The action and plotting are sharp enough to satisfy most any fan of edgy gang-style tales. Setting the story on a reservation, though, allows Aaron to explore these ideas in a fresh manner. What he has going for him is the unique palette he can draw from to build his story. It has the potential to say a lot about current perceptions of native americans and how they play into racism, culture and history.

Artist R.M. Guera's a pretty successful veteran of European comics, and his coming from that tradition really shows. The bold lines and frenetic panels to highlight the blood-and-bullets style of action. He also makes use of the western landscape, creating dramatic desert scenes that build up the tension and alienation felt throughout the story. The one real criticism I have is the way he draws faces---they are at times a bit too abstract for me. A number of characters run together visually and it's not until I read dialogue that I always knew who they were.

The real danger of this series, however, is how Aaron is playing into stereotypes. While the stereotypes are twisted into modern forms we still see a culture built around violence, drugs and extreme sexual appetites. Unfortunately, the negatives aren't balanced with any positive figures. Although a hero of sorts, Bad Horse is still pretty unlikeable; he's perpetually angry at everyone for everything and he expresses it with extreme violence.

In an interview with Silver Bullet, Aaron states that his "goal with Scalped is to make all the characters sympathetic, even the most villainous. Red Crow, in a lot of ways, will become the most sympathetic". If the story moves in a way that redeems some of these characters, a lot of the criticism will likely be turned around into praise. We see hints of this with part two of this collection. A chapter dubbed “Hoka Hey” works in layers of flashbacks, hinting at stronger development of both character and theme as the series continues. After all the flying bullets and slamming fists, that's what will keep me coming back to this series and I hope I see it.

Excelsior.

Lethem Reading

The Jonathan Lethem reading I went to Friday---the closing event for this year's Fall for the Book Celebration at GMU---was a lot of fun. A staff member of the event----who (ahem) didn't introduce himself at all---opened the event by stating that Fall for the Book was about putting living writers on the same level as rock starts and using their event to give readers the chance to put a real face to the person behind the words. Lethem, in the writer-garb of the day with a sport coat, jeans and leather clogs, finally approached the stage and accepted the very first Mason Award, an award that celebrates "an author whose body of work has made extraordinary contributions to bringing literature to a wide reading public". Although no one said so, I took this as a nod to Lethem's skill at appropriating styles and themes from sci-fi, fantasy, crime fic and comic books to mainstream lit.

Lethem then launched into a reading of a short story entitled "The King of Sentences", a short story he had just finished with earlier that day. The story focuses on Clea and an unnamed narrator obsessed with words. By day they work together in a bookstore, looking down on their customers with complete disdain because they couldn't possibly understand the power and beauty of the books they were purchases with their paltry dollars. By night they read, write and pretty much achieve sexual gratification by exploring wonderfully constructed sentences. The pair decide to seek out their favorite writer, a reclusive older fellow living in upstate New York who we only know as The King of Sentences. This author reminded me a lot of J.D. Salinger, or at least what we know of Salinger: reclusive, irascible, and brilliant. It's a wacky piece and has a lot of fun with concepts like the powers of words, fandom, and the nature of a public image. I could easily see it fitting in at McSweeney's or some other equally irreverent lit mag.

Lethem stuck around for another 15 minutes or so to answer questions. I'd say about 2/3 of the audience was made of undergrads from George Mason University, many of whom recently read Lethem's novel Motherless Brooklyn for one of their literature classes. An odd choice, I thought---it does some interesting things but it's not my favorite novel of his. Anyway, several questions focuses on that novel. But other people asked him about other works, about the essay "The Ecstacy of Influence" he wrote for Harper's Magazine that attacks current laws and concepts of intellectual property, his thoughts on sci-fi, and if he sees himself as part of a "zeitgeist" of current male novelists who deal with similar subjects in similar ways (he doesn't).

I had a great time. There are still some things he said that are swirling around in my head---particularly the idea of creative influence---that I'll probably post about here after thinking on them some more. Until next time....

Excelsior

Moving Up?

Well I guess fame of my genius is finally spreading through the ranks of the library system. The higher-ups who run the website asked me to contribute an article for the Check it out feature. Basically I write short, bullet-style reviews for 8 titles that are based around a theme of my choice. Themes picked so far are things like Affairs of the Heart, Vintage Reading, and Murder, Mayhem and Simple Curiosity. The easiest thing would probably be good horror, with Halloween coming up and everything. New trends in Fantasy could be fun as well, promoting authors like China Mieville and Jeff Vandermeer. I'll troll the stacks a bit today if I have time. I hope this is a sign of good things to come for me, because I just applied to two job openings that would give me better experience than what I'm getting now.

Tonight after work I'll be hitting the Jonathan Lethem reading, the last reading for this year's Fall for the Book. Aside from reading, Lethem's also being honored with the 2007 Mason Award, an award that celebrates "an author whose body of work has made extraordinary contributions to bringing literature to a wide reading public". I'm sorry I didn't get to go to more at Fall for the Book this year, but I'm glad I'm getting to see Lethem. He's been one of my favorite writers for several years now and I know he's a good reader of his own work----not all writers are.

Anyway, if you're there, you know who I am and you see me say hi. If you don't know who I am, just starting saying hi to everyone.

Excelsior