The Stand, a Review

Some folks say that The Stand is Stephen King’s greatest work. The book has been on my TBR for many years, pretty much from my starting of The Gunslinger during my college years. I vaguely knew what the book was about, but I definitely knew that it had a monstrous page count. Other than that, my expectations were moderately high. 

In 1990, a superflu swept across the globe. Its mortality rate was greater than 99%. The survivors of this superflu were therefore few. The Stand opens with the outbreak, and it doesn’t take too many pages before people begin dying. King tells this tale through several different points of view (too many for this particular story), from an up-and-coming Rock-and-Roll star to a deaf mute, from a pregnant coed to an insane pyromaniac. All of these survivors each must come to terms with their circumstances, but they also must come to terms with the reasons behind their survival, a reasoning that is possibly more than what seems. 

The Stand is gripping… at first. The spread of the superflu and its devastation was an absolute thrill to read, especially considering that my allergies kicked in right as I was starting. But as the pages turned and the survivors rose above their circumstances, it didn’t take long for fatigue to set in. Part of the issue was the enormous cast of characters. King spends time building up each one of them, which makes some sense, but not enough to justify their purpose. I mean, I understand why they were in the story, but I don’t understand why King wanted to give so much mundane detail on so many different people. 

Stephen King is a gifted storyteller, that is true. I think it’s also fair to assert that Stephen King is a gifted deliverer of lackluster (or maybe I mean disappointing) conclusions. The Stand gets no reprieve. I felt that after spending 1152 pages with these people that I deserved something more than what I got. Surely King was telling a grand story here. Surely his message and theme deserved climax. Sadly, I felt greatly underwhelmed with the resolutions and the ultimate fates/decisions of the characters. 

What did I like? I liked the opening part of the story, right when the superflu was spreading and people were dying. I liked how King dealt with the humanity mindset in that time of catastrophe. I liked the survivor’s initial guilt and ponderings on why they survived. I liked the stirrings in their minds as they felt the urge to pick up life again and journey across the nation. But, as I’ve said, after this elongated exposition, my entertainment waned. 

I don’t like sounding so negative. I wonder if part of my problem is with the genre itself. King’s post-apocalyptic romp was probably unique back in 1978 when the first edition of the book came out. This is no longer the case, obviously, and post-apocalyptic stories are run of the mill now. I’m sure part of the initial success with the book is attributed to when it was published (which can be said about any book, truly). 

The Stand is much more than a book about a decimating (uh, centi-mating?) epidemic. It’s a book about Good versus Evil, sort of. It’s a book about what it means to be human and be a manipulator or one that’s manipulated. It’s a book about choice and consequences. It’s a book about anger and sex and violence and fear and love. It’s a looooooong book and a trifle boring, but never bad enough to abandon. The Stand is vulgar, as is King’s proclivity, but not as bad as could be expected. Ultimately, The Stand is an unsatisfying novel with a brilliant start-up but an inability to pull through. Any fan of King will likely enjoy the novel—and indeed I did enjoy the novel—but to a Reader familiar with contemporary trends the novel will very likely feel flat. I truly did love the first few hundred pages, but that wasn’t enough to overcome to over-long book. Read at your own discretion.

Mr. Monster, a Review

My first exposure to John Wayne Cleaver was in May of last year. On a whim I picked up I Am Not A Serial Killer [my review here] and had my breath stolen away. I burned through the first book in just a few hours, unable to tear my eyes from the words. Wells’ book made it to the shortlist of my favorite books I read in 2011, and I knew that the sequel(s) would be savored at some later time. Now that RIP season is here, I decided to give Mr. Monster a go. 

Mr. Monster is a direct sequel to I Am Not A Serial Killer, taking place just a few months after the events of the first book. John is now sixteen years old and still a sociopath. His control on his inner voice—Mr. Monster—is tenuous, and John’s worried that his grip on his strict rules my slip too far. His families mortuary business has slowed down now that the Clayton Killer has apparently stopped, and John’s been itching for excitement. Unfortunately for the townsfolk of Clayton, another killer soon arrives on the scene, and once again John’s attraction gets the better of him. 

In Book One of this series there was an abrupt shift in the plot when the true identity of the killer was revealed. It was so shocking that I re-read the paragraph several times, making sure that I understood what Dan Wells was saying. In Book Two, there was another scene like this, and I really shouldn’t have been so ill-prepared for it, but I was. Suffice it to say that I stayed up long past my bedtime to finish the book. My pulse was racing away and I had a strange sense of dread within. 

Mr. Monster starts out slower than the first book, but this pace is never really boring. Once the Great Reveal happens, the action explodes. It was sickening, honestly, and quite disturbing. We’re dealing with serial killers here, and Dan Wells writes as if he’s familiar. Needless to say, this book is not for the faint of heart or the weak of will. There are scenes that will haunt you, but in a good way. On some points I would market this book as YA, but on others I would urge caution. Teens can definitely relate to John (i.e., high school angst and parental issues), but so can we all. 

I’ve kept this review intentionally vague because of the Great Reveal. If you’ve not read I Am Not A Serial Killer then you shouldn’t read Mr. Monster. If you have read the first book and enjoyed it, then you’ll love what comes in the sequel. The book is a bit darker than the first, but there’s plenty of lightheartedness, too. I’ve been very impressed with everything I’ve read from Dan Wells so far (see also A Night of Blacker Darkness [my review here] for a comical RIP book) and I very much look forward to finishing up this series.

World War Z, a Review

Zombies are everywhere in pop culture these days.  The undead presence is so proliferated that its occurrence is no longer shocking to encounter in almost any given genre.  By and large I am an independent soul, beating to the chords of my own guitar.  I eschew trendiness like a kindergartner cringes at shots.  For all practical purposes, whenever something becomes coo, it is implicitly given a death sentence, because the masses are always looking for something new and different.  The zombie craze, I think, is finally nearing the downward slope of its popularity.  (But the question is can it remain dead?)

I’ve been a zombie fan for most of my life.  My mom woke me up late one night—I was five—and she wanted me to watch some old black & white movie with her cause she was scared.  This is one of my earliest memories.  The film was “Night of the Living Dead.”  To this day she is still terrified of that movie.  Apparently it entered into my young psyche and I’ve been partial to the genre ever since.

When Max Brooks’ World War Z came out I thought it sounded interesting.  I’m a fan of the documentary style of storytelling, and World War Z was described as a series of interviews with survivors from the zombie war.  But this was all during the hype of the zombie craze, so I dropped the book on my TBR and went about my business (much like I did with Pride & Prejudice& Zombies).  However, I had to do some traveling recently for work, so I decided to pick up the audio version of WWZ for the road.

To begin with, the audio book itself is a work of art.  Because the book is a series of interviews with various survivors, the audio production features a full cast of actors to fill the bill.  Max Brooks reads his own part, playing the role of the interviewer.  Alan Alda, Mark Hamill, Rob Reiner, and several other voices play other roles.  This version won recognition and an Audie award.  This was truly a delight to listen to.

However, one thing I did not notice until later, the audio book was ABRIDGED!  I am against abridged books and cannot understand why they even exist.  (If you have any good reasons why, do tell.)  But there was no going back, so I pressed on.  This is my only disappointment with the audio book.

Plot-wise, Brooks establishes right up front that he’s presenting these interviews as a follow-up to an official UN report.  He traveled the world collecting facts and figures and wound up gathering so much stuff that he was encouraged to write the book.  Most of the time Brooks stays silent in order to allow the survivor to tell their story.  He introduces each character and asks an occasional question, but he has intentionally removed himself from the story.

The world is fascinating.  Brooks interviews people from all over: China, Japan, Iceland, New York, South Africa, Palestine, and more.  The stories are captivating to varying degrees, but all were engrossing enough that I never grew bored.  The interviews provide some unique insight to how the zombie outbreak affected the entire world, culturally, economically, mentally.  They were handled well and entirely believable.

I don’t want to say anything about any of the individual stories to remain spoiler free, but all were worth the read.  If you can suspend your disbelief and have a weakness for this type of storytelling, check out Max Brooks’ World War Z.  I very much enjoyed it.  The audio was excellent, just remember that it is abridged.

Pride & Prejudice & Zombies, a Review

Pride & Prejudice & Zombies came out whilst I finished my studies at the University. I recall when the faint whisperings of such a blasphemous tale first reached mine ears, and I remember delighting in it. This was before zombies were ubiquitous in the entertainment world, and the introduction of zombies into Jane Austen’s beloved classic was twisted just enough to my liking that I could not but help declaim its brilliance. And so Seth Grahame-Smith’s alterations to Austen’s original masterpiece* made its way onto my extending TBR. 

That was a smidgen over three years ago. Since then, the glorious undead have proliferated to a shocking degree. Indeed, they became mainstream and trendy. As such, I never got around to reading P&P&Z… until now. 

In essence, this book is a bizarre alternate universe story of old England. The undead—also known as the dreadfuls—roam the beautiful countryside with unstated bloodlust. The five Bennet sisters struggle to maintain ladylike propriety due to their training in the Deadly Arts. Each of the sisters is a lethal zombie slayer, much to Mr. Bennet’s delight. Each of the sisters is unwed and somewhat uncouth, much to Mrs. Bennet’s chagrin. 

The basic plot of Pride & Prejudice & Zombies follows the original excepting a few major points (i.e., the revisions have more innuendo than Ms. Austen’s, as well as violence). Mr. Darcy and Mr. Bingley come into the Bennet’s lives and romance ensues. During it all, however, the threat of the undead grows. Periodic episodes of zombie mayhem arise, and the Bennets are often forced to make quick of the scourge. 

I have mixed feelings about this book. The idea is clever, methinks, but its execution quickly grew stagnant. The bizarre juxtaposition of Regency England to ninjas and zombies yielded laughs, yes, but the tension never elevated. I enjoyed all of the different nomenclatures Grahame-Smith created for dealing with the dreadfuls. I also liked the plot surrounding Ms. Charlotte Lucas. But, as I mentioned, too many things grew repetitive and dull. 

There was enough intrigue to keep me reading the book, if only to see it to the end. I kept thinking about Downton Abbey while reading the book, picturing a twisted version of the show airing on PBS. I think that I would have enjoyed Pride & Prejudice & Zombies more if the plot varied, or if there were more postulation about the dreadfuls and the scourge. Instead, as often the zombie genre does, this is left up to the Reader to accept as Fact and move on. Usually I’m okay with that, so long as the world is captivating enough. Regency England is not. 

So do I recommend reading Pride & Prejudice & Zombies? Maybe. I suppose it would depend on the Reader’s expectations. A true Jane Austen fan may balk at the disgraceful changes, but an Austen fan with a sense of humor might get enough giggles to warrant a read. Me, I can’t say that I’m an Austen fan per se. I only read the book out of mere curiosity. I had more fun imagining how the original readers of Pride & Prejudice would have reacted if Austen had actually published the & Zombies version instead of the original.

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*That is according to universal acknowledgement, not which is not necessarily reflective of my own opinion.  I think perhaps calling the book a masterpiece is quite a high honor, but I'll not get into all that stuff.  It's just a "beloved classic" in mine eyes.

Dream Lover, a Review

One of the best things about blogging is the community.  From my experience, most of the bloggers I've "met" are all friendly, professional, and bloody brilliant.  It seems that everyone is erudite and capable.  It's fun vicariously exploring different talents through the blogs of others, whether it's as a stay-at-home mom or an emigrant living in a haunted house somewhere in Scotland.  You get all kinds of differences, and that's half of the beauty of the blogosphere.  

In particular, I've mentioned fellow blogger Mattson Tomlin a time or two here on Rememorandom.  The lad (I can say that, as he's four years my junior) attends SUNY Purchase for Film (according to his IMDB page), where he's finishing up his junior or senior year, I can't recall which.  Anyway, I've been following Mattson for a few years now, and watching his films and ideas develop on his blog has been a real treat.  His posts often seem like "behind the scene" special features on DVDs, and when you watch this stuff prior to watching a film, it gives one a completely different feeling.

Mattson used a Kickstarter project to fund the short film called Dream Lover.  I kicked a buck, willing to support someone else's dreams, and then followed the many status updates Mattson posted intermittently.  Then, to my surprise, I received an email yesterday telling me that Dream Lover was up and available to watch.  So last night I lounged on the chaise, turned off the lights, put in earphones, and let the movie take me away.

To attempt to describe what Dream Lover is would be, in essence, like asking you to describe your dreams.  While that may sound simple enough, then throw in the challenge of not only describing, but also conveying your thoughts and feelings during your dreams.  Explain the why, the how.  Heck, sometimes even the who and where is beyond words.  This is a glimpse of Tomlin's 16-minute short, and I feel like the director/writer has done well in capturing a dream.  It's ethereal.  It's bizarre.  It's ever-changing.  There's horror, sex, death, and many other commonalities of Dream.  Scenes are quick and fluid, and transitioning between them is handled with grace and feels natural.

All of that still does not describe what the film is about.  And here's the dilemma.  Like with anything worth value, there will be different interpretations, and Tomlin's Dream Lover is no different.  People are definitely going to react differently, to get different things out of it.  One may feel pity for Anderson, the lead actor (and played by the dapper Adam Griffith) who has either moved on in a relationship or not, while someone else may find him skeevy and calloused.  Then there's the spurned-and-devilish Selene (played by Maria Rowene), the other main POV.  Her development is as beautiful as it is frightening.  And the third main player is Hera (Jenna D'Angelo), though she's more of a secondary character.  Throw in the actual Greek myth of Selene and Endymion, and the film can take on a whole different meaning.  

The sound effects of Dream Lover are perfect.  They've definitely been loved on and tailored to each scene.  The camera shots are all very-well done (I particularly liked the wide-angle shot of Young Anderson hiding under the bench), and even the sex scene was done with skill.  The accompanying score at the end provided a haunting tune to close out the credits*, wrapping up a stirring little movie.

So the real question is what's to do now?  I could talk about my thoughts, my feelings, but I also don't want to cross into spoilery.  So instead I'll strongly recommend that you go to the Dream Lover site (here) and watch the film.  It's 16-minutes long, nothing too taxing.  It's free, too.  (If it asks for a password, use "sweetdreams."  And don't worry.  Mattson wants as many people to watch it as possible; it's password-protected because of film festivals or something.)  Furthermore, if you like it, be sure and let Mattson know, as well as any other people you'd care to share it with.  Dream Lover is a great exploratory film about dreams, love, loss, and many other things, and you'd be sore pressed to miss it.  It's also a perfect conclusion to this year's RIP, as horror is definitely present (a la monsters and confusion).

I believe in Mattson Tomlin.  I've watched everything he's made available, except for Pit.A.Pat, whatever that is, and I see him going places.  His vision is great.  His skills are tremendous.  His passion is obvious.  So here's to you, Mr. Tomlin.  Great work on Dream Lover.  Now, I can't wait to get to the feature film of Solomon Grundy...

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*Yep, my name is in the credits.  I'm assuming its the Kickstarter donors list.

In Your Head, In Your Head, Zombie

[Note to the Reader: I recommend you clicking on the video first, letting it play while you read only if you've seen the video before.  Otherwise, I recommend on watching the video with the song.]

Oh man, this song wedges itself down in there deep, nestling right in between "Mana Mana" and "Do Wacka Do."  The Cranberries.  What a killer song, and a traumatic video, too, I daresay.  Plus, it's fitting for the season.  The video definitely captures the violent history of Ireland.

I love the viral lyrics, especially how Dolores O'Riordan sings them.  The heavy, steady bass-line pushes on continually, which is a metaphor all in itself.  As for the simple electric riff at the intro, solo, and outro, it's effective and lingers long after its finished.  And then there's the drums, beating and clashing, a perfect reminder of gunshot and clamor.  Yes, this song is monumental and powerful, but its also got a super catchy rhythm that definitely gets stuck "in your head, in your head."

I finally finished A Dance With Dragons, and now I'm debating whether or not to review it.  Is there a point to review Book Five of such an enormous series, where every word I say will be some type of spoiler for the previous four books?  No, probably not.  Dave is the only one who'd care.  In short, though, I enjoyed the book, just not as much as the first three.  Truly, it and AFFC could have been combined (as was the original plan) and condensed and the series would have been stronger for it.  As it stands, I'm slightly disappointed in the way ADWD ended.  Here's to hoping GRRM doesn't take as long with the next installment.

RIP VI is drawing to a close.  If you've not done so, go check out Carl's RIP Review site (here) and browse through the 600+ reviews.  I've put a few up myself, and should have one more before the thing winds to a close.  RIP is a great place to find new blogs, new books, and read some great reviews for the RIP season. Many thanks to Carl for continuing to host this event.

Avonlea's first Halloween aproacheth.  I shall endeavor to capture some memories with my memory capturing device.

Zombie. Zombie. Zombie-ie-ie-ie-ie-ooh-----

Nosferatu, a Review

Nosferatu is widely acclaimed for being one of the scariest films of all time.  With its iconic screen-shots, recognizable villain, lack of speech (i.e., a silent film), and word-of-mouth praise, I had some pre-conceived ideas about what to expect when I put the film on last night.  Sadly, my expectations fell flat within minutes of the film's exposition.  There are spoilers for those of you unfamiliar with Dracula or any other vampire story.

Nosferatu is essentially Dracula, though for legal reasons at the time, changes were made to avoid being sued.  Chiefly, Count Dracula is now Count Orlok, a creeper that lives off in the "land of ghosts and thieves."  A young real estate agent, and the film's protagonist, Hutter, has been given the task of securing deed work from Orlok to purchase a "beautiful and abandoned house" in the town.  Hutter leaves his beloved, Ellen, and sets off.  Needless to say, things go about how you'd expect, with only one additional plot element that I didn't see coming.

First off, before I begin deconstructing this film, an apology: I obviously am not the targeted audience and I've been too exposed to modern cinema to enjoy this movie.  Others (perhaps fans of TCM and Expressionism) like and appreciate this movie.  I don't.  And I'll explain why.

To begin with, I'm not a fan of Expressionism theater*.  I understand that it may have been useful for early 20th century folks, especially when so much was relied upon conveying through movement, but to me, it's just ridiculous.  I can't fathom why the folks of the time cared for it, either.  Real life is not Expressionistic.  The over-exaggerated movements and absurd facial expressions belong in a comedy, not a horror.  Most of the time I wanted to punch Hutter in the face for being so idiotic; I wanted to wipe the sycophantic smirk off of Knock's face; I wanted to slap some liberation into Ellen.  Even Count Orlok, while relatively reserved compared to the rest of the cast, fell to this form.  And as I said, this does not perpetuate horror, but comedy.

The next thing, and perhaps my biggest annoyance, was the score that accompanied the film.  We watched the Netflix Instant version of Nosferatu, and the film had a slide at the beginning that said the score was added in 1991.  I'm not sure who composed or played here**, or how this score compares to Hans Erdmann's original, but it was awful.  It basically sounded like a young musician learning about synthesizers and keyboards decided to tinker around.  Music rarely fit the scene, and half of it grew tedious after a few seconds of listening.

The third (and for brevity's sake, final) problem was the character's themselves.  Hutter was an idiot.  I don't know why he chose to act the way he did, but his actions were totally unforgivable.  Consider the following:

At Orlok's eerie and abandoned manse, Hutter is cutting him a slice of bread.  He cuts his finger accidentally.  Immediately Orlok is at the man's side and attempts to suck the blood from his finger.  Disturbed, Hutter backs away.  All the way to a cozy chair beside a fireplace.  Orlok, seconds later, suggests they sit and chat a while, and Hutter agrees.  The idiot falls asleep.  Then, the next day, he frolics around the estate, where he happens upon Orlok's sleeping body, that so happens to be in a coffin.  Horrified, Hutter runs away to the safest place possible: his room, where he puts a cover over his head and cowers in terror.  Good thing Orlok decided to leave for his new abandoned mansion, else I might have broken my tv.

What person is their right mind would do something like that?  It's so bad that I had to offset the whole paragraph!  Is Hutter supposed to be an imbecile?  And another thing.  Hutter brings a few books with him to read.  They're necessary plot devices, and when he picks one up, a slide comes up to show the Viewer what he's reading.  At one point, Hutter finishes his book and he slams it shut then hurls it to the floor.  For no apparent reason other than to persuade the Viewer that that's how one ought to treat a book.

I could go on and on about my problems with the film, but I'll stop at three.  There is a few commendable features, chiefly Orlok himself, that I found slightly enjoyable and somewhat creepy.  Max Schreck played his part well, and the vampire's movements & actions were the only part of this movie that could qualify as horror.  I particularly liked his slow walk and his disfigured face.  

In the end, Nosferatu was a worthless movie to watch.  Perhaps had I watched it fifty years ago.  Perhaps had I muted the tv.  Perhaps had I gouged my eyes out.  But alas, I did watch it, and I can't really recommend it to you unless you're a silent film fan, or simply curious to see the seminal vampire movie.  That said, there are other versions besides the one on Netflix, and mayhap they're better.  I won't be investigating, though.

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*Though it does often work well in a comedy.

**A Google search says there are two Netflix versions.  One has a score created by the Silent Orchestra, which I believe is the one I watched.  The other apparently is no better.  [Source: here.]

A Night of Blacker Darkness, a Review

"Do you ever wonder," said John idly, "why we call buildings 'buildings?' Are they in a state of constant construction? We should call them 'builts.'"

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"Not like that," said John. "More tuneless, almost melancholy--like the whisper of a dying candle."
"I think it's safe to say that no one in this room knows what you're talking about."

A Night of Blacker Darkness, being the memoir of Frederick Whithers, is exactly what the subtitle says it is: a memoir.  Who, you may ask, is Frederick Whithers?  Mr. Whithers was a simple man of the early 19th century, who lived quite a simple life prior to his death, at least according to Mr. Bagsworth III's introduction.  According to official records, Whithers died of consumption while serving a prison sentence for forgery.  But if the memoir is to be believed, he faked his death, rose from his coffin, was spotted by a group of vampires who immediately proclaimed him the Great One, and had an unusual few days of pure  farcical madness as he tried to lay stakes on a ninety-thousand pound inheritance.

To expound on this madness would, I fear, spoil the brilliance of Mr. Whithers' memoir.  There is a great mystery lurking in the plot, drizzled with some fantastic humor so thick that one's willingness to suspend disbelief is almost challenged.  Murphy's Law prevails often, it seems.  The story is hilarious, and I had to stop reading a few times just so I could finish laughing.  John ____* may be one of the funniest characters I've ever read, and his dialogue/musings always cracked me up.

I became aware of A Night of Blacker Darkness just a few weeks ago.  While browsing Kindle book deals, I was looking through favorite authors, and this book came up.  And being a fan of Dan Wells, the mastermind behind this fictitious memoir, and furthermore intrigued because this book is only available as an e-book, I decided to give it a go.  I assure you, it's well worth the $5.

So what more can I say about this book?  It's very well written, though there are a few errors throughout the pages, but not enough to derail the story.  It's definitely macabre, as Frederick's post-prison journey takes him to graveyards, mortuaries, charnel houses, a ghoul's lair, a basement full of vampires, and many other random places throughout Bath and London.  And while the story never crosses into all-out horror, there are traditional elements of horror present.  To me, though, the delight came from the mystery mixing with the antics.  Wells makes use of a few familiar tropes and creates a gem.

I could say much on this read, but so as to not potentially ruin anything, I'll say little else.  If you have an e-reader, you really should read this book.  It's short and can be read in a lazy afternoon.  It'll have you laughing and have you intrigued.  I can easily recommend it to genre fans, literary fans, people that like to laugh, people with e-readers, and fans of Young Frankenstein or Dracula Dead and Loving It.  Better yet, go to Amazon and read the free sample (here).  I heartily enjoyed A Night of Blacker Darkness, and I eagerly look forward to seeing what else Dan Wells has to offer.

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*This surname is intentionally blanked out by me, not in the book.  

In Cold Blood, a Review

Holcomb, Kan., Nov. 15 [1959] (UPI) -- A wealthy wheat farmer, his wife and their two young children were found shot to death today in their home. They had been killed by shotgun blasts at close range after being bound and gagged ... There were no signs of a struggle, and nothing had been stolen. The telephone lines had been cut.—The New York Times

I'm hesitant to review Truman Capote's seminal true-crime novel In Cold Blood.  How does one begin to review non-fiction, let alone true stories?  I see the vanity of my opinion on the situation and want to run screaming the other way.  But that curious part of me, that part buried in a metal box in the middle of my heart, twitches and pines for things it ought not.  As I've mused time and again, I am inexplicably drawn to these things.

In Cold Blood is the account of the Clutter murders.  The book is broken up into four sections and told through numerous Points-of-View.  We watch Herb Clutter, kindly and genteel, make his way around Holcomb, conducting business for his family farm.  We see sixteen-year-old Nancy Clutter's budding relationship with her high school boyfriend.  We struggle with Mrs. Clutter and her bouts of depression, and son Kenyon (15) and his aspirations.  We're told about the small town of Holcomb and its caring citizens, where Church is society, the diner is always busy, and idle talk spreads fast.

Beyond this, and the more intriguing parts of the book, we travel with Dick Hickock and Perry Smith, two parolees who ultimately murder four innocent people for the hope of a chance that Mr. Clutter kept a safe in his house, filled with at least ten thousand dollars.  We learn of each man's upbringing, of their choices that landed them in jail, of their plans and goals, of their bitterness, and of their deaths.  It's easy to pity them, to wish things better for them, but from the onset we're aware of their deed and their execution.

Capote is brilliant in building dread and suspense.  Scenes change quickly, and since this is a journalistic approach, we see various sides of people/events.  There is much to be said about the crime, the victims, the criminals, and the aftermath, and Capote adroitly handles it all.

Strikingly, the brutality of the crime (as well as the executions of Hickock, Smith, and some other men on Death Row) is done in a matter-of-fact way.  Capote presents the scene with little fanfare, and this minimalism is chilling.  The Reader is left as dazed and confused as the townsfolk of Holcomb were, and one can't help but press on to discover the true motive.  Why? continually comes to mind.  Emotion is poured into the book, though often it is reserved and professional, and this dichotomy makes for an oddly disturbing read.

In Cold Blood has been on my TBR shelf for a very long time, and I'm glad it's finally gone.  I wanted to read it for RIP this year because this stuff is what truly defines horror to me.  It's real and 100% possible, not like some phantom killer or haunted house.  I tend to think that we've created ghost stories as an escape, preferring the supernatural to the perfectly natural.  Because there are killers out there.  People that torture, kidnap, rape, murder, assault, harass, antagonize.  And who knows when someone could simply snap and massacre a shopping center or bookstore?  It's scary enough to make me want to take my family and live in a bomb shelter, buried and out of sight, safe and secure.  And when my mind starts roaming these uncomfortable corridors, I have to ask myself one question: what if you're the one to snap?

And it stops me.  Cold.  Because I'm human, just like Dick Hickock, Perry Smith, Herb Clutter, and everybody else.  I'm no killer, but I could be.  We all could be.  We all have the potential.  What keeps us held back is our self-control, or maybe our fear of prison and death.  What keeps me back is my love for people, my love of life, made possible by the gospel of Jesus Christ.  Without Him, I think I'd be some kind of messed up person, but I trust Him and His word that He'll never leave me or forsake me.  But really, when you think about it, if you stand two people side-by-side, one a killer, the other not, and put them in identical clothes and ask someone to pick out the killer, there's no difference.  Both are just simply people, and that's the most terrifying thing out there.  We don't really know anyone...

[Note: After re-reading this, I realize how disturbing this post is, and I've considered simply deleting and starting over.  But, as a purist, I find that path treacherous.  Instead, I'll echo my previous line.  I am enslaved to God and committed until I die, therefore I do not keep myself restrained from going out and murdering somebody.  Instead, I deal with the more insidious sins, things like when Jesus said that being angry with your brother was basically wanting to kill him, and inward lust was the same thing as adultery, and pride--oh how I loathe thee!--that snakes its way into every aspect of my life.  Yes, friends, I am perfectly sane (to my knowledge).  Just trying to make my way in the world the same as the rest of ya.]

Scary Stories to Tell in the Dark, a Review

Perhaps the reason I've an affinity for dark & twisted art lies with a trio of books I read as a child.  Alvin Schwartz is most known for his collection of folktales marketed towards children.  His most famous books--Scary Stories to Tell in the Dark, More Scary Stories to Tell in the Dark, and Scary Stories 3: More Tales to Chill Your Bones--were some of my most favorite reads as a lad, and when I recently happened upon my personal copy of SS3, I couldn't help but dive in.  I went to the library and checked out the first two volumes (not sure why I only have the third?), then promptly drove home and leafed through the pages.

It's impossible to continue without acknowledging Stephen Gammell's defining artwork.  In fact, I'm going out on a limb and saying that it's Gammell's work that makes this collection so cherished (and challenged*, for that matter).  I love the loose, spindly, flowy lines that add an ethereal feel to each work.  Everything has the tone of something horrific waiting to be loosed upon your mind.  I would love to see Gammell do some Lovecraftian illustrations.  Yes, it is Gammell's work that shines in these books, and they've no doubt affected my subconscious.  

Allow me to wax on here.  The illustrations are grotesque.  Magnetic, whereby they repulse the reader, but attract as well.  I feel as if Gammell has somehow captured the essence of a nightmare (or some hell) and then rendered it on us, and, in particular, young minds.  Frankly I'm surprised these books are read by kids, as I can easily see them getting utterly creeped out and running for Mommy in the dead hours after midnight.  Moreover, as I was rocking Avonlea to sleep the other night, I was reading the books and left them beside her crib after she went to sleep.  Keisha brought them to me later as I was brushing my teeth and said, "You can't leave those in there. If I look over there and see 'em in the middle of the night I'd be freaked out."

I guess I would, too.  I have this fleeting fear whenever I wake up during the night.  With the thick shadows and eerie softglow lights, coupled with the fact that I'm not wearing my spectacles, everything is blurred and skewed.  My mind deceives me.  My eyes tell untruths and distortions.  I see monsters and things unknown in the darkness, sinister and evil, things that would fit perfectly alongside these horrors Gammell's illustrated.

Still, there is more to these books than just the art.  Schwartz writes in an easy to understand form, especially for children.  To my understanding, the intention is for these things to be read aloud, and working with that assumption, these stories all do well.  However, if one looks too closely as the sentences, well, one gets disappointed in the simplicity.  It's anticlimactic at times, coming across as uninspired and flat out boring.  This is not prevalent, nor is it epidemic, but the way these stories are told is very weak when compared with other folktales.  (This seems fickle, as I'm comparing a children's book to adult, scholarly things, but what can I say?)  Nevertheless, I did feel like Schwartz dropped the ball several times throughout these three books, but if you're reading them aloud, it's not too bad.

If we look at the folktales and urban legends themselves, then these three books are a treasure chest of them.  Each tale spans from 1-3 pages (most falling at just over a page) in length, and because of that, there are a multitude of stories.  Many are familiar things, things we all know, things our grandparents swear are true.  But there are more than enough unfamiliar ones, too.  And to me, digesting a "new" folktale, especially one that's been around for years, is like cream cheese icing on a carrot cake.  Delicious.

I appreciate Schwartz listing a bibliography at the end of each book, as it's nice to be able to dig deeper (or see different tellings) for a story.  When things are from oral tradition, Schwartz lists people involved, too, or areas he collected from.  I also like how there are "alternate endings" or miscellany for the stories listed.

These three books are delightful little reads.  There's no doubt that they're heavily responsible for my taking to folktales, as I read these books for the first time in elementary school, but they're also probably responsible for my weakness for dark art.  I'm glad to have stumbled on my copy of SS3 the other day, and even more glad to find the library's copies were in the stacks and not checked out.  Halloween is the perfect time to read these books, and the RIP challenge just makes it more pleasant.  If you've never read the stories Schwartz tells, then you're missing out.  But even more, if you've not had your heart stopped by Stephen Gammell's horrid illustrations, you're really missing out.  I strongly recommend remedying this as soon as humanly possible.

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*Not only was this series the most challenged during the 1990s, it was also the 7th most challenged between 2000-2009.  I'm assuming 

House of Leaves, a Review (Spoiler-Free)

Little solace comes

to those who grieve

when thoughts keep drifting

as walls keep shifting

and this great blue world of ours

seems a house of leaves

moments before the wind. (p.563)"

Defining Mark Z. Danielewski's House of Leaves is like asking a five year old to describe the Riemann Hypothesis.  House of Leaves is, on its fringes, a story about the Reader.  In the Introduction by Johnny Truant, we're flat out told that what we're reading is a product from a manuscript he found in the room of a dead man named Zampanò.  The manuscript, as it turns out, is a scholarly work based on a documentary Zampanò has become obsessed with: The Navidson Record.  And if House of Leaves is about anything at all--its heart, its cornerstone, its foundation--then it's about The Navidson Record.

Will Navidson is a critically acclaimed photojournalist.  Years of life spent away from his long-time partner Karen Green, a former cover model, and his two children, Chad and Daisy, has the Navidson family barreling towards non-existence.  Will and Karen decide to purchase a quaint Virginia house and settle down and work on their family.  Will seeks to finish his career with a simple documentary on their new lives in their new home.  He installs video cameras throughout the house, motion sensors to pick up when activity is going on, and settles in for a calm retirement.

But everything does not go as planned.  The house seems odd, and one day, for no apparent reason, Will and Karen discover a new closet situated outside their bedroom door.  Baffled, Will gets the floor plans and begins going through measurements, confused.  And when he discovers that the house measures larger on the inside than it does on the outside, the groundwork is laid for the rest of the "movie."

The Navidson Record is as tantalizing as it is terrifying.  The house on Ash Tree Lane is creepy and dark.  Navidson, an explorer at heart, sets out to understand the house and its unnerving black (and apparently unending) labyrinth of hallways that appears in its center.

Zampanò's manuscript exhaustively covers the film, from its subtle and serene beginnings to its haunting and stunning conclusion.  His work is littered with footnotes, and as Truant tells us at the onset, many of these footnotes' references simply do not exist in real life.  Keeping this in mind, the remainder of the manuscript makes for a fascinating exploration of the film, sometimes mind-numbingly so.

"As I discovered, there were reams and reams of it. Endless snarls of words, sometimes twisting into meaning, sometimes into nothing at all, frequently breaking apart, always branching off into other pieces I'd come across later--on old napkins, the tattered edges of an envelope, once even on the back of a postage stamp; everything and anything but empty; each fragment completely covered with the creep of years and years of ink pronouncements; layered, crossed out, amended; handwritten, typed; legible, illegible; impenetrable, lucid; torn, stained, scotch taped; some bits crisp and clean, others faded, burnt or folded and refolded so many times the creases have obliterated whole passages of god knows what--sense? truth? deceit? a legacy of prophecy or lunacy or nothing of the kind?, and in the end achieving, designating, describing, recreating--find your own words; I have no more; or plenty more but why? and all to tell--what?" (p.xvii)

But still yet, in an even further removed frame, the Reader understands (again, at the beginning of the novel, so as to keep SPOILER-FREE) that we're also reading Johnny Truant's annotations of Zampanò's manuscript.  Truant's story begins in the Introduction, and as it unfolds throughout the footnotes, we discover how the manuscript affects him.  Truant is a mesmerizing POV, as one of the first things he tells us is that he's unreliable.  And as we read, both the manuscript and the footnotes, we're constantly left puzzling over what's been altered, if anything.  This, as the Reader will undoubtedly understand, is disorienting and intentional.  And as we come to understand Truant's background, especially concerning the Whalestoe Letters, what's real and what's not comes under even more scrutiny.

To me, the most interesting part of the book deals with the darkness inside the house.  Danielewski a la Truant a la Zampanò paint a vivid picture of the blackness, the absence of light within the house.  

"The walls are endlessly bare. Nothing hangs on them, nothing defines them. They are without texture. Even to the keenest eye or most sentient fingertip, they remain unreadable. You will never find a mark there. No trace survives. The walls obliterate everything. They are permanently absolved of all record. Oblique, forever obscure and unwritten. Behold the perfect pantheon of absence." (p.423)

I know what dark is.  I live in the state with the largest cave system in the world.  I've been to the depths of the earth and had the lights extinguished, propelled into absolute darkness, a blackness so thick that one can't help but despair.  And yet, the darkness within the house seems darker.  This has definitely played upon my mind at night as I've roamed the halls of my own house, and I confess to a quickened pulse a time or two.

Another part that must be addressed is the bizarre formats used.  This was the primary reason I wanted to read the book, and after finishing, I enjoyed the way the book was presented.  The Reader has to flip the book, turn it sideways, and go through mental hoops to read certain passages, but it definitely adds to the story.  I read the full color edition, which is the author's preferred edition, as it includes over two-hundred pages of appendices, filled with more fascinating puzzle pieces (and if you read the book, I recommend following the instructions to see the Appendix before continuing on with the novel) and I can't imagine reading this book any other way.

So what is House of Leaves?  It's a book containing four stories, one woven story, some spelled out more than others, some flat out ignored.  It's meta.  It's contained.  It's puzzling.  It's erudite, so keep a dictionary very close.  It's compelling.  It's tedious.  It induces smiles and wicked grins, but groans and sighs.  It's beautiful.  It's art.  It's a love story.  It's disgusting and leaves one needing a bath.  It's definitely not for the faint of heart or those offended by crude sex.  It is a remarkable read, leaving the Reader satisfied and immediately ready to dive back in again to see what's missed, but at the same time worn down and betrayed.  If Danielewski intended this, then he succeeded.  I enjoyed House of Leaves immensely and would love to discuss it with someone (thankfully there are forums devoted to it).  It's easy to recommend.