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Steel Gods by Scott Gronmark
dark
tense
medium-paced
- Plot- or character-driven? Plot
- Strong character development? No
- Loveable characters? No
- Diverse cast of characters? No
- Flaws of characters a main focus? It's complicated
2.0
"Emperors aren't morally superior. We've never claimed that. We're not above morality either. We're like...we're like the Greek gods, capable of great good and great evil. Some of us are on the side of humanity, some of us aren't. But even when we're on your side, you have to accept us." (p.252)
Reading 'Steel Gods' is like eating a disappointing pomegranate; there's a good idea in there somewhere, but you as the reader have to do more work than the book is to tease that little bit of goodness out.
The idea of a sub-grouping of humans that have telepathy on a sliding scale has interesting political implications that Gronmark tries to work in as the backbone of 'Steel Gods', but since our POV character is a normal person, not an emperor (which is a stupid name for these beings, but ok, that's a personal quibble), we are told, not shown, how emperors have influenced geo-politics throughout history, and how they might influence it in the near future.
He also doesn't seem to have completely worked out the limitations of these telepathic abilities before writing the story, because for most of the book it operates one way: the emperors can functionally erase a person's memory by telling them to forget things, and they can manipulate their actions by putting ideas in their head to do certain things. Depending on how strong the emperor is, the things they can get them to do range from getting a person to choose a particular item off a menu to getting a person to commit suicide or murder.
However, since the climax hinges on the emperors in-fighting, suddenly we're introduced to the idea that they can use this power on each other and also that there's a physical component to it somehow (as in: during the climax, one of them seemingly causes a storm to brew overhead???).
So that's all a bit messy, but could have been forgivable if the plot itself had been interesting. But it's not. It's also kind of all over the place.
We get introduced to our main POV character, David, in a prologue of him meeting our principle 'good guy' emperor, James Lord, while they're both students together in high school, but after James Lord witnessed the assassination of Robert Kennedy, of whom he was a ward (I assume? Why he was hanging out with Robert Kennedy while he was a kid is kind of glossed over and doesn't really end up mattering).
Then we do a huge time jump and suddenly David's in his late-thirties and has a wife and a daughter, Anna. Anna is an emperor. At first, this is only relevant because David has to teach her how to surpress her power so she doesn't just run around manipulating everyone to do what she wants. But then it's revealed that she's actually super important because she's the only female emperor that any of the other emperors know of.
Then the entire plot becomes: James Lord (good emperor) fighting against Mr. Spear (bad emperor) over control of Anna because whoever controls her can marry and have children with her and create an emperor dynasty. This is gross and very ick at the best of times, but Anna is fourteen in this story. And that doesn't seem to really matter to anyone, least of all the author of this novel.
Most of the novel is just us following her father running around trying unsuccessfully to protect her from this entire conflict.
Blah blah blah lots of stuff happens and then there's an emperor showdown blah blah blah.
I didn't even really care by the time we got to the end because I kept getting distracted by filling out my 'things that give me the ick' bingo card such as:
1. Gronmark calling every single person of color 'the black' the very few times they appear in the story (as in 'the black handed him the book off the table')
2. Gronmark describing Anna as hot, which was gross both because she's 14, and also because we get this information from her father since her father is the third person limited POV character.
3. Gronmark inexplicably having David's childhood bully threaten to rape him as the endgame of chasing David into a vacant locker room area. And also him describing the bully as having: "a black, crinkly mop, as close to an Afro s a White could get" (notice how he capitalizes White but not black on top of everything. Like, girl, what is that about?)
4. Gronmark having a hot twenty-two year old fawn over David (who has been described to us as a pretty unimpressive, schlubby middle-aged man who doesn't bother taking care of himself)
5. Whatever this paragraph was trying to insinuate: "The reporters' secretary, Francesca, had managed to get a producer's job after years of trying. She'd also stopped dating neanderthals whose idea of fun was to bounce her around the room like a squash ball, and had got engaged to a meek little civil servant who treated her like a goddess. Inevitably, she was making his life hell." (p.95)
6. An underage girl being drugged, raped, and impregnated by an adult man, and then forced to birth the baby.
Bye!
Reading 'Steel Gods' is like eating a disappointing pomegranate; there's a good idea in there somewhere, but you as the reader have to do more work than the book is to tease that little bit of goodness out.
The idea of a sub-grouping of humans that have telepathy on a sliding scale has interesting political implications that Gronmark tries to work in as the backbone of 'Steel Gods', but since our POV character is a normal person, not an emperor (which is a stupid name for these beings, but ok, that's a personal quibble), we are told, not shown, how emperors have influenced geo-politics throughout history, and how they might influence it in the near future.
He also doesn't seem to have completely worked out the limitations of these telepathic abilities before writing the story, because for most of the book it operates one way: the emperors can functionally erase a person's memory by telling them to forget things, and they can manipulate their actions by putting ideas in their head to do certain things. Depending on how strong the emperor is, the things they can get them to do range from getting a person to choose a particular item off a menu to getting a person to commit suicide or murder.
However, since the climax hinges on the emperors in-fighting, suddenly we're introduced to the idea that they can use this power on each other and also that there's a physical component to it somehow (as in: during the climax, one of them seemingly causes a storm to brew overhead???).
So that's all a bit messy, but could have been forgivable if the plot itself had been interesting. But it's not. It's also kind of all over the place.
We get introduced to our main POV character, David, in a prologue of him meeting our principle 'good guy' emperor, James Lord, while they're both students together in high school, but after James Lord witnessed the assassination of Robert Kennedy, of whom he was a ward (I assume? Why he was hanging out with Robert Kennedy while he was a kid is kind of glossed over and doesn't really end up mattering).
Then we do a huge time jump and suddenly David's in his late-thirties and has a wife and a daughter, Anna. Anna is an emperor. At first, this is only relevant because David has to teach her how to surpress her power so she doesn't just run around manipulating everyone to do what she wants. But then it's revealed that she's actually super important because she's the only female emperor that any of the other emperors know of.
Then the entire plot becomes: James Lord (good emperor) fighting against Mr. Spear (bad emperor) over control of Anna because whoever controls her can marry and have children with her and create an emperor dynasty. This is gross and very ick at the best of times, but Anna is fourteen in this story. And that doesn't seem to really matter to anyone, least of all the author of this novel.
Most of the novel is just us following her father running around trying unsuccessfully to protect her from this entire conflict.
Blah blah blah lots of stuff happens and then there's an emperor showdown blah blah blah.
I didn't even really care by the time we got to the end because I kept getting distracted by filling out my 'things that give me the ick' bingo card such as:
1. Gronmark calling every single person of color 'the black' the very few times they appear in the story (as in 'the black handed him the book off the table')
2. Gronmark describing Anna as hot, which was gross both because she's 14, and also because we get this information from her father since her father is the third person limited POV character.
3. Gronmark inexplicably having David's childhood bully threaten to rape him as the endgame of chasing David into a vacant locker room area. And also him describing the bully as having: "a black, crinkly mop, as close to an Afro s a White could get" (notice how he capitalizes White but not black on top of everything. Like, girl, what is that about?)
4. Gronmark having a hot twenty-two year old fawn over David (who has been described to us as a pretty unimpressive, schlubby middle-aged man who doesn't bother taking care of himself)
5. Whatever this paragraph was trying to insinuate: "The reporters' secretary, Francesca, had managed to get a producer's job after years of trying. She'd also stopped dating neanderthals whose idea of fun was to bounce her around the room like a squash ball, and had got engaged to a meek little civil servant who treated her like a goddess. Inevitably, she was making his life hell." (p.95)
6. An underage girl being drugged, raped, and impregnated by an adult man, and then forced to birth the baby.
Bye!
The Diary of a Nobody by George Grossmith
funny
lighthearted
relaxing
slow-paced
- Plot- or character-driven? Character
- Strong character development? It's complicated
- Loveable characters? Yes
- Diverse cast of characters? No
- Flaws of characters a main focus? It's complicated
3.75
Such a delightful little book.
This is one of those stories with a breezy lightheartedness to its satire and with that quintessentially dry sense of British humor that won't be for everyone. Indeed, I could see how a person could read this and not understand why anyone would find it funny, and yet I got a few belly laughs out of it.
The Diary of a Nobody is just that: a diary of the daily goings on of an ordinary man. There's no grand character arc, nothing dramatic happens, the little dramas are, for the most part, completely mundane. The fussiness of the protagonist and his fear of ever breaking social rules combined with the sincerity of his otherwise good nature make him incredibly likeable if somewhat neurotic.
We open with a short saga involving his boot scraper which continuously trips everyone who comes to visit and his explanation of how this is embarrassing, but ultimately not his fault. Just like in a real diary, there are many recurring little grievances like this, and we see how, depending on his mood, the protagonist handles them. If he's in good humor, he'll make a little joke that he'll note down as being particularly good. He writes down his anxieties such as not being sure what type of dress would be appropriate for a given social engagement. And he documents the comings and goings of his best friends, Cummings and Going
We meet his family and friends. His wife, for all his little foibles, clearly adores him, and it's really lovely to see that underneath it all they have a very stable, loving relationship. Their son, Lupin, is everything that his father isn't: he's hip to the jive, he's capricious and impulsive, he's in tune with the shifting of the social tides. But he's also very thoughtless and spoiled, superficial, and devil-may-care, and he plainly doesn't value the feelings or wishes of his parents, whose greatest hope is to see him settled into a stable career at his father's office.
There is something a tad curmudgeonly on the part of author George Grossmith about how he typifies the upcoming generation in this way (and they are all typified in this way), and maybe it's just because I'm closer to the 'younger' than the 'older' generations of our current times, but generalizing young people as self-serving, vain, and lazy always strikes me as a smokescreen for envy. Which is ironic, because nothing ages a person more than mocking the slang, interests, and ambitions of people younger than you are.
Nevertheless, 'Diary of a Nobody' is a very fun book to read, and a great option for anyone in a reading slump.
A specific suggestion would be to get a copy with the introduction by Alan Pryce-Jones, who does a stellar job setting the reader up for the novel and writes of it with the same joy and enthusiasm with which Grossmith wrote 'The Diary'. I cannot express it better, so I'll let Alan speak for himself:
This is one of those stories with a breezy lightheartedness to its satire and with that quintessentially dry sense of British humor that won't be for everyone. Indeed, I could see how a person could read this and not understand why anyone would find it funny, and yet I got a few belly laughs out of it.
The Diary of a Nobody is just that: a diary of the daily goings on of an ordinary man. There's no grand character arc, nothing dramatic happens, the little dramas are, for the most part, completely mundane. The fussiness of the protagonist and his fear of ever breaking social rules combined with the sincerity of his otherwise good nature make him incredibly likeable if somewhat neurotic.
We open with a short saga involving his boot scraper which continuously trips everyone who comes to visit and his explanation of how this is embarrassing, but ultimately not his fault. Just like in a real diary, there are many recurring little grievances like this, and we see how, depending on his mood, the protagonist handles them. If he's in good humor, he'll make a little joke that he'll note down as being particularly good. He writes down his anxieties such as not being sure what type of dress would be appropriate for a given social engagement. And he documents the comings and goings of his best friends, Cummings and Going
We meet his family and friends. His wife, for all his little foibles, clearly adores him, and it's really lovely to see that underneath it all they have a very stable, loving relationship. Their son, Lupin, is everything that his father isn't: he's hip to the jive, he's capricious and impulsive, he's in tune with the shifting of the social tides. But he's also very thoughtless and spoiled, superficial, and devil-may-care, and he plainly doesn't value the feelings or wishes of his parents, whose greatest hope is to see him settled into a stable career at his father's office.
There is something a tad curmudgeonly on the part of author George Grossmith about how he typifies the upcoming generation in this way (and they are all typified in this way), and maybe it's just because I'm closer to the 'younger' than the 'older' generations of our current times, but generalizing young people as self-serving, vain, and lazy always strikes me as a smokescreen for envy. Which is ironic, because nothing ages a person more than mocking the slang, interests, and ambitions of people younger than you are.
Nevertheless, 'Diary of a Nobody' is a very fun book to read, and a great option for anyone in a reading slump.
A specific suggestion would be to get a copy with the introduction by Alan Pryce-Jones, who does a stellar job setting the reader up for the novel and writes of it with the same joy and enthusiasm with which Grossmith wrote 'The Diary'. I cannot express it better, so I'll let Alan speak for himself:
It is not easy to define exactly what, in an enduring novel, has given it the quality of endurance. [...] It cannot very well be story-telling or faithfulness to life or the gift of arousing emotion for these qualities too vary from age to age. [...] There are not too many Mr. Pooters about now -- progress and war and rising costs have driven them up in the social scale or out into the provinces. But the basic human quality of the Grossmiths' quiet joke persists even in the modern world. It is clear even when they laughed at their fellow men, the Grossmiths loved them.
the witch doesn't burn in this one by Amanda Lovelace
But the fact that she does so often speak to men despite this book being dedicated to and, I assume, marketed towards women makes pieces like 'expectations vs. reality' feel like shadowboxing.
And then there's the witch metaphor and the matches and the fire imagery.
Ok, this may be just my personal feeling, but I was really over hearing about women breathing fire/eating fire/being fire by the end of this. Maybe someone would find it empowering, but it just struck me as patronizing and it got old really quickly.
I'm also not completely sure I could tell you what the overarching theme of this collection was supposed to be other than broadly 'the #MeToo Movement and Hillary Clinton's failed presidential bid left me feeling really pissed off and sad and I just want to get those emotions out onto paper.' It feels unedited somewhat, it feels ironically very reactionary. Not reactionary as in right-wing, but reactionary as in, this feels like it's coming from an emotional, unprocessed place that can lead to bad logic and unintended contradictions. It feels like a starting point, not an end product. She talks about eating disorders, body dysmorphia, rape culture, domestic violence, the erasure of women’s accomplishments throughout history. But they're all fairly disjointed, and it's not always clear why given pieces were put in the order that they were. Nevertheless, this is presented and put together as though it is one complete piece of art, not a collection of unconnected poems.
Even the stylistic choices she made in a good number of the pieces feels unintentional. How she constructed many of them on the page doesn't feel like an artistic choice that was thought over with each word carefully put in its proper place (at least, that's how it felt), but more so 'I need to get this down, and this is how poetry should look on the page.'
That wasn't true for everything, and there were plenty where I could glean the artistic choices behind how she chose to construct a given piece, but they still often felt derivative. And when they weren't derivative, they seemed only half-baked (the poem 'there's plenty of room for all of us' has this line: "those pushed so far into the margin of the paper they're dangling off the edge". In it, the word 'dangling' is actually written vertically so that it 'dangles' in the middle of the page. But wouldn't it have been cooler and more illustrative to have it actually dangling off the margin at the edge?)
I would never fault someone for having a messy first draft, especially of a project they were clearly so vested in, but very much like Jeanette McCurdy's memoir 'I'm Glad My Mom Died', what is being presented as a finished product suffers from not being allowed to simmer longer on the stove so to speak.
As a matter of fact, 'Barbie' (2023) feels like the fully baked version of 'the witch doesn't burn in this one' (with arguably similar white feminism flaws as a matter of fact) and I wonder very much what Amanda Lovelace thinks of it.
The top tier version of these themes, though, is probably 'My Dark Vanessa' by Kate Elizabeth Russell (again, with the 'white feminism' caveat to an extent, but less than 'Barbie' and far, far less than 'the witch doesn't burn').
It'll be curious to see how the evolution of contemporary feminist art continues to evolve as we continue to march through the 2020s.
Also, also, a good place to branch into a more intersectional version of all of those aforementioned works would be pretty much anything Roxane Gay has been involved in, but perhaps particularly, 'Not That Bad: Dispatches From Rape Culture'.
reflective
3.0
i have to warn you, my love. the men will try to convince you that we stole the poetry from them. [...] "give it back!" they'll shout at us until their throats start to bleed. they mean give back the dead men who thought they were taking poetry with them to the grave. [...] the irony? it was our men who demanded we go outside to tend to their sunflowers, never dreaming of the possibility that we would wander away into their cemeteries.
Even without looking at the copyright, I could have accurately predicted that 'the witch doesn't burn in this one' was published sometime around 2016/2017. This collection of poetry is very much an object that exists as a time capsule of #MeToo-era feminism. It tries to be intersectional, but is ultimately too personally tied to its author to lift its head out of her navel despite trying to present a sort of universal womanhood.
That's not to say that it's a flop, however. There's nothing wrong with an artist creating something deeply personal -- indeed, that's where a lot of great art stems from. However, though clearly a reflection of her anger and sorrow at the ways women in America have always been let down by the patriarchal system they're born into, Amanda Lovelace fails in 'the witch doesn't burn' to move beyond those emotions. She hammers the notion that women are like fire, contain fire, can swallow fire, can survive all these things, but it rings untrue when the concrete examples she cites are about victimhood.
And there's nothing wrong with writing about that. Actually, I'd argue that her engagement with victimhood is far more interesting and nuanced (especially for that time) than almost any of the other topics she attempts to grapple with. It was pretty new at that time to push back against victim blaming by pointing out that the only people who have the power to prevent rape are people who rape. She talks about how by presenting rapists in media as primarily being villains hiding in the shadows rather than people you know is actually dangerous and is a big reason why victims don't come forward or why, if they do, they are often unsupported by their families.
She goes back and forth between speaking to men, speaking to women, and speaking to herself as a sort of avatar for 'the universal woman you' in this collection.
When she speaks to men, she's very angry. And that does contextually make sense. One piece, 'expectations vs. reality', unpacks why it can be so frustrating to talk to men about rape culture:
Even without looking at the copyright, I could have accurately predicted that 'the witch doesn't burn in this one' was published sometime around 2016/2017. This collection of poetry is very much an object that exists as a time capsule of #MeToo-era feminism. It tries to be intersectional, but is ultimately too personally tied to its author to lift its head out of her navel despite trying to present a sort of universal womanhood.
That's not to say that it's a flop, however. There's nothing wrong with an artist creating something deeply personal -- indeed, that's where a lot of great art stems from. However, though clearly a reflection of her anger and sorrow at the ways women in America have always been let down by the patriarchal system they're born into, Amanda Lovelace fails in 'the witch doesn't burn' to move beyond those emotions. She hammers the notion that women are like fire, contain fire, can swallow fire, can survive all these things, but it rings untrue when the concrete examples she cites are about victimhood.
And there's nothing wrong with writing about that. Actually, I'd argue that her engagement with victimhood is far more interesting and nuanced (especially for that time) than almost any of the other topics she attempts to grapple with. It was pretty new at that time to push back against victim blaming by pointing out that the only people who have the power to prevent rape are people who rape. She talks about how by presenting rapists in media as primarily being villains hiding in the shadows rather than people you know is actually dangerous and is a big reason why victims don't come forward or why, if they do, they are often unsupported by their families.
She goes back and forth between speaking to men, speaking to women, and speaking to herself as a sort of avatar for 'the universal woman you' in this collection.
When she speaks to men, she's very angry. And that does contextually make sense. One piece, 'expectations vs. reality', unpacks why it can be so frustrating to talk to men about rape culture:
telling me
not all men
have
bad intentions
doesn't do
anything to
reassure
me.
after i
walk away from you
nothing will have
changed.
[...]
I will still
wonder
when i am
to become
a story
meant to warn
other people's
daughters
But the fact that she does so often speak to men despite this book being dedicated to and, I assume, marketed towards women makes pieces like 'expectations vs. reality' feel like shadowboxing.
And then there's the witch metaphor and the matches and the fire imagery.
Ok, this may be just my personal feeling, but I was really over hearing about women breathing fire/eating fire/being fire by the end of this. Maybe someone would find it empowering, but it just struck me as patronizing and it got old really quickly.
I'm also not completely sure I could tell you what the overarching theme of this collection was supposed to be other than broadly 'the #MeToo Movement and Hillary Clinton's failed presidential bid left me feeling really pissed off and sad and I just want to get those emotions out onto paper.' It feels unedited somewhat, it feels ironically very reactionary. Not reactionary as in right-wing, but reactionary as in, this feels like it's coming from an emotional, unprocessed place that can lead to bad logic and unintended contradictions. It feels like a starting point, not an end product. She talks about eating disorders, body dysmorphia, rape culture, domestic violence, the erasure of women’s accomplishments throughout history. But they're all fairly disjointed, and it's not always clear why given pieces were put in the order that they were. Nevertheless, this is presented and put together as though it is one complete piece of art, not a collection of unconnected poems.
Even the stylistic choices she made in a good number of the pieces feels unintentional. How she constructed many of them on the page doesn't feel like an artistic choice that was thought over with each word carefully put in its proper place (at least, that's how it felt), but more so 'I need to get this down, and this is how poetry should look on the page.'
That wasn't true for everything, and there were plenty where I could glean the artistic choices behind how she chose to construct a given piece, but they still often felt derivative. And when they weren't derivative, they seemed only half-baked (the poem 'there's plenty of room for all of us' has this line: "those pushed so far into the margin of the paper they're dangling off the edge". In it, the word 'dangling' is actually written vertically so that it 'dangles' in the middle of the page. But wouldn't it have been cooler and more illustrative to have it actually dangling off the margin at the edge?)
I would never fault someone for having a messy first draft, especially of a project they were clearly so vested in, but very much like Jeanette McCurdy's memoir 'I'm Glad My Mom Died', what is being presented as a finished product suffers from not being allowed to simmer longer on the stove so to speak.
As a matter of fact, 'Barbie' (2023) feels like the fully baked version of 'the witch doesn't burn in this one' (with arguably similar white feminism flaws as a matter of fact) and I wonder very much what Amanda Lovelace thinks of it.
The top tier version of these themes, though, is probably 'My Dark Vanessa' by Kate Elizabeth Russell (again, with the 'white feminism' caveat to an extent, but less than 'Barbie' and far, far less than 'the witch doesn't burn').
It'll be curious to see how the evolution of contemporary feminist art continues to evolve as we continue to march through the 2020s.
Also, also, a good place to branch into a more intersectional version of all of those aforementioned works would be pretty much anything Roxane Gay has been involved in, but perhaps particularly, 'Not That Bad: Dispatches From Rape Culture'.
Facing High Water by John Brandi
emotional
inspiring
3.0
"Listen, there's a house
halfway up the mountain. Nobody lives there,
just the thunder."
As the name of the collection, 'Facing High Water' suggests, the poetry herein is tied together by a sort of push and pull between angst and heartfelt humanism when facing a future that feels, yeah, like the existential threat of slowly but steadily rising water.
War seems to be the threat he focuses on rather than climate change, but regardless of whether you fear the end in the form of nuclear annihilation or the slower destruction and death brought on by global warming that feeling is certainly just as relatable now (if not more so) than it was in 2008.
But that's where the collection's through-line stops. It's a bit difficult to understand the organization as we zip back and forth in time and place. Some poems are reflections on places he's travelled, others are portraits of people he's met, others meditations on emotions or religio-philosophy (he seems especially to be taken by eastern religious philosophy). It's kind of all over the place.
That also massively influenced my overall feeling about the collection as a whole. Those that I enjoyed the most tended to be the ones that were a bit more meditative, a bit more reflective. Those that captured a sort of je ne sais quoi that is recognizably 'the human experience' -- the good, the bad, the mundane. For instance, lines like
"Compost needs turning,
stomach's blocked. Bad cheese, political turmoil,
lottery tickets scratched the wrong way." (3 in the Afternoon)
encapsulate in a list only a poet could put together what angst feels like, what it's made of. It's wonderful.
Another stanza that struck me this way was in the poem 'Has the old Homeland Changed?' when he writes:
Down below, it's all on fire.
People grasp at inflated dreams, take refuge
in lies that catch like burrs on every promise."
Each word just feels so ripe for interpretation, for mulling over. Where is 'down below?' Down below from where? Who are the people there grasping at inflated dreams? Is the narrator looking down from Heaven and talking about earth and the people living on it? Or is 'down below' being described by a monarch looking down from their castle? Academics peeking at the world from the ivory tower? Is this about class? Is this someone from a 'free, first world' country commenting on the plight of people living under a fascist government?
It's so interesting and probably somewhat revealing to think about.
And there were many pieces like this in the collection that I really, really enjoyed.
However, and this is just a personal feeling, but I really, really don't like it when people from western countries do this thing where when they travel, especially to non-European countries, and especially when they travel to places in Asia and South-east Asia (though this isn't exclusive to those places), they write about the people and culture there in one of two ways:
1. like they're fountains of wisdom and knowledge and spiritual insight that are just there for white people to drink from and gain enlightenment, and not as though they're three-dimensional individuals with complex inner worlds and emotions.
2. like they're exotic sheep to be pointed at and exclaimed over and commented on while you're passing through. That type of otherizing and/or generalization is just, it's so dehumanizing.
I don't want to say these things plagued 'Facing High Water', but they were definitely there. For instance, in 'Teaching in the Rust Belt' he describes the names of the immigrants he teaches there as "hardly pronounceable" and the experience of entering the school as being "engulfed in waves of black, sienna, mahogany, a glistening undertow of beaded dreads."
He then goes on, now that we've completely dehumanized his students, to talk about how their insights into their own traumas help him develop a broader sense of empathy: As the days progress, my chest hammers with brown rivers and delirious jungles, desert wars and refugee camps."
All of it just smacks, to me, of the 'magical Negro' trope, albeit broadened out to 'the magical person of color' trope and it gives me the ick.
Something else that gave me the ick was the expression 'swollen triangle' to describe a vagina, but I fully accept that that might just be a personal thing.
Overall, though the 'white person interacts with people of color' lens was irritating and played out, I did really like everything else, and though he clearly still had/has a lot of growth to do in that area, John Brandi obviously has a fabulous poetic sensibility when it comes to broader human experiences and feelings.
Compliment sandwich-style, here's one more quote I really liked:
It's the hour without hands
where clocks become stars and truth books its desire." (A Dancehall in Baracoa)
Side Note: I found my (signed!) copy in a used bookshop in Chiang Mai, Thailand, while I was studying there at a Thai language school, which I think would make the author smile.
halfway up the mountain. Nobody lives there,
just the thunder."
As the name of the collection, 'Facing High Water' suggests, the poetry herein is tied together by a sort of push and pull between angst and heartfelt humanism when facing a future that feels, yeah, like the existential threat of slowly but steadily rising water.
War seems to be the threat he focuses on rather than climate change, but regardless of whether you fear the end in the form of nuclear annihilation or the slower destruction and death brought on by global warming that feeling is certainly just as relatable now (if not more so) than it was in 2008.
But that's where the collection's through-line stops. It's a bit difficult to understand the organization as we zip back and forth in time and place. Some poems are reflections on places he's travelled, others are portraits of people he's met, others meditations on emotions or religio-philosophy (he seems especially to be taken by eastern religious philosophy). It's kind of all over the place.
That also massively influenced my overall feeling about the collection as a whole. Those that I enjoyed the most tended to be the ones that were a bit more meditative, a bit more reflective. Those that captured a sort of je ne sais quoi that is recognizably 'the human experience' -- the good, the bad, the mundane. For instance, lines like
"Compost needs turning,
stomach's blocked. Bad cheese, political turmoil,
lottery tickets scratched the wrong way." (3 in the Afternoon)
encapsulate in a list only a poet could put together what angst feels like, what it's made of. It's wonderful.
Another stanza that struck me this way was in the poem 'Has the old Homeland Changed?' when he writes:
Down below, it's all on fire.
People grasp at inflated dreams, take refuge
in lies that catch like burrs on every promise."
Each word just feels so ripe for interpretation, for mulling over. Where is 'down below?' Down below from where? Who are the people there grasping at inflated dreams? Is the narrator looking down from Heaven and talking about earth and the people living on it? Or is 'down below' being described by a monarch looking down from their castle? Academics peeking at the world from the ivory tower? Is this about class? Is this someone from a 'free, first world' country commenting on the plight of people living under a fascist government?
It's so interesting and probably somewhat revealing to think about.
And there were many pieces like this in the collection that I really, really enjoyed.
However, and this is just a personal feeling, but I really, really don't like it when people from western countries do this thing where when they travel, especially to non-European countries, and especially when they travel to places in Asia and South-east Asia (though this isn't exclusive to those places), they write about the people and culture there in one of two ways:
1. like they're fountains of wisdom and knowledge and spiritual insight that are just there for white people to drink from and gain enlightenment, and not as though they're three-dimensional individuals with complex inner worlds and emotions.
2. like they're exotic sheep to be pointed at and exclaimed over and commented on while you're passing through. That type of otherizing and/or generalization is just, it's so dehumanizing.
I don't want to say these things plagued 'Facing High Water', but they were definitely there. For instance, in 'Teaching in the Rust Belt' he describes the names of the immigrants he teaches there as "hardly pronounceable" and the experience of entering the school as being "engulfed in waves of black, sienna, mahogany, a glistening undertow of beaded dreads."
He then goes on, now that we've completely dehumanized his students, to talk about how their insights into their own traumas help him develop a broader sense of empathy: As the days progress, my chest hammers with brown rivers and delirious jungles, desert wars and refugee camps."
All of it just smacks, to me, of the 'magical Negro' trope, albeit broadened out to 'the magical person of color' trope and it gives me the ick.
Something else that gave me the ick was the expression 'swollen triangle' to describe a vagina, but I fully accept that that might just be a personal thing.
Overall, though the 'white person interacts with people of color' lens was irritating and played out, I did really like everything else, and though he clearly still had/has a lot of growth to do in that area, John Brandi obviously has a fabulous poetic sensibility when it comes to broader human experiences and feelings.
Compliment sandwich-style, here's one more quote I really liked:
It's the hour without hands
where clocks become stars and truth books its desire." (A Dancehall in Baracoa)
Side Note: I found my (signed!) copy in a used bookshop in Chiang Mai, Thailand, while I was studying there at a Thai language school, which I think would make the author smile.
Guardians of Atlantis by Rick Chesler
And that's just most of the 'creature-features' and includes none of the other shenanigans. And make no mistake: there are many, many shenanigans including some somewhat dubious physics.
The funniest part about the breakneck speed to me was how it left basically zero time for the characters to react to anything that happens, which at times verged on almost campy. Especially the woolly mammoth bit. Possibly also the Ammit bit depending on how dark you like your campy humor. Like, these absolutely wild, wild, life-changing, earth-shattering, unbelievably insane things happen to them and all they have a chance to say about it is 'wow' before the next unimaginably unhinged thing happens.
Again, coming from my background as an avid fan of campy mid-2000s shonen anime, this was right up my street.
It's made apparent at the end that this entire episode serves the function of setting up a series of books in this vein with these characters, and I'm sure it is/will be super fun, but that does force this story to come to an end somewhat abruptly in order to leave space for that set-up.
Chesler obviously had a really fun time researching for this book because he couldn't help sprinkling in very unnecessary, very obvious exposition and fun facts throughout (e.g. why the science team at the beginning has this specific type of dog as a sled dog, an array of facts about the pyramids, Egyptian beliefs and rituals, etc.). I've read enough fanfiction in my time to find this kind of info-dumping charming and delightful. I recognize, however, that some might find it inelegant and clunky, and that is a completely justifiable quibble that is worth pointing out when evaluating the writing and organization on a technical level, it just didn't bother me personally.
Right, so, in summation: is the math mathing in 'Guardians of Atlantis'? Absolutely not. The math ain't mathing, the science ain't sciencing, but Chesler cared enough to give it a good varnish of reality on top. The story remains at a 10 from about page twenty, and if you squint too hard none of it really adds up, but like, come on, this wasn't meant to be taken too seriously; it's meant to take you for a ride...at about 200 miles an hour.
So: seatbelts, everyone! This will not be a normal fieldtrip.
Side note It's pretty hilarious that in a book like this the most unbelievable thing is that a girlie travelling alone unblinkingly decided to accept a ride from a car full of guys she didn't know. Oh, Chester, my lad. You sweet summer child. Thank you for momentarily letting us into your personal utopia. May the real world one day reflect this beautiful fantasy.
adventurous
funny
mysterious
fast-paced
- Plot- or character-driven? Plot
- Strong character development? No
- Loveable characters? N/A
- Diverse cast of characters? N/A
- Flaws of characters a main focus? No
4.25
In a phrase, 'Guardians of Atlantis' is Magic School Bus for adults if Magic School Bus was sci-fi and Ms. Frizzle was a Saudi Prince.
This is an adventure story, so you have to go into it expecting and wanting an 'all plot, no vibes' kind of book. And indeed, that was what I was in the mood for and it was exactly what I got.
Who are the characters and what makes them tick? Well, one of them is a freshly fired American working as a tour guide in Cairo (he will proceed to fail upwards for the remainder of the story), the other is another American, a girlie in Cairo on vacation between her Bachelors and Masters in zoology. She is also a 10. We are reminded of this several many times. It's important to the plot maybe...probably...
Anyway, it doesn't really matter who they are because we aren't here for them, we're here because we want to go on a fun, National Treasure-style adventure but with magic/aliens (?).
And the author, Rick Chesler, just really let his imagination go wild in this one because once we get underneath one of the pyramids, things just start happening and then don't stop happening pretty much for the rest of the book. These things include, but are by no means limited to:
This is an adventure story, so you have to go into it expecting and wanting an 'all plot, no vibes' kind of book. And indeed, that was what I was in the mood for and it was exactly what I got.
Who are the characters and what makes them tick? Well, one of them is a freshly fired American working as a tour guide in Cairo (he will proceed to fail upwards for the remainder of the story), the other is another American, a girlie in Cairo on vacation between her Bachelors and Masters in zoology. She is also a 10. We are reminded of this several many times. It's important to the plot maybe...probably...
Anyway, it doesn't really matter who they are because we aren't here for them, we're here because we want to go on a fun, National Treasure-style adventure but with magic/aliens (?).
And the author, Rick Chesler, just really let his imagination go wild in this one because once we get underneath one of the pyramids, things just start happening and then don't stop happening pretty much for the rest of the book. These things include, but are by no means limited to:
1- sharks in a lake under the Great Sphinx
2. an 'Ammit'-coded crocodile creature also living in a lake under the Great Sphinx
3. woolly mammoths hatching from rocks in a treasure chamber under the Great Sphinx
4. Megalodons in a secret lake in the Antarctic
And that's just most of the 'creature-features' and includes none of the other shenanigans. And make no mistake: there are many, many shenanigans including some somewhat dubious physics.
The funniest part about the breakneck speed to me was how it left basically zero time for the characters to react to anything that happens, which at times verged on almost campy. Especially the woolly mammoth bit. Possibly also the Ammit bit depending on how dark you like your campy humor. Like, these absolutely wild, wild, life-changing, earth-shattering, unbelievably insane things happen to them and all they have a chance to say about it is 'wow' before the next unimaginably unhinged thing happens.
Again, coming from my background as an avid fan of campy mid-2000s shonen anime, this was right up my street.
It's made apparent at the end that this entire episode serves the function of setting up a series of books in this vein with these characters, and I'm sure it is/will be super fun, but that does force this story to come to an end somewhat abruptly in order to leave space for that set-up.
Chesler obviously had a really fun time researching for this book because he couldn't help sprinkling in very unnecessary, very obvious exposition and fun facts throughout (e.g. why the science team at the beginning has this specific type of dog as a sled dog, an array of facts about the pyramids, Egyptian beliefs and rituals, etc.). I've read enough fanfiction in my time to find this kind of info-dumping charming and delightful. I recognize, however, that some might find it inelegant and clunky, and that is a completely justifiable quibble that is worth pointing out when evaluating the writing and organization on a technical level, it just didn't bother me personally.
Right, so, in summation: is the math mathing in 'Guardians of Atlantis'? Absolutely not. The math ain't mathing, the science ain't sciencing, but Chesler cared enough to give it a good varnish of reality on top. The story remains at a 10 from about page twenty, and if you squint too hard none of it really adds up, but like, come on, this wasn't meant to be taken too seriously; it's meant to take you for a ride...at about 200 miles an hour.
So: seatbelts, everyone! This will not be a normal fieldtrip.
Side note It's pretty hilarious that in a book like this the most unbelievable thing is that a girlie travelling alone unblinkingly decided to accept a ride from a car full of guys she didn't know. Oh, Chester, my lad. You sweet summer child. Thank you for momentarily letting us into your personal utopia. May the real world one day reflect this beautiful fantasy.
On Earth We're Briefly Gorgeous by Ocean Vuong
challenging
dark
hopeful
reflective
sad
slow-paced
- Plot- or character-driven? Character
- Strong character development? Yes
- Loveable characters? It's complicated
- Flaws of characters a main focus? It's complicated
4.0
All this time I told myself we were born from war -- but I was wrong, Ma. We were born from beauty. Let no one mistake us for the fruit of violence." (p.231)
I was talking to a friend about this book recently. I had already finished it and she was in the middle. "This book is called 'On Earth We're Briefly Gorgeous', but where's the gorgeous part?" she asked. And she was right to do so because much of this book is an exploration of things that are distinctly not gorgeous.
War, intergenerational trauma, domestic violence, mental illness, addiction, racism, poverty, internalized homophobia, disease, decay, death. These are all described and dissected in oftentimes graphic detail, albeit in poetic prose.
My friend compared the reading experience to 'A Little Life', but I vehemently disagree. 'A Little Life' is a void that, by the admission of the author, is horrible for the sake of it and as a result, it feels soulless. Ocean Vuong, however, takes the bleakness and the ugliness of life, stares them in the face and says: 'I choose love. I choose beauty.'
But he's not making the claim that suffering is worthwhile because it can result in art. He's not claiming that there is beauty in misery; he's saying that these things are real, that they matter, but that it's still possible to choose beauty, however 'briefly gorgeous' it may be.
He describes the oftentimes abusive relationship Little Dog had with his mother; the beatings, the emotional manipulation, but he also, especially towards the end, he acknowledges the brief moments of happiness he experiences with her. He writes of his mother with deep compassion even as he doesn't excuse her abuse. And this quiet forgiveness and understanding doesn't actually seem like it's for her (given that this letter is written and she can't read); it's for Little Dog. In the end, after the catharsis of all the moments of anger and fear and sadness, he chooses the lens of beauty because it makes him happier.
The same could be said of the tragedy of Little Dog's relationship with Trevor. It was overall not a good or healthy relationship, but still it had moments of beauty, of tenderness, of love, of friendship, and those moments still matter. Maybe they matter the most.
So, yes, in the end, this is a novel about the brevity of beauty in otherwise very dark and ugly situations, and Ocean Vuong is not suggesting that we use the lens of beauty to overlook the broken systems that lead to that ugliness and pain (and he's pretty blatant about who is at fault for those broken systems), but that the way we view our memories is within our power, and that that choice is something that can release us from aspects of cyclical abuse and violence, at least interpersonally. He says that finding that beauty in our memories is what can fuel a person to strive for something better for themselves and ultimately for the world.
If you liked 'On Earth We're Briefly Gorgeous' and want another queer story built on many of the same themes, all the way down to having a protagonist exploring the intersection between his queer and cultural identities while reconciling his relationships with his mother and grandmother, check out 'Jonny Appleseed' by Indigenous Canadian author Joshua Whitehead.
I was talking to a friend about this book recently. I had already finished it and she was in the middle. "This book is called 'On Earth We're Briefly Gorgeous', but where's the gorgeous part?" she asked. And she was right to do so because much of this book is an exploration of things that are distinctly not gorgeous.
War, intergenerational trauma, domestic violence, mental illness, addiction, racism, poverty, internalized homophobia, disease, decay, death. These are all described and dissected in oftentimes graphic detail, albeit in poetic prose.
My friend compared the reading experience to 'A Little Life', but I vehemently disagree. 'A Little Life' is a void that, by the admission of the author, is horrible for the sake of it and as a result, it feels soulless. Ocean Vuong, however, takes the bleakness and the ugliness of life, stares them in the face and says: 'I choose love. I choose beauty.'
But he's not making the claim that suffering is worthwhile because it can result in art. He's not claiming that there is beauty in misery; he's saying that these things are real, that they matter, but that it's still possible to choose beauty, however 'briefly gorgeous' it may be.
He describes the oftentimes abusive relationship Little Dog had with his mother; the beatings, the emotional manipulation, but he also, especially towards the end, he acknowledges the brief moments of happiness he experiences with her. He writes of his mother with deep compassion even as he doesn't excuse her abuse. And this quiet forgiveness and understanding doesn't actually seem like it's for her (given that this letter is written and she can't read); it's for Little Dog. In the end, after the catharsis of all the moments of anger and fear and sadness, he chooses the lens of beauty because it makes him happier.
The same could be said of the tragedy of Little Dog's relationship with Trevor. It was overall not a good or healthy relationship, but still it had moments of beauty, of tenderness, of love, of friendship, and those moments still matter. Maybe they matter the most.
So, yes, in the end, this is a novel about the brevity of beauty in otherwise very dark and ugly situations, and Ocean Vuong is not suggesting that we use the lens of beauty to overlook the broken systems that lead to that ugliness and pain (and he's pretty blatant about who is at fault for those broken systems), but that the way we view our memories is within our power, and that that choice is something that can release us from aspects of cyclical abuse and violence, at least interpersonally. He says that finding that beauty in our memories is what can fuel a person to strive for something better for themselves and ultimately for the world.
If you liked 'On Earth We're Briefly Gorgeous' and want another queer story built on many of the same themes, all the way down to having a protagonist exploring the intersection between his queer and cultural identities while reconciling his relationships with his mother and grandmother, check out 'Jonny Appleseed' by Indigenous Canadian author Joshua Whitehead.
Icequake by Crawford Kilian
adventurous
medium-paced
- Plot- or character-driven? Plot
- Strong character development? No
- Loveable characters? N/A
- Diverse cast of characters? N/A
- Flaws of characters a main focus? No
3.0
I think I may have read 'Icequake' too soon after reading 'Guardians of Atlantis' (also set partially in Antarctica).
Where 'Guardians of Atlantis' was happy to not let science get in the way of a good time (to the tune of some truly bonkers plot points), 'Icequake' takes the science very seriously. At least, it certainly reads that way. I'll let the glaciologists argue over that one.
In any case, Crawford Kilian obviously had tremendous proximity to the subject matter in 'Icequake', which, incidentally, is really more about the aftermath of the icequake than the lead-up to it, making this more of a survival story than I expected, but honestly, I'm glad that was the case.
Pretty early on the big icequake happens, stranding anyone unlucky enough to have been in Antarctica at the time, including our protagonist, a science journalist from New York (if memory serves). She and all the scientists, engineers, and everyone else keeping the lights on at their base camp spend the rest of the novel trying to figure out the likely global consequences of such a massive natural disaster as well as how/if they'll be rescued by anyone who's left.
Some parts were on the dry side of interesting because of how much technical information Kilian infused the novel with, but I like a good post-disaster survival story, so even if the pacing dragged in places, at least we were still staying on topic.
The characters were serviceable but not especially memorable. There were definitely too many people to keep track of, so I didn't bother trying. Over time I could at least keep the principle cast straight, and that was good enough.
The ending, when it finally came, was super abrupt, but I suppose that's on-brand for a story like this. And it also became clear by the last chapter that this was intended to be the first book in a series, which makes sense of a few otherwise odd decisions towards the end.
It was a good time, there was definitely a strong and obvious man vs. nature struggle going on with an environmentalist bent. And boy did Kilian make sure you felt cold reading this novel. The realism of the frostbite, the sunburns, the instant freezing of anything not weighted down by fifty pounds of clothes... brrrr!
Apparently, there's a 2010 movie called 'Icequake' but the plot of this novel is infinitely more interesting than that sounds, and frankly, had Kilian's novel been published just a decade later it would likely have been a cool 90s disaster movie blockbuster. And I would have watched it for sure.
If you want to feel cold and learn about how to survive in Antarctica and about how a Hercules plane works, check out 'Icequake'!
Where 'Guardians of Atlantis' was happy to not let science get in the way of a good time (to the tune of some truly bonkers plot points), 'Icequake' takes the science very seriously. At least, it certainly reads that way. I'll let the glaciologists argue over that one.
In any case, Crawford Kilian obviously had tremendous proximity to the subject matter in 'Icequake', which, incidentally, is really more about the aftermath of the icequake than the lead-up to it, making this more of a survival story than I expected, but honestly, I'm glad that was the case.
Pretty early on the big icequake happens, stranding anyone unlucky enough to have been in Antarctica at the time, including our protagonist, a science journalist from New York (if memory serves). She and all the scientists, engineers, and everyone else keeping the lights on at their base camp spend the rest of the novel trying to figure out the likely global consequences of such a massive natural disaster as well as how/if they'll be rescued by anyone who's left.
Some parts were on the dry side of interesting because of how much technical information Kilian infused the novel with, but I like a good post-disaster survival story, so even if the pacing dragged in places, at least we were still staying on topic.
The characters were serviceable but not especially memorable. There were definitely too many people to keep track of, so I didn't bother trying. Over time I could at least keep the principle cast straight, and that was good enough.
The ending, when it finally came, was super abrupt, but I suppose that's on-brand for a story like this. And it also became clear by the last chapter that this was intended to be the first book in a series, which makes sense of a few otherwise odd decisions towards the end.
It was a good time, there was definitely a strong and obvious man vs. nature struggle going on with an environmentalist bent. And boy did Kilian make sure you felt cold reading this novel. The realism of the frostbite, the sunburns, the instant freezing of anything not weighted down by fifty pounds of clothes... brrrr!
Apparently, there's a 2010 movie called 'Icequake' but the plot of this novel is infinitely more interesting than that sounds, and frankly, had Kilian's novel been published just a decade later it would likely have been a cool 90s disaster movie blockbuster. And I would have watched it for sure.
If you want to feel cold and learn about how to survive in Antarctica and about how a Hercules plane works, check out 'Icequake'!
Atlantis Discovered by Lewis Spence
adventurous
2.75
"In these pages enthusiasm has doubtless frequently outstripped caution and even probability, but if errors and false hypotheses are to be encountered therein, I must plead that these are due to a spirit of experiment and archaeological enterprise." (p.231)
I think it's fair to say that in 'Atlantis Discovered' author Lewis Spence let his headcanon get away from him a bit. In a chapter titled: 'The Evidence from Old Peru' he goes into a lengthy physical description of the 'Temple of the Sun' as described by (according to Spence) a Spanish explorer. Just at the point at which the reader might find themselves wondering why we're talking about this in such detail, he cuts back in to say: "I have described these remains of Peruvian grandeur at some length, because in my estimation they preserve the atmosphere of what I believe Atlantis to have resembled." (p.190)
And I would argue that this quote and that referenced above just about sum up the seriousness of the archaeological rigor employed by Spence when putting this together.
It's my understanding that pretty much any book purporting to be a serious exploration of the reality of the city/continent/island of Atlantis reads like this. Which, of course, makes sense, given that no serious researcher seems to be on board with the whole 'Atlantis was definitely a real place with super advanced technology/philosophy inhabited by super hot people and from which European culture sprang forth' thing.
So why did this lad go to all the effort of LARPing so hard as an anthropologist that he doubtless spent years researching only to produce a work of fantasy such as 'Atlantis Discovered'? Well, why does anyone get sucked into any conspiracy theory?
Obviously, every person's story of what conditions led to them getting lost in the sauce is going to be different, but I don't think it's a coincidence that so many of them seem to boil down to white supremacy. White people just seem to have a lot of anxiety around letting go of the notion of being the harbingers of all historical progress (in addition to being the determiners of what even constitutes progress).
This is a super complicated anxiety to unpack, but in any event, 'Atlantis Discovered' is steeped in it. So much of the page count is made up of asides about how Atlantis must have existed and must have been populated by white people because it's impossible (apparently?) that any other group of people could have developed advanced forms of construction, religious/philosophical complexity, etc. Like, it's legitimately wild how often he brings this up, dismissing indigenous South and Central American populations as barbaric, underdeveloped, savage, and in a sentence dismissing the notion that any form of 'culture' could have spread East to West rather than West to East. So when he gives examples of architecture or burial practices in the Americas, Egypt, and parts of Europe that he considers similar, he has to underpin this with 'and since, obviously, those uncivilized lads over there couldn't possibly have come up with these things on their own, they must have gotten it from somewhere else, somewhere more proto-European, ergo, Atlantis was real. The end.'
He sometimes gives Egypt a pass, but then he'll go back into his little phrenology asides.
What 'Atlantis Discovered' most reminds me of, actually, is Oscar Wilde's less famous short novel 'The Portrait of Mr. W.H.' in which the protagonist gets swept up in the mystery of who Shakespeare dedicated his love sonnets to. As in that novella, Lewis Spence tried to tailor the facts to fit his theory rather than the theory to fit the facts. And just like in that novella, you can feel (even if you don't empathize with) Spence's desperation to be right.
Whether this desperation stems from a place of sunk cost fallacy or unexamined white supremacy brainrot or both, it's clear that this is a book by and for sad and probably lonely people (and me! Although I, of course, approach this from a sensible rather than unhinged anthropological perspective, being that I'm a superior being completely above letting feelings get in the way of facts. Ever. Amen.).
It's made perhaps even sadder by the fact that, based on his earnestness in the conclusion, Spence really does believe everything he wrote.
To quote Tulio of 'Road to El Dorado' fame: "You're buying your own con!"
That all being said, if not taken too seriously, this is an interesting peek into the mind of a conspiracy-theorist-adjacent type of person and the types of rhetoric they employ to make the completely made-up fantasy world in which they inhabit feel plausible enough to draw in someone untrained in how to spot such linguistic trickery that appeals to 'common sense' (lots of 'obviously...' and 'it has been well established that...' and 'this would logically lead one to conclude...') without ever actually proving anything.
Personally, though, my favorite thing is a quote from the Times Literary Supplement on the front cover of my edition that lauds 'Atlantis Discovered' as "The most level-headed work which has yet appeared in support of the Atlantis theory."
The most level-headed indeed.
I shudder to imagine.
I think it's fair to say that in 'Atlantis Discovered' author Lewis Spence let his headcanon get away from him a bit. In a chapter titled: 'The Evidence from Old Peru' he goes into a lengthy physical description of the 'Temple of the Sun' as described by (according to Spence) a Spanish explorer. Just at the point at which the reader might find themselves wondering why we're talking about this in such detail, he cuts back in to say: "I have described these remains of Peruvian grandeur at some length, because in my estimation they preserve the atmosphere of what I believe Atlantis to have resembled." (p.190)
And I would argue that this quote and that referenced above just about sum up the seriousness of the archaeological rigor employed by Spence when putting this together.
It's my understanding that pretty much any book purporting to be a serious exploration of the reality of the city/continent/island of Atlantis reads like this. Which, of course, makes sense, given that no serious researcher seems to be on board with the whole 'Atlantis was definitely a real place with super advanced technology/philosophy inhabited by super hot people and from which European culture sprang forth' thing.
So why did this lad go to all the effort of LARPing so hard as an anthropologist that he doubtless spent years researching only to produce a work of fantasy such as 'Atlantis Discovered'? Well, why does anyone get sucked into any conspiracy theory?
Obviously, every person's story of what conditions led to them getting lost in the sauce is going to be different, but I don't think it's a coincidence that so many of them seem to boil down to white supremacy. White people just seem to have a lot of anxiety around letting go of the notion of being the harbingers of all historical progress (in addition to being the determiners of what even constitutes progress).
This is a super complicated anxiety to unpack, but in any event, 'Atlantis Discovered' is steeped in it. So much of the page count is made up of asides about how Atlantis must have existed and must have been populated by white people because it's impossible (apparently?) that any other group of people could have developed advanced forms of construction, religious/philosophical complexity, etc. Like, it's legitimately wild how often he brings this up, dismissing indigenous South and Central American populations as barbaric, underdeveloped, savage, and in a sentence dismissing the notion that any form of 'culture' could have spread East to West rather than West to East. So when he gives examples of architecture or burial practices in the Americas, Egypt, and parts of Europe that he considers similar, he has to underpin this with 'and since, obviously, those uncivilized lads over there couldn't possibly have come up with these things on their own, they must have gotten it from somewhere else, somewhere more proto-European, ergo, Atlantis was real. The end.'
He sometimes gives Egypt a pass, but then he'll go back into his little phrenology asides.
What 'Atlantis Discovered' most reminds me of, actually, is Oscar Wilde's less famous short novel 'The Portrait of Mr. W.H.' in which the protagonist gets swept up in the mystery of who Shakespeare dedicated his love sonnets to. As in that novella, Lewis Spence tried to tailor the facts to fit his theory rather than the theory to fit the facts. And just like in that novella, you can feel (even if you don't empathize with) Spence's desperation to be right.
Whether this desperation stems from a place of sunk cost fallacy or unexamined white supremacy brainrot or both, it's clear that this is a book by and for sad and probably lonely people (and me! Although I, of course, approach this from a sensible rather than unhinged anthropological perspective, being that I'm a superior being completely above letting feelings get in the way of facts. Ever. Amen.).
It's made perhaps even sadder by the fact that, based on his earnestness in the conclusion, Spence really does believe everything he wrote.
To quote Tulio of 'Road to El Dorado' fame: "You're buying your own con!"
That all being said, if not taken too seriously, this is an interesting peek into the mind of a conspiracy-theorist-adjacent type of person and the types of rhetoric they employ to make the completely made-up fantasy world in which they inhabit feel plausible enough to draw in someone untrained in how to spot such linguistic trickery that appeals to 'common sense' (lots of 'obviously...' and 'it has been well established that...' and 'this would logically lead one to conclude...') without ever actually proving anything.
Personally, though, my favorite thing is a quote from the Times Literary Supplement on the front cover of my edition that lauds 'Atlantis Discovered' as "The most level-headed work which has yet appeared in support of the Atlantis theory."
The most level-headed indeed.
I shudder to imagine.
Cats of the Louvre by Taiyo Matsumoto
adventurous
emotional
medium-paced
- Loveable characters? Yes
- Diverse cast of characters? Yes
3.75
"Have you ever heard them? The voices of the paintings?"
It was speculated that 'Cats of the Louvre' was commissioned as part of the 'Louvre Collection' which included 'Guardians of the Louvre' by artist Jirô Taniguchi, whose graphic novel was referenced in 'Cats of the Louvre'. I couldn't find any confirmation of this, but regardless, 'Cats of the Louvre' gives a lot of love to what has been called 'the world's most popular museum.'
As whimsical as the set-up of a rag-tag group of cats living in an attic at the Louvre sounds, 'Cats of the Louvre' is actually surprisingly melancholy and thoughtful.
We start off by following a few human characters: a Louvre tour guide and two security guards, including an old man whose connection to the museum going back fifty years is slowly revealed.
Then we get to the cats. Though we meet a number of them, we're primarily focused on Snowbébé, a seven-year-old cat who has mysteriously remained a kitten. We soon discover that Snowbébé has the ability to enter certain paintings at the Louvre. This ability becomes the central plot focus as things begin to wrap up and the storylines with the humans and the cats begin to converge.
When the cats are alone, mangaka Taiyo Matsumoto made the artistic decision to anthropomorphize them, though he makes it clear that this anthropomorphism is just a means of allowing the cats to express more human emotions/reactions -- they don't actually shape-shift.
The style of these human-cat hybrids isn't going to be everyone's cup of tea, and indeed, many of the complaints about 'Cats of the Louvre' center on their design.
I agree that it was a little bit jarring, and I think giving them little outfits was a bridge too far, but I quickly got used to it, and I actually think in some ways that giving them these almost-but-not-exactly human forms worked well to show-don't-tell who each of the cats were, especially since we only really get to know a few of them. Yes, sometimes this led to some creepy imagery, but honestly, as a cat parent, I would say that cats, for all that they're very cute, can be creepy looking, especially when they pull a particularly mean hissy face.
Anthropomorphic cats aside, the mystery at the center of the plot was one I found interesting, the trials and tribulations of the Louvre cats when they would occasionally venture outside the safety of their attic were harrowing, and Matsumoto doesn't shy away from maiming and killing off a feline here and there. It's horrible to see, but surely reflects the reality of the lives of stray cats.
These trials and tribulations also give the humans a chance to intervene in various heartwarming ways, so it all balances out.
I don't think anyone would find the ending of the story to be earth-shatteringly unpredictable, but it was certainly serviceable for the type of story Matsumoto wanted to tell.
And the artwork. The artwork
I've been to the Louvre, and I wish it was as interesting as it appears in 'Cats of the Louvre.' Matsumoto's art style worked superbly to bring the museum to life as more than just the setting, and it's so well-integrated into the story that it feels like a sort of character itself, making 'Cats of the Louvre' a joy even just to flip through. The line work is *chef's kiss*.
Definitely one for the cat lovers out there, especially anyone who liked the look and tone of the anime film 'Catnapped' -- the mixture of whimsy and melancholy is definitely there, though more graphic in 'Cats of the Louvre'.
It was speculated that 'Cats of the Louvre' was commissioned as part of the 'Louvre Collection' which included 'Guardians of the Louvre' by artist Jirô Taniguchi, whose graphic novel was referenced in 'Cats of the Louvre'. I couldn't find any confirmation of this, but regardless, 'Cats of the Louvre' gives a lot of love to what has been called 'the world's most popular museum.'
As whimsical as the set-up of a rag-tag group of cats living in an attic at the Louvre sounds, 'Cats of the Louvre' is actually surprisingly melancholy and thoughtful.
We start off by following a few human characters: a Louvre tour guide and two security guards, including an old man whose connection to the museum going back fifty years is slowly revealed.
Then we get to the cats. Though we meet a number of them, we're primarily focused on Snowbébé, a seven-year-old cat who has mysteriously remained a kitten. We soon discover that Snowbébé has the ability to enter certain paintings at the Louvre. This ability becomes the central plot focus as things begin to wrap up and the storylines with the humans and the cats begin to converge.
When the cats are alone, mangaka Taiyo Matsumoto made the artistic decision to anthropomorphize them, though he makes it clear that this anthropomorphism is just a means of allowing the cats to express more human emotions/reactions -- they don't actually shape-shift.
The style of these human-cat hybrids isn't going to be everyone's cup of tea, and indeed, many of the complaints about 'Cats of the Louvre' center on their design.
I agree that it was a little bit jarring, and I think giving them little outfits was a bridge too far, but I quickly got used to it, and I actually think in some ways that giving them these almost-but-not-exactly human forms worked well to show-don't-tell who each of the cats were, especially since we only really get to know a few of them. Yes, sometimes this led to some creepy imagery, but honestly, as a cat parent, I would say that cats, for all that they're very cute, can be creepy looking, especially when they pull a particularly mean hissy face.
Anthropomorphic cats aside, the mystery at the center of the plot was one I found interesting, the trials and tribulations of the Louvre cats when they would occasionally venture outside the safety of their attic were harrowing, and Matsumoto doesn't shy away from maiming and killing off a feline here and there. It's horrible to see, but surely reflects the reality of the lives of stray cats.
These trials and tribulations also give the humans a chance to intervene in various heartwarming ways, so it all balances out.
I don't think anyone would find the ending of the story to be earth-shatteringly unpredictable, but it was certainly serviceable for the type of story Matsumoto wanted to tell.
And the artwork. The artwork
I've been to the Louvre, and I wish it was as interesting as it appears in 'Cats of the Louvre.' Matsumoto's art style worked superbly to bring the museum to life as more than just the setting, and it's so well-integrated into the story that it feels like a sort of character itself, making 'Cats of the Louvre' a joy even just to flip through. The line work is *chef's kiss*.
Definitely one for the cat lovers out there, especially anyone who liked the look and tone of the anime film 'Catnapped' -- the mixture of whimsy and melancholy is definitely there, though more graphic in 'Cats of the Louvre'.
Shadows of Atlantis: Awakening by Mara Powers
adventurous
mysterious
slow-paced
- Plot- or character-driven? A mix
- Strong character development? No
- Loveable characters? It's complicated
- Diverse cast of characters? No
- Flaws of characters a main focus? It's complicated
3.5
Shadows of Atlantis does us the rare favor of being exactly what it says it is on the box. Exactly what is described in the synopsis is what happens.
I'll admit I was a bit surprised by this. I was so sure once the 'star-crossed lovers' met that the political intrigue plot would play second fiddle to the romance, but that never happened. In fact, I'm not sure the so-called lovers spend enough 'screen time' together for their relationship to even count as one of the main plot points -- which was great. Star-crossed romance is by far the least interesting type of love story because insta-love just isn't that compelling (As per Contrapoints's video on Twilight: people read romance for the yearning, not for the happily ever after).
Luckily in this case, the fact that this is 'insta-love' is part of the intrigue because neither Brigitte nor D'Vinid know why they're so drawn to each other, and D'Vinid is actually really frustrated that it feels out of his control, thus tying the romance aspect back to the behind-the-scenes machinations being set up by the mysterious 'Watchers.'
As is typical of the first book in a high fantasy series, there's a lot of time dedicated to setting up the world and the mechanics of its magic system, and all of that necessary exposition does sometimes weigh down the pacing, but author Mara Powers also does her best to 'show' rather than 'tell' the exposition, which helped tremendously, even if it meant it took a bit longer to catch on to certain mechanics, like 'The Grid' or 'Dreamtime'. And it also meant that by the end of the book it was still a bit unclear what the relationships between various different sects and secret societies and individual characters were. But again, that's just par for the course for the first installment in a series like this, so I can't really ding it for that.
The world of Atlantis as built up by Powers is well-grounded and intriguing, and I really appreciated that setting this story in Atlantis felt purposeful rather than just incidental or lazy. Atlantis is supposed to be a cautionary tale about greed and decadence, and that idea is very much at the heart of 'Shadows of Atlantis.' That being said, the different specific aspects of the culture that she builds up (such as the Kamishari ritual, and various other rituals and customs relating to ‘The Grid’ or ‘The Watchers’) don’t feel derivative, but fresh and vibrant, so that her ‘Atlantis’ didn’t just feel like ‘Ancient Greece but with magic’ as can sometimes be the case in such stories.
She also nicely expanded on the idea of Atlantis as this ancient, yet high-tech civilization. Integrating the necessary sci-fi elements of futuristic technology could have felt anachronistic if not done well, but she went the route of Disney's 'Atlantis' and tied the technology to the magic so that it was easy to imagine them co-existing rather than trying to plop computers or refrigerators in the middle of Ancient Greece or some such. Rather, the magic allows otherwise organic objects to be used in similar ways to modern technology (like stone 'hover disks' powered by magical crystals in lieu of motorized vehicles for instance).
While well-integrated, things like hover-disks or magical healing elixirs aren't anything new. What did feel unique to this world and its technology are these uncanny bio-engineered automatons that act as bodyguards and soldiers. They more or less look like people, but are (for all intents and purposes) lab-grown and therefore have no 'soul.' One of the plot threads I was the most intrigued by was the convergence of the existence of these beings with the mysterious illness 'the madness' that reduces once normal people to mindless zombies. There's a conversation between two characters at one point about a rumour that victims of 'The madness' are being kidnapped and passed off as these automaton creatures because it's a cheap way to increase the supply.
Very creepy.
I wanted to know more.
I'm not normally a high-fantasy girly, but I was honestly invested enough by the end of book 1 to potentially go on the sequel: I need to know what's going to come of all of the puppeteering going on within the government, I need to know how the automoton plotline pans out.
Sure, Brigitte is kind of a boring paint-by-numbers character, but she's really the only one like that, and frankly, this isn't a character-driven story for the most part, so that's not a big deal. I'd rather she feel generic than be annoying.
Also, everyone is hot in Atlantis. Not really a pro or a con (unless you want it to be), but worth noting.
I'll admit I was a bit surprised by this. I was so sure once the 'star-crossed lovers' met that the political intrigue plot would play second fiddle to the romance, but that never happened. In fact, I'm not sure the so-called lovers spend enough 'screen time' together for their relationship to even count as one of the main plot points -- which was great. Star-crossed romance is by far the least interesting type of love story because insta-love just isn't that compelling (As per Contrapoints's video on Twilight: people read romance for the yearning, not for the happily ever after).
Luckily in this case, the fact that this is 'insta-love' is part of the intrigue because neither Brigitte nor D'Vinid know why they're so drawn to each other, and D'Vinid is actually really frustrated that it feels out of his control, thus tying the romance aspect back to the behind-the-scenes machinations being set up by the mysterious 'Watchers.'
As is typical of the first book in a high fantasy series, there's a lot of time dedicated to setting up the world and the mechanics of its magic system, and all of that necessary exposition does sometimes weigh down the pacing, but author Mara Powers also does her best to 'show' rather than 'tell' the exposition, which helped tremendously, even if it meant it took a bit longer to catch on to certain mechanics, like 'The Grid' or 'Dreamtime'. And it also meant that by the end of the book it was still a bit unclear what the relationships between various different sects and secret societies and individual characters were. But again, that's just par for the course for the first installment in a series like this, so I can't really ding it for that.
The world of Atlantis as built up by Powers is well-grounded and intriguing, and I really appreciated that setting this story in Atlantis felt purposeful rather than just incidental or lazy. Atlantis is supposed to be a cautionary tale about greed and decadence, and that idea is very much at the heart of 'Shadows of Atlantis.' That being said, the different specific aspects of the culture that she builds up (such as the Kamishari ritual, and various other rituals and customs relating to ‘The Grid’ or ‘The Watchers’) don’t feel derivative, but fresh and vibrant, so that her ‘Atlantis’ didn’t just feel like ‘Ancient Greece but with magic’ as can sometimes be the case in such stories.
She also nicely expanded on the idea of Atlantis as this ancient, yet high-tech civilization. Integrating the necessary sci-fi elements of futuristic technology could have felt anachronistic if not done well, but she went the route of Disney's 'Atlantis' and tied the technology to the magic so that it was easy to imagine them co-existing rather than trying to plop computers or refrigerators in the middle of Ancient Greece or some such. Rather, the magic allows otherwise organic objects to be used in similar ways to modern technology (like stone 'hover disks' powered by magical crystals in lieu of motorized vehicles for instance).
While well-integrated, things like hover-disks or magical healing elixirs aren't anything new. What did feel unique to this world and its technology are these uncanny bio-engineered automatons that act as bodyguards and soldiers. They more or less look like people, but are (for all intents and purposes) lab-grown and therefore have no 'soul.' One of the plot threads I was the most intrigued by was the convergence of the existence of these beings with the mysterious illness 'the madness' that reduces once normal people to mindless zombies. There's a conversation between two characters at one point about a rumour that victims of 'The madness' are being kidnapped and passed off as these automaton creatures because it's a cheap way to increase the supply.
Very creepy.
I wanted to know more.
I'm not normally a high-fantasy girly, but I was honestly invested enough by the end of book 1 to potentially go on the sequel: I need to know what's going to come of all of the puppeteering going on within the government, I need to know how the automoton plotline pans out.
Sure, Brigitte is kind of a boring paint-by-numbers character, but she's really the only one like that, and frankly, this isn't a character-driven story for the most part, so that's not a big deal. I'd rather she feel generic than be annoying.
Also, everyone is hot in Atlantis. Not really a pro or a con (unless you want it to be), but worth noting.
Content Warnings
Moderate: Rape