3/20/09 - Review of Jonathan Hickman's "The Nightly News":
http://www.mycentraljersey.com/article/20090320/ENTERTAINMENT08/903200378/1091/ENTERTAINMENT09
3/27/09 - Review of Ed Brubaker's "Angel of Death":
http://www.mycentraljersey.com/article/20090329/ENTERTAINMENT08/903270334/1091/ENTERTAINMENT09
Sunday, March 29, 2009
Friday, March 27, 2009
Responsibility Verses Moral Indoctrination in “Twilight”
Before I began the reading assignment I knew practically nothing about either Stephanie Meyer or Twiglight, beyond the fact that the text had something to do with vampires and had caught the attention of a staggeringly large number of readers, including my 13 year old niece. My niece is typically a reluctant reader, and consequently her avid interest in this particular book became a foreground concern for my reading. I was curious, and looking forward to discovering what appealed to her about the novel, and what ideas the novel might me communicating or suggesting to her.
Very early in my reading, the latter of those points became my dominant and worrisome concern. Even if I put aside, at least for the moment, the issues of gender and sexual politics which we discussed extensively in class, there are several passages in the novel which reek of moral posturing that I marked in the course of my reading; here is one I found particularly troublesome:
“I knew I was far too stressed to sleep, so I did something I’d never done before. I deliberately took unnecessary cold medicine – the kind that knocked me out for a good eight hours. I normally wouldn’t condone that type of behavior in myself, but tomorrow would be complicated enough without me being loopy from sleep deprivation on top of everything else.”
I understand, of course, the need to exercise responsibility when composing a text for young readers, but if that’s the line of thinking behind the above passage, why include it at all? Meyer herself describes the scene as, “gratuitous drug use,” two paragraphs later, and in terms of plot, she’s right – the sequence is wholly unnecessary. The sole purpose of the passage is to present a backhanded condemnation of the act. There are similar passages which deal in like ways with drugs and alcohol, and, or course, sexuality and abstinence.
When I learned, after I’d finished the novel, that Meyer is a devout Mormon, it was a moment of revelation for me. I’ll attempt to tread lightly here, and let me make it clear that it is not my intention here to disparage the Mormon religion or condemn anyone for adhering to the tenants of their faith. Still, I disagree with the Mormon Church’s stance on a great many issues, including the use of substances and the importance of abstinence education. If one has a social responsibility not to celebrate or condone, for example, the use of drugs or alcohol in a novel intended for younger audiences, I would argue that the same responsibility extends to preaching rigid personal ideologies and demonizing experiences which are generally an essential part of the transition into adulthood. Frankly, I take offence at the fact that my niece and her peers are being preached to in such an under-handed way.
“At least their reading,” is a phrase I’ve heard often, particularly in regards to this text. The idea that it doesn’t matter what someone is reading as long as their engaging in some way with the written word is a popular one in my family, and one I’ve espoused myself. Yet, as I think over the strong female characters and moral complexity I encounter every week over the course of my regular television viewing, and contrast those elements against what I encountered in Twilight, I can honestly say I’d rather see my niece put the books down and plant herself in front of the tube.
Meyer, Stephanie. Twilight. New York, NY: Little, Brown and Company, 2006.
Very early in my reading, the latter of those points became my dominant and worrisome concern. Even if I put aside, at least for the moment, the issues of gender and sexual politics which we discussed extensively in class, there are several passages in the novel which reek of moral posturing that I marked in the course of my reading; here is one I found particularly troublesome:
“I knew I was far too stressed to sleep, so I did something I’d never done before. I deliberately took unnecessary cold medicine – the kind that knocked me out for a good eight hours. I normally wouldn’t condone that type of behavior in myself, but tomorrow would be complicated enough without me being loopy from sleep deprivation on top of everything else.”
I understand, of course, the need to exercise responsibility when composing a text for young readers, but if that’s the line of thinking behind the above passage, why include it at all? Meyer herself describes the scene as, “gratuitous drug use,” two paragraphs later, and in terms of plot, she’s right – the sequence is wholly unnecessary. The sole purpose of the passage is to present a backhanded condemnation of the act. There are similar passages which deal in like ways with drugs and alcohol, and, or course, sexuality and abstinence.
When I learned, after I’d finished the novel, that Meyer is a devout Mormon, it was a moment of revelation for me. I’ll attempt to tread lightly here, and let me make it clear that it is not my intention here to disparage the Mormon religion or condemn anyone for adhering to the tenants of their faith. Still, I disagree with the Mormon Church’s stance on a great many issues, including the use of substances and the importance of abstinence education. If one has a social responsibility not to celebrate or condone, for example, the use of drugs or alcohol in a novel intended for younger audiences, I would argue that the same responsibility extends to preaching rigid personal ideologies and demonizing experiences which are generally an essential part of the transition into adulthood. Frankly, I take offence at the fact that my niece and her peers are being preached to in such an under-handed way.
“At least their reading,” is a phrase I’ve heard often, particularly in regards to this text. The idea that it doesn’t matter what someone is reading as long as their engaging in some way with the written word is a popular one in my family, and one I’ve espoused myself. Yet, as I think over the strong female characters and moral complexity I encounter every week over the course of my regular television viewing, and contrast those elements against what I encountered in Twilight, I can honestly say I’d rather see my niece put the books down and plant herself in front of the tube.
Meyer, Stephanie. Twilight. New York, NY: Little, Brown and Company, 2006.
Sunday, March 15, 2009
Extra Medium - 3/13/09
My "Watchmen" review. I'd just like to clarify, the headline's declaration that "fans should be insulted" stems from my editor's interpretation of my review; personally, I think everyone should be insulted.
http://www.mycentraljersey.com/article/20090314/ENTERTAINMENT08/903130337/1091/ENTERTAINMENT09
http://www.mycentraljersey.com/article/20090314/ENTERTAINMENT08/903130337/1091/ENTERTAINMENT09
Tuesday, March 10, 2009
Extra Medium - 2/27/09
Top Cow Productions' "Pilot Season," and new strategies for a changing industry.
http://www.mycentraljersey.com/article/20090309/ENTERTAINMENT08/903060341/1091/ENTERTAINMENT09
http://www.mycentraljersey.com/article/20090309/ENTERTAINMENT08/903060341/1091/ENTERTAINMENT09
Thursday, March 5, 2009
Text and Memory in "The Road"
“Memories, like an old cassette, get hazier with every play.” That’s a line of mine, one I hadn’t thought about for some time when this poignant passage on memory from Cormac McCarthy’s “The Road” dragged it to the forefront:
“Memory of her crossing the lawn toward the house in the early morning in a thin rose gown that clung to her breasts. He thought each memory recalled must do some violence to its origins. As in a party game. Say the word and pass it on. So be sparing. What you alter in the remembering has yet a reality, known or not.”
My words are pulled from a song, literally a piece of a record, captured on magnetic tape and then vinyl, with the intent of posterity. I wanted to name the record “Ancient History,” but we called it “Historical Fiction” instead; in the end it was the more fitting title. The record sounds strange to me now, almost unfamiliar, a moment in time encoded in sounds and words.
Memory and text are concurrent themes in “The Road,” a reflection of their relationship in life. One can’t really exam to process of reading and writing, the roles of symbolism and significance in the written word, without considering the part they play in attempting to preserve recollections. Nor can one really set out to discuss the act of remembering without considering the ways we use words to construct fixed forms out of moments in time. Of the many passages in “The Road” which carefully weave these two themes together, two in particular stand out for me, both from the last few pages of the novel.
“He wanted to be able to see. Look around you, he said. There is no prophet in the earth’s long chronicle who’s not honored here today. Whatever form you spoke of you were right.”
“She said that the breath of God was his breath yet though it pass from man to man through all of time.”
Both passages allude in some way to our collective literary traditions, but the first stands out in form as well as content. Not only does it include a dialog tag, all but unseen in the rest of the text, but also an abundance of apostrophes and my beloved commas, whose absence I found almost torturous my first time through the book. McCarthy’s brief incorporation of these conventions, absent or elusive throughout the rest of the novel, call to mind the role formal structure can play in shaping ideas into text, but also the malleability of language. Juxtaposed against the style of the rest of the novel, this passage highlights the ways in which the text succeeds despite the absence of those conventions, bringing into focus the notion that it is not the method but the purpose which defines a text.
“Memory of her crossing the lawn toward the house in the early morning in a thin rose gown that clung to her breasts. He thought each memory recalled must do some violence to its origins. As in a party game. Say the word and pass it on. So be sparing. What you alter in the remembering has yet a reality, known or not.”
My words are pulled from a song, literally a piece of a record, captured on magnetic tape and then vinyl, with the intent of posterity. I wanted to name the record “Ancient History,” but we called it “Historical Fiction” instead; in the end it was the more fitting title. The record sounds strange to me now, almost unfamiliar, a moment in time encoded in sounds and words.
Memory and text are concurrent themes in “The Road,” a reflection of their relationship in life. One can’t really exam to process of reading and writing, the roles of symbolism and significance in the written word, without considering the part they play in attempting to preserve recollections. Nor can one really set out to discuss the act of remembering without considering the ways we use words to construct fixed forms out of moments in time. Of the many passages in “The Road” which carefully weave these two themes together, two in particular stand out for me, both from the last few pages of the novel.
“He wanted to be able to see. Look around you, he said. There is no prophet in the earth’s long chronicle who’s not honored here today. Whatever form you spoke of you were right.”
“She said that the breath of God was his breath yet though it pass from man to man through all of time.”
Both passages allude in some way to our collective literary traditions, but the first stands out in form as well as content. Not only does it include a dialog tag, all but unseen in the rest of the text, but also an abundance of apostrophes and my beloved commas, whose absence I found almost torturous my first time through the book. McCarthy’s brief incorporation of these conventions, absent or elusive throughout the rest of the novel, call to mind the role formal structure can play in shaping ideas into text, but also the malleability of language. Juxtaposed against the style of the rest of the novel, this passage highlights the ways in which the text succeeds despite the absence of those conventions, bringing into focus the notion that it is not the method but the purpose which defines a text.
Monday, March 2, 2009
Extra Medium 3/1/09
After a long run of rants and raves about the declining state of both Marvel and DC comics, I decided to go back and write about the kind of superhero comics that define my standards for the genre, namely the work of Mark Waid.
http://www.mycentraljersey.com/article/20090301/ENTERTAINMENT08/902270329/1091/ENTERTAINMENT09
http://www.mycentraljersey.com/article/20090301/ENTERTAINMENT08/902270329/1091/ENTERTAINMENT09
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