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116 reviews
The Sixth Extinction: An Unnatural History by Elizabeth Kolbert
4.5
Now, so far in life, I've probably read a lot more fiction than non-fiction. And most of the non-fiction I have read are (auto)biographies, usually about musicians. Still, there is a part of me that is very fascinated by this planet's history, and its evolution. In some ways it's the counterpart to my love for science fiction; sci-fi sometimes shows us where what we can evolve into, and non-fiction books about evolution show us where we come from. However, a book like this also warns us about where we are headed.
One might argue that you don't really need a book to tell us what we already know: Humankind is royally fucking up this planet. But Kolbert's book makes everything all the more clear, in such a clear and detailed way, it all becomes more sobering than ever. Over the course of thirteen chapters, she talks about various species and forms of nature around the world - frogs, bats, birds, ocean acidification, plant life, even our not-so-distant cousins, the Neanderthals - and in a near formulaic way manages to sum up their entire lifespan with the conclusion: "Then humans came along."
At the end of the book, she starts off her acknowledgments by saying: "A journalist writing a book about mass extinction needs a lot of help," before she goes on to mention several names of several knowledgeable people; the expertise. I think in some ways that's part of the reason why I find this book so colorfully written. As a journalist, she is much closer to the field of an author than she is to said expertise, so this book feels like the work of an author who has done some massive research, rather than just a non-fiction book containing facts and statistics, if that makes sense.
What I'm getting at with that, is that Kolbert manages to avoid being dry in her writing. She keeps it interesting, which makes it that much more of a pleasure to read, but it also gets the point across even more thoroughly, even with the occasional drip of humor here and there. (Albeit sometimes in the "I laugh because I must not cry" vein, to quote Abraham Lincoln)
But as I said above, it's also very sobering. A thought-provoking and in some ways terrifying book about the true, most savage plague this world has ever encountered. Could it be the wake-up call we need? But even if it is ... is it too late?
One might argue that you don't really need a book to tell us what we already know: Humankind is royally fucking up this planet. But Kolbert's book makes everything all the more clear, in such a clear and detailed way, it all becomes more sobering than ever. Over the course of thirteen chapters, she talks about various species and forms of nature around the world - frogs, bats, birds, ocean acidification, plant life, even our not-so-distant cousins, the Neanderthals - and in a near formulaic way manages to sum up their entire lifespan with the conclusion: "Then humans came along."
At the end of the book, she starts off her acknowledgments by saying: "A journalist writing a book about mass extinction needs a lot of help," before she goes on to mention several names of several knowledgeable people; the expertise. I think in some ways that's part of the reason why I find this book so colorfully written. As a journalist, she is much closer to the field of an author than she is to said expertise, so this book feels like the work of an author who has done some massive research, rather than just a non-fiction book containing facts and statistics, if that makes sense.
What I'm getting at with that, is that Kolbert manages to avoid being dry in her writing. She keeps it interesting, which makes it that much more of a pleasure to read, but it also gets the point across even more thoroughly, even with the occasional drip of humor here and there. (Albeit sometimes in the "I laugh because I must not cry" vein, to quote Abraham Lincoln)
But as I said above, it's also very sobering. A thought-provoking and in some ways terrifying book about the true, most savage plague this world has ever encountered. Could it be the wake-up call we need? But even if it is ... is it too late?
Psycho by Robert Bloch
4.75
Sometimes you have to check out the classics, even if you basically know all about them already. I've obviously seen Hitchcock's adaptation, and I've heard people discuss the original novel a few times. But again, sometimes you just have to see for yourself, and I consider it an accomplishment in life to have finally read this one.
I've also been curious about Robert Bloch in general, as he's also written some episodes of the original Star Trek series (I'm a huge Trekkie), and to think that the Trek franchise and the Psycho franchise are connected based on him is very cool.
In simple terms, this was an awesome read. As mentioned, I already knew the main plot of the story - especially the big twist - but this only helped me be aware of some clever bits of foreshadowing early on in the novel. Subtle enough that someone unfamiliar with the overall story might not immediately catch it, but retrospectively nice enough easter eggs for those who know.
One thing that struck me as fascinating was how daring this felt for a book published in the late 1950s. Because sometimes you have to take the time period into consideration. It's quite similar to Hitchcock's movie; by today's standards, it could be considered a not-too-gruesome little horror story, but it was still sort of the predecessor to the 1980s wave of slasher flicks, and even such a simple thing as showing a toilet being flushed was new and controversial at the time. Also, the whole third-act exposition scene where everything is explained to us may seem redundant today, but again, at the time, the movie did present some brand new ideas in cinema history.
So, in a similar way, I'd think some of the topics Bloch has written about in this novel would be borderline too deviant and controversial back then. The kills, even though they are still heavily implied rather than graphically described, are still slightly more brutal than how they were presented in the movie (it of course makes sense why they were toned down in the movie just for that reason, as the visual brutality would have been too much back then). But again, even some topics that are discussed and described stood out to me as more shocking than they might have done if it was from a much more recent novel. It caught me off guard that Bloch managed to write about these things back in 1959.
For example, Norman's unhealthy connection to his mother is also more deeply explored here. There's even a direct reference to the Oedipus complex, giving the story some highly uncomfortable subtext. There are also indications of his mother being aware of his sexual impulses, so the line between what's inappropriate or not among family members is somewhat blurred. Given how Psycho is one of the stories inspired by real-life serial killer Ed Gein (along with Silence of the Lambs and The Texas Chainsaw Massacre), these elements of the book, with the whole Norman/mother relationship, are clearly a watered-down yet still disturbing portrayal of Gein's own morbid mother/son relationship.
Some parts of the novel also explore a general theme of dark secrets, raising the question of how well you really know another person. It creates a sense of uneasiness, almost like a social paranoia that's rather deep for a 1950s novel. Maybe that's my impression being warped by the happy, sunny Hollywood movies of that era. But Bloch's novel is like a counterpoint to that, exploring the possibility that someone you have known for a long time may suddenly turn out to have done something horrific. That in and of itself may also have been somewhat inspired by the real-life reactions to Ed Gein since his neighbors would say in interviews that he always struck them as a nice, quiet fella who never seemed capable of hurting anyone.
Moreover, as we get a better insight into Norman's mind than we do in the movie, it's interesting to see how he actually wonders about his own mental health a bit more actively. Just a tad more self-aware compared to in the movie, but obviously still quite unwell and oblivious.
Hitchcock was known as the master of suspense, but one could certainly say that the road was somewhat paved for him with this novel, as Bloch very skillfully creates a sense of tension and urgency. All the questions and uncertainty around Mary's disappearance, the way we almost start sweating along with Norman when Arbogast starts applying a bit of pressure when questioning him, and so on.
I also like how Bloch has sometimes grouped two chapters together, in the sense that these two chapters combined describe two sides of the same scenario. Thus, the second of those two chapters does a tiny jump backward in time and sort of restarts a specific moment, only from someone else's perspective, until it's caught up with where the previous chapter left off. It's a neat way to establish the whereabouts and activities of everyone involved.
Stephen King once explored some of his favorite opening lines in novels, and how important that first sentence is; the way it has to grab your attention immediately. I also think that a book will leave you with something lasting if it has the perfect closing line as well. And I truly feel that Psycho has one of the most classic closing lines in history.
I've also been curious about Robert Bloch in general, as he's also written some episodes of the original Star Trek series (I'm a huge Trekkie), and to think that the Trek franchise and the Psycho franchise are connected based on him is very cool.
In simple terms, this was an awesome read. As mentioned, I already knew the main plot of the story - especially the big twist - but this only helped me be aware of some clever bits of foreshadowing early on in the novel. Subtle enough that someone unfamiliar with the overall story might not immediately catch it, but retrospectively nice enough easter eggs for those who know.
One thing that struck me as fascinating was how daring this felt for a book published in the late 1950s. Because sometimes you have to take the time period into consideration. It's quite similar to Hitchcock's movie; by today's standards, it could be considered a not-too-gruesome little horror story, but it was still sort of the predecessor to the 1980s wave of slasher flicks, and even such a simple thing as showing a toilet being flushed was new and controversial at the time. Also, the whole third-act exposition scene where everything is explained to us may seem redundant today, but again, at the time, the movie did present some brand new ideas in cinema history.
So, in a similar way, I'd think some of the topics Bloch has written about in this novel would be borderline too deviant and controversial back then. The kills, even though they are still heavily implied rather than graphically described, are still slightly more brutal than how they were presented in the movie (it of course makes sense why they were toned down in the movie just for that reason, as the visual brutality would have been too much back then). But again, even some topics that are discussed and described stood out to me as more shocking than they might have done if it was from a much more recent novel. It caught me off guard that Bloch managed to write about these things back in 1959.
For example, Norman's unhealthy connection to his mother is also more deeply explored here. There's even a direct reference to the Oedipus complex, giving the story some highly uncomfortable subtext. There are also indications of his mother being aware of his sexual impulses, so the line between what's inappropriate or not among family members is somewhat blurred. Given how Psycho is one of the stories inspired by real-life serial killer Ed Gein (along with Silence of the Lambs and The Texas Chainsaw Massacre), these elements of the book, with the whole Norman/mother relationship, are clearly a watered-down yet still disturbing portrayal of Gein's own morbid mother/son relationship.
Some parts of the novel also explore a general theme of dark secrets, raising the question of how well you really know another person. It creates a sense of uneasiness, almost like a social paranoia that's rather deep for a 1950s novel. Maybe that's my impression being warped by the happy, sunny Hollywood movies of that era. But Bloch's novel is like a counterpoint to that, exploring the possibility that someone you have known for a long time may suddenly turn out to have done something horrific. That in and of itself may also have been somewhat inspired by the real-life reactions to Ed Gein since his neighbors would say in interviews that he always struck them as a nice, quiet fella who never seemed capable of hurting anyone.
Moreover, as we get a better insight into Norman's mind than we do in the movie, it's interesting to see how he actually wonders about his own mental health a bit more actively. Just a tad more self-aware compared to in the movie, but obviously still quite unwell and oblivious.
Hitchcock was known as the master of suspense, but one could certainly say that the road was somewhat paved for him with this novel, as Bloch very skillfully creates a sense of tension and urgency. All the questions and uncertainty around Mary's disappearance, the way we almost start sweating along with Norman when Arbogast starts applying a bit of pressure when questioning him, and so on.
I also like how Bloch has sometimes grouped two chapters together, in the sense that these two chapters combined describe two sides of the same scenario. Thus, the second of those two chapters does a tiny jump backward in time and sort of restarts a specific moment, only from someone else's perspective, until it's caught up with where the previous chapter left off. It's a neat way to establish the whereabouts and activities of everyone involved.
Stephen King once explored some of his favorite opening lines in novels, and how important that first sentence is; the way it has to grab your attention immediately. I also think that a book will leave you with something lasting if it has the perfect closing line as well. And I truly feel that Psycho has one of the most classic closing lines in history.
The Philosophy of Horror by Ann C. Hall, Amy Kind, Thomas Fahy, Jeremy Morris, Robert Gross, Lorena Russell, David Johnston, Paul A. Cantor, Susann B. Cokal, Phillip Tallon, Phillip J. Nickel, John Lutz, Jessica O'Hara
3.25
A while back, a friend of mine sent me a collection of books that he no longer needed. Among them were a few non-fiction books on horror, including this one. It seemed like an interesting read when he offered it to me, and having now checked it out, I can say it for the most part was.
The info I've seen on this book states that it's by Thomas Fahy, although it seems he largely serves as the overall editor, while the content of the book is a collection of essays where different types of horror movies are analyzed through a philosophical lens. It's certainly not the first book that does this, and as such, the topics that are touched upon are things I've read about before; how horror can mirror human psychology, social issues, political theories, and so on.
One thing I find interesting, is how these topics are drawn out from very contemporary horror, and mostly movies. I'd be interested to see how some of these essays explored their chosen topic even more if the history of horror, including that which is found in horror novels through the decades, were taken more into consideration as well.
All in all, it's a nice read, at least if you're interested in reading academic essays with horror as their main topic. Some of the essays verge on dryness due to them being perhaps slightly more lengthy than they might need to be, but they are nevertheless well-written, and each essay manages to make their main point very clear.
The info I've seen on this book states that it's by Thomas Fahy, although it seems he largely serves as the overall editor, while the content of the book is a collection of essays where different types of horror movies are analyzed through a philosophical lens. It's certainly not the first book that does this, and as such, the topics that are touched upon are things I've read about before; how horror can mirror human psychology, social issues, political theories, and so on.
One thing I find interesting, is how these topics are drawn out from very contemporary horror, and mostly movies. I'd be interested to see how some of these essays explored their chosen topic even more if the history of horror, including that which is found in horror novels through the decades, were taken more into consideration as well.
All in all, it's a nice read, at least if you're interested in reading academic essays with horror as their main topic. Some of the essays verge on dryness due to them being perhaps slightly more lengthy than they might need to be, but they are nevertheless well-written, and each essay manages to make their main point very clear.
Different Seasons by Stephen King
4.75
I'll sum up my review of this book right away, to give you the choice to either simply hear my overall opinion, or to also go on reading my individual reviews of the stories collected within this book:
While I absolutely love to read full-length Stephen King novels, it's always an interesting experience to take on the occasional collection of short stories and novellas every now and then, because they are such a fascinating mix of tones and settings. Here we have four tales too long to be short stories, too short to be novels, but all of them indisputably well-written. So much so that three out of the four have been adapted into movies, two of those movies being held in quite a high regard worldwide, quite deservedly so.
I went into this, excited to read the source material for said movies, and I was, for the most part, not disappointed. I'm giving the entire reading experience a 4.7 out of 5 (rounded up in the scoring system).
And if that's all you care to know, there's my conclusion. What follows, are my thoughts on each individual novella.
1. Rita Hayworth and the Shawshank Redemption
Usually, when I read a novel or a short story that's been adapted into a movie, I try not to compare things too much, because I frankly don't have the energy to be one of those people screaming "But that's not how it happened in the book!" Instead, I try to see the book and the movie as two versions of the same core story, and judge each on their own merits. That's damn near a necessity when it comes to King's stories, as so many of them have been adapted into movies or TV shows.
With that said, I obviously do notice the differences while watching/reading, and may have my unspoken opinions about "this part felt more fleshed out in the book" or "I wish they hadn't dropped that part", and so forth. On some occasions, I might even think that a movie adaptation flows more smoothly than the source material. This is the case when it comes to The Shawshank Redemption. Of course, I'm probably biased; the adaptation is one of my favorite movies of all time, and I've watched it numerous times before I ever sat down to finally read the novella it was based on. (One perk of having seen the movie first in this case, is that I was able to read this entire story with Morgan Freeman's narrator voice in mind)
However, I will say that the novella is still damn well-written. This is a slice-of-life type of story, set within prison walls. Slice-of-life, but with a drive in the plot that leads to a wonderful turn of events. (Speaking of which, if you already know where this story is heading, it's interesting to see the subtle hints King drops along the way in the novella, more so than what Darabont did in the adaptation)
There is a bittersweetness to this story, emphasizing both the wholesome moments and heartbreaking moments of life. The part about Andy's struggles with "the sisters" is just as rough to read as it was to watch in the movie, especially with the narrator's direct, matter-of-factly description of the events, presenting it as the unchangeable truth that it is. But this adds to that brutal realism King puts in his stories to show how life is never quite fair. He's always been good at portraying the ugliest sides of humankind through his characters.
Other characters were less fleshed out in the original novella. I suppose that's one downside to such a short format; there's less time to fully develop side characters, compared to full-length novels (although that probably also depends on the approach). There were some characters in the movie, such as Brooks, whose personality and presence I missed while reading the novella. It was also interesting to see that the warden from the movie was pretty much an amalgamation of several generations of wardens in the novella.
But ultimately, it's a good story. I'm glad to see that some of the more memorable quotes from the movie are in fact from this novella. And as I said, one that I'd recommend if someone wanted to get a first-time impression of the non-horror side of King.
Individual score: 3.5 out of 5.
2. Apt Pupil
Unlike the story above, I haven't fully seen the movie adaptation of this story - I have seen images and scenes from the adaptation, so I did have a certain idea of some of the elements that would be featured in the story, but nothing that truly spoiled anything for me - which meant I didn't have the grounds for comparison this time. At least that gives me a fresh take on the written version.
I can often enjoy stories that have a touch of psychological thriller to them; some sort of battle of wits, where some cunning and sinister character manages to wrap another character completely around their finger. Mix that with a serial killer element, and you have the recipe for a truly grim and suspenseful story.
Did King manage to properly deliver that in this novella? Yes and no. The power struggle - the tennis match of wits, so to speak, going back and forth with regards to who has the upper hand - between the young boy and the old man is a great source of tension and suspense in and of itself, and it's interesting to see how their interactions gradually become more of a mentor/protégé relationship (albeit with the mentor being somewhat reluctant), but some parts of it feel rushed, especially when it eventually feels like this particular dynamic sort of dissolves a little bit towards the end.
I do think this was well-written for what it was, though. It's a story of when monsters cross paths. One is a monster by choice, the other is one from birth. They recognize something in each other, and it turns into a love/hate relationship. They had the potential to become a very destructive force together, but the story takes a slightly different turn along the way. I do appreciate the parallels of them individually getting closer and closer to being caught in their lies and the horrible acts they've committed.
I suppose I just think this story might have been even better as a full-length novel, so that these two characters could have a more, fittingly drawn-out story arc together.
Individual score: 3 out of 5
3. The Body
Stand by Me - the adaptation of The Body - is another one of my all-time favorite movies, like The Shawshank Redemption above. But unlike ...Shawshank..., Stand by Me is a far more loyal adaptation, translating almost all of it from text to cinema, with only a few exceptions and minor changes. As I read through this novella, I basically envisioned the movie the entire time. And it was as equally beautiful and heartbreaking to read as it was to watch.
But again, with that said, I otherwise aim to judge the novella on its own merits without comparing it too much to the adaptation. I could have summed it up by saying it's one of his most beautifully written stories, themed around that last period of one's life before transitioning from complete innocence into one's teens, and then young adulthood. It explores how magical childhood friendships can appear to be, and how they just as easily dissolve over the years. And in the middle of it all, there's a body, reminding us of our own mortality. I'd say it's one of the best stories to introduce to someone as proof that Stephen King is so much more than just a horror writer.
Stories like this - the occasional grim undertones aside - this is probably King at his most nostalgic, using his childhood/youth memories to establish the atmosphere and the world-building based on the 1960s era more believable. It's similar to how current authors like Grady Hendrix are nostalgic about the 1980s. I can also guess that this is in many ways one of his most autobiographical ones; not necessarily retelling exact events from his own life, but definitely borrowing a lot from his own history to make Gordon's personality come to life, both in terms of how it was to grow up around that time, as well as his own evolution as an author.
Also, it's always nice to catch those subtle easter eggs of sorts, when King casually makes references to his other stories, proving yet again how they are all connected in the multiverse he has spent decades creating. Not only has both Apt Pupil and The Body made references to ...Shawshank..., but The Body also mentions a certain incident with a certain dog, almost as an afterthought, but still enough of a wink to us, the fans, for us to notice.
So, after reading this, not only is Stand by Me one of my favorite movies, The Body is also quite possibly one of my favorite stories written by King. And that's saying something, as I began reading this collection of novellas thinking The Shawshank Redemption would be the one to earn that particular gold star.
Individual score: 4.5 out of 5
4. The Breathing Method
This is frankly the perfect way to end a collection of stories; Stephen King reminding us that despite his unquestionable talent for variety, he still often shines the brightest when he embraces the dark and ghoulish areas of writing.
My immediate thought, regarding the club of gentlemen gathering to tell tales, was how this scenario vaguely reminded me of Ghost Story by Peter Straub (RIP). This may very well have been intentional, with King possibly drawing some inspiration from his friend, as I've come to understand that King has dedicated this story to Peter and his wife.
At the same time, the narration itself feels more like an old-fashioned Victorian gothic tale, similar to classics by Edgar Allan Poe or Robert Louis Stevenson, just slightly modernized, making this the most horror-esque novella of the four in this collection. This too appears to have been intentional, as the afterword briefly describes how this collection came together, whereas King's agent asked if some sort of horror story could be included, despite how King's initial idea was to compile stories that would sort of go against him being typecast strictly as a horror writer.
The Breathing Method has a fascinating structure. The main plot is sort of the story within the story, as the aforementioned club of gentlemen simply establishes the scenario, and the true horror is presented through Dr. McCarron's tale of a most unusual baby delivery.
Of the four stories collected in Different Seasons, The Breathing Method is the shortest one, and due to its horror elements, it's then also the story that feels the most like being part of some horror anthology, as if it could have been one of the stories in the King/Romero movie Creepshow, or something from Tales from the Crypt. That is a type of storytelling I enjoy very much, so I felt right at home with this one, especially with the way the entire story ended with an ominous warning of what might lie behind the dimension that is our own perceived reality.
While Apt Pupil had its macabre moments, The Breathing Method aimed for the spooky, giving the reader that old, trusty King-quality scare right at the end of the entire collection.
Individual score: 4 out of 5
While I absolutely love to read full-length Stephen King novels, it's always an interesting experience to take on the occasional collection of short stories and novellas every now and then, because they are such a fascinating mix of tones and settings. Here we have four tales too long to be short stories, too short to be novels, but all of them indisputably well-written. So much so that three out of the four have been adapted into movies, two of those movies being held in quite a high regard worldwide, quite deservedly so.
I went into this, excited to read the source material for said movies, and I was, for the most part, not disappointed. I'm giving the entire reading experience a 4.7 out of 5 (rounded up in the scoring system).
And if that's all you care to know, there's my conclusion. What follows, are my thoughts on each individual novella.
1. Rita Hayworth and the Shawshank Redemption
Usually, when I read a novel or a short story that's been adapted into a movie, I try not to compare things too much, because I frankly don't have the energy to be one of those people screaming "But that's not how it happened in the book!" Instead, I try to see the book and the movie as two versions of the same core story, and judge each on their own merits. That's damn near a necessity when it comes to King's stories, as so many of them have been adapted into movies or TV shows.
With that said, I obviously do notice the differences while watching/reading, and may have my unspoken opinions about "this part felt more fleshed out in the book" or "I wish they hadn't dropped that part", and so forth. On some occasions, I might even think that a movie adaptation flows more smoothly than the source material. This is the case when it comes to The Shawshank Redemption. Of course, I'm probably biased; the adaptation is one of my favorite movies of all time, and I've watched it numerous times before I ever sat down to finally read the novella it was based on. (One perk of having seen the movie first in this case, is that I was able to read this entire story with Morgan Freeman's narrator voice in mind)
However, I will say that the novella is still damn well-written. This is a slice-of-life type of story, set within prison walls. Slice-of-life, but with a drive in the plot that leads to a wonderful turn of events. (Speaking of which, if you already know where this story is heading, it's interesting to see the subtle hints King drops along the way in the novella, more so than what Darabont did in the adaptation)
There is a bittersweetness to this story, emphasizing both the wholesome moments and heartbreaking moments of life. The part about Andy's struggles with "the sisters" is just as rough to read as it was to watch in the movie, especially with the narrator's direct, matter-of-factly description of the events, presenting it as the unchangeable truth that it is. But this adds to that brutal realism King puts in his stories to show how life is never quite fair. He's always been good at portraying the ugliest sides of humankind through his characters.
Other characters were less fleshed out in the original novella. I suppose that's one downside to such a short format; there's less time to fully develop side characters, compared to full-length novels (although that probably also depends on the approach). There were some characters in the movie, such as Brooks, whose personality and presence I missed while reading the novella. It was also interesting to see that the warden from the movie was pretty much an amalgamation of several generations of wardens in the novella.
But ultimately, it's a good story. I'm glad to see that some of the more memorable quotes from the movie are in fact from this novella. And as I said, one that I'd recommend if someone wanted to get a first-time impression of the non-horror side of King.
Individual score: 3.5 out of 5.
2. Apt Pupil
Unlike the story above, I haven't fully seen the movie adaptation of this story - I have seen images and scenes from the adaptation, so I did have a certain idea of some of the elements that would be featured in the story, but nothing that truly spoiled anything for me - which meant I didn't have the grounds for comparison this time. At least that gives me a fresh take on the written version.
I can often enjoy stories that have a touch of psychological thriller to them; some sort of battle of wits, where some cunning and sinister character manages to wrap another character completely around their finger. Mix that with a serial killer element, and you have the recipe for a truly grim and suspenseful story.
Did King manage to properly deliver that in this novella? Yes and no. The power struggle - the tennis match of wits, so to speak, going back and forth with regards to who has the upper hand - between the young boy and the old man is a great source of tension and suspense in and of itself, and it's interesting to see how their interactions gradually become more of a mentor/protégé relationship (albeit with the mentor being somewhat reluctant), but some parts of it feel rushed, especially when it eventually feels like this particular dynamic sort of dissolves a little bit towards the end.
I do think this was well-written for what it was, though. It's a story of when monsters cross paths. One is a monster by choice, the other is one from birth. They recognize something in each other, and it turns into a love/hate relationship. They had the potential to become a very destructive force together, but the story takes a slightly different turn along the way. I do appreciate the parallels of them individually getting closer and closer to being caught in their lies and the horrible acts they've committed.
I suppose I just think this story might have been even better as a full-length novel, so that these two characters could have a more, fittingly drawn-out story arc together.
Individual score: 3 out of 5
3. The Body
Stand by Me - the adaptation of The Body - is another one of my all-time favorite movies, like The Shawshank Redemption above. But unlike ...Shawshank..., Stand by Me is a far more loyal adaptation, translating almost all of it from text to cinema, with only a few exceptions and minor changes. As I read through this novella, I basically envisioned the movie the entire time. And it was as equally beautiful and heartbreaking to read as it was to watch.
But again, with that said, I otherwise aim to judge the novella on its own merits without comparing it too much to the adaptation. I could have summed it up by saying it's one of his most beautifully written stories, themed around that last period of one's life before transitioning from complete innocence into one's teens, and then young adulthood. It explores how magical childhood friendships can appear to be, and how they just as easily dissolve over the years. And in the middle of it all, there's a body, reminding us of our own mortality. I'd say it's one of the best stories to introduce to someone as proof that Stephen King is so much more than just a horror writer.
Stories like this - the occasional grim undertones aside - this is probably King at his most nostalgic, using his childhood/youth memories to establish the atmosphere and the world-building based on the 1960s era more believable. It's similar to how current authors like Grady Hendrix are nostalgic about the 1980s. I can also guess that this is in many ways one of his most autobiographical ones; not necessarily retelling exact events from his own life, but definitely borrowing a lot from his own history to make Gordon's personality come to life, both in terms of how it was to grow up around that time, as well as his own evolution as an author.
Also, it's always nice to catch those subtle easter eggs of sorts, when King casually makes references to his other stories, proving yet again how they are all connected in the multiverse he has spent decades creating. Not only has both Apt Pupil and The Body made references to ...Shawshank..., but The Body also mentions a certain incident with a certain dog, almost as an afterthought, but still enough of a wink to us, the fans, for us to notice.
So, after reading this, not only is Stand by Me one of my favorite movies, The Body is also quite possibly one of my favorite stories written by King. And that's saying something, as I began reading this collection of novellas thinking The Shawshank Redemption would be the one to earn that particular gold star.
Individual score: 4.5 out of 5
4. The Breathing Method
This is frankly the perfect way to end a collection of stories; Stephen King reminding us that despite his unquestionable talent for variety, he still often shines the brightest when he embraces the dark and ghoulish areas of writing.
My immediate thought, regarding the club of gentlemen gathering to tell tales, was how this scenario vaguely reminded me of Ghost Story by Peter Straub (RIP). This may very well have been intentional, with King possibly drawing some inspiration from his friend, as I've come to understand that King has dedicated this story to Peter and his wife.
At the same time, the narration itself feels more like an old-fashioned Victorian gothic tale, similar to classics by Edgar Allan Poe or Robert Louis Stevenson, just slightly modernized, making this the most horror-esque novella of the four in this collection. This too appears to have been intentional, as the afterword briefly describes how this collection came together, whereas King's agent asked if some sort of horror story could be included, despite how King's initial idea was to compile stories that would sort of go against him being typecast strictly as a horror writer.
The Breathing Method has a fascinating structure. The main plot is sort of the story within the story, as the aforementioned club of gentlemen simply establishes the scenario, and the true horror is presented through Dr. McCarron's tale of a most unusual baby delivery.
Of the four stories collected in Different Seasons, The Breathing Method is the shortest one, and due to its horror elements, it's then also the story that feels the most like being part of some horror anthology, as if it could have been one of the stories in the King/Romero movie Creepshow, or something from Tales from the Crypt. That is a type of storytelling I enjoy very much, so I felt right at home with this one, especially with the way the entire story ended with an ominous warning of what might lie behind the dimension that is our own perceived reality.
While Apt Pupil had its macabre moments, The Breathing Method aimed for the spooky, giving the reader that old, trusty King-quality scare right at the end of the entire collection.
Individual score: 4 out of 5
Danse Macabre by Stephen King
3.5
As much as I love Stephen King's fiction novels, I do also enjoy his non-fiction efforts. Especially as Danse Macabre can perhaps be summed up thusly: The King of Horror takes an analytical look at all things horror.
Shortly summarized, he takes a close look at what makes horror work, why it's scary, and even why it might be necessary for the human psyche. And he reveals an encyclopedic knowledge of the genre and its history in the process. He also points out how horror and science fiction from one period to the next naturally mirror what's going on both in general society as well as the current political climate. I liked the way he divided different stories into specific archetypes such as The Vampire, The Werewolf, and The Thing With No Name (with the stories not always literally being about vampires or werewolves).
But what I loved most of all, is how this book feels like an extended version of some of the interviews I've seen of him, where he's just chatting away about topics he is passionate about. In the book, he invites you to dance with him, as a metaphor for traveling through the entire horror universe and exploring it. And it truly does feel like a dance - a verbal one, mind you - where he naturally takes the lead, and you just follow along and enjoy the ride.
I've read some other non-fiction books on horror before, and while some of them have also been interesting to read, they've usually stayed on topic, and as such, can come off as a bit dry. King's approach in this book feels as casual and natural as his fiction. He'll digress, reminisce, go on tangents, serve up the occasional smartass rebuttal aimed at critics either of his own work or of horror as a whole, and it feels less like an academic lecture and more like that guy who'll always grab the attention of people around him at a bar, telling tall tales and being both entertaining and charismatic.
Some things are of course a bit outdated by now, as this was originally published in 1980, but I'd still say that there are plenty of core elements in his analysis of the genre which still ring true to this day.
Thanks for the dance, King!
Shortly summarized, he takes a close look at what makes horror work, why it's scary, and even why it might be necessary for the human psyche. And he reveals an encyclopedic knowledge of the genre and its history in the process. He also points out how horror and science fiction from one period to the next naturally mirror what's going on both in general society as well as the current political climate. I liked the way he divided different stories into specific archetypes such as The Vampire, The Werewolf, and The Thing With No Name (with the stories not always literally being about vampires or werewolves).
But what I loved most of all, is how this book feels like an extended version of some of the interviews I've seen of him, where he's just chatting away about topics he is passionate about. In the book, he invites you to dance with him, as a metaphor for traveling through the entire horror universe and exploring it. And it truly does feel like a dance - a verbal one, mind you - where he naturally takes the lead, and you just follow along and enjoy the ride.
I've read some other non-fiction books on horror before, and while some of them have also been interesting to read, they've usually stayed on topic, and as such, can come off as a bit dry. King's approach in this book feels as casual and natural as his fiction. He'll digress, reminisce, go on tangents, serve up the occasional smartass rebuttal aimed at critics either of his own work or of horror as a whole, and it feels less like an academic lecture and more like that guy who'll always grab the attention of people around him at a bar, telling tall tales and being both entertaining and charismatic.
Some things are of course a bit outdated by now, as this was originally published in 1980, but I'd still say that there are plenty of core elements in his analysis of the genre which still ring true to this day.
Thanks for the dance, King!
Firestarter by Stephen King
4.0
This may be one of the very first Stephen King novels I ever read. It was years ago, and back then I only had the Norwegian translation of it, but I remember being a young man loving the story. Now that I've re-read it in its original English, I am thoroughly reminded of what a great story it is.
To me, it's probably one of Stephen King's finest works. He throws you right into the desperate circumstances of a man trying to protect his daughter while on the run from a government agency, and the backstory is pieced together along the way. Some of King's books, while many of them feature paranormal elements, can be divided into different categories; some are pure drama, some are chilling horror, others are fast-paced action. It's just that it's been very easy for some to label him strictly as a horror writer, but a novel like this one shows that there's more to him than that.
This book in many ways reads almost like a spy novel, with conspiracies, secret experiments, and cover-ups. There just happens to be a paranormal element that runs through it all. But the same kind of paranoia of a regular spy novel is there. You don't know where to go, who to trust, how to get away from the men following you. And when you're trying to protect your daughter at the same time, both from outside sources and from herself, as well as not knowing when your own health is gonna cave in, the scenario becomes all the more intense and desperate. This makes this novel more of a heart-pounding thriller than a flat-out horror story.
As a side note, without knowing that this is a straight-up fact, I almost feel like Chris Carter may have borrowed a page or two from King while creating The X-Files, especially with episodes like "Fire" and "Pusher" (both written by Carter), and who knows, that in and of itself could have led to King later on writing an episode for the show. (Then again, it was one of the most popular shows of all time during its original run, so King may have just wanted to submit a story of his own either way)
Some say that King can be a bit long-winded in his writing. In some cases, I submit that this helps the story rather than take something away from it, and in Firestarter, his more lengthy moments and descriptions just add to the utter desperation of the main characters. Many of us have felt it before, when we are trying to get out of an uncomfortable situation, how each minute feels like an hour, and King is often very good at conjuring up that sensation in his writing, in a way that's very relatable and puts the reader on edge.
This book also has a great variety of interesting characters, including the very creepy John Rainbird, one of those King characters that are utterly despicable and relentless in their agenda. His interactions with the young girl Charlie come across as some sort of grooming, and it adds an extra layer of unsettledness and yet another bit of urgency into the mix; not only do we want to see our main characters finally get away from the government agency in general, we want to see Charlie get away from Rainbird's manipulative, predatory conduct, making him one of the most disturbing villains in King history.
A superb read that I might embark on for a third time one day!
To me, it's probably one of Stephen King's finest works. He throws you right into the desperate circumstances of a man trying to protect his daughter while on the run from a government agency, and the backstory is pieced together along the way. Some of King's books, while many of them feature paranormal elements, can be divided into different categories; some are pure drama, some are chilling horror, others are fast-paced action. It's just that it's been very easy for some to label him strictly as a horror writer, but a novel like this one shows that there's more to him than that.
This book in many ways reads almost like a spy novel, with conspiracies, secret experiments, and cover-ups. There just happens to be a paranormal element that runs through it all. But the same kind of paranoia of a regular spy novel is there. You don't know where to go, who to trust, how to get away from the men following you. And when you're trying to protect your daughter at the same time, both from outside sources and from herself, as well as not knowing when your own health is gonna cave in, the scenario becomes all the more intense and desperate. This makes this novel more of a heart-pounding thriller than a flat-out horror story.
As a side note, without knowing that this is a straight-up fact, I almost feel like Chris Carter may have borrowed a page or two from King while creating The X-Files, especially with episodes like "Fire" and "Pusher" (both written by Carter), and who knows, that in and of itself could have led to King later on writing an episode for the show. (Then again, it was one of the most popular shows of all time during its original run, so King may have just wanted to submit a story of his own either way)
Some say that King can be a bit long-winded in his writing. In some cases, I submit that this helps the story rather than take something away from it, and in Firestarter, his more lengthy moments and descriptions just add to the utter desperation of the main characters. Many of us have felt it before, when we are trying to get out of an uncomfortable situation, how each minute feels like an hour, and King is often very good at conjuring up that sensation in his writing, in a way that's very relatable and puts the reader on edge.
This book also has a great variety of interesting characters, including the very creepy John Rainbird, one of those King characters that are utterly despicable and relentless in their agenda. His interactions with the young girl Charlie come across as some sort of grooming, and it adds an extra layer of unsettledness and yet another bit of urgency into the mix; not only do we want to see our main characters finally get away from the government agency in general, we want to see Charlie get away from Rainbird's manipulative, predatory conduct, making him one of the most disturbing villains in King history.
A superb read that I might embark on for a third time one day!
The Dead Zone by Stephen King
3.75
I'd say this is one of those books that disprove the notion that Stephen King is solely a horror writer. The story is suspenseful at times, yes, and it features some elements that are out of the ordinary. But I wouldn't label this as flat-out horror. And I mean that in a good way. One could even say that King took the concept of a political thriller and put his own spin on it. (And had I started to read this somewhere between 2016 and 2020, the political aspect of this story would feel alarmingly current) But to be frank, even that label alone doesn't quite cover it all, as there are many other elements in the mix as well.
This is a slow-burn story, but it never gets boring. Plenty of room is made for character building, and unlike some of King's other novels, there's not really a plethora of characters that he jumps back and forth between this time, which gives us the opportunity to get even more acquainted with the handful of main characters we are introduced to in this story. And as this story takes place over several years - decades, even - we're basically experiencing the majority of the protagonist's lifetime.
Another thing I really enjoyed, was that as the main plot slowly progressed, there is a "B" story involving a mystery that the protagonist is asked to help solve, thus a mini crime story is told along the way. It's not just something he crammed in there for padding, though; there are numerous situations along the way that establish how powerful the ability that the protagonist has acquired is, and not only does he gain more and more credibility in the eyes of the characters around him that way, but also in the eyes of us, the readers, and the suspense is all the more noticeable because of it, as we're approaching the climax.
Stephen King has a remarkable ability to make it seem like he's on occasion playing with the very structure of storytelling. Not just across genres, but also across styles. Most of this book is fairly straightforward written like a narration, but then there are moments when he makes a shift to the epistolary form, telling parts of the story through personal letters, news articles, and other documents. But it's a trick (for lack of a better word) that works, as these moments add an extra layer of realism to it.
All in all, a very pleasant read, through and through.
This is a slow-burn story, but it never gets boring. Plenty of room is made for character building, and unlike some of King's other novels, there's not really a plethora of characters that he jumps back and forth between this time, which gives us the opportunity to get even more acquainted with the handful of main characters we are introduced to in this story. And as this story takes place over several years - decades, even - we're basically experiencing the majority of the protagonist's lifetime.
Another thing I really enjoyed, was that as the main plot slowly progressed, there is a "B" story involving a mystery that the protagonist is asked to help solve, thus a mini crime story is told along the way. It's not just something he crammed in there for padding, though; there are numerous situations along the way that establish how powerful the ability that the protagonist has acquired is, and not only does he gain more and more credibility in the eyes of the characters around him that way, but also in the eyes of us, the readers, and the suspense is all the more noticeable because of it, as we're approaching the climax.
Stephen King has a remarkable ability to make it seem like he's on occasion playing with the very structure of storytelling. Not just across genres, but also across styles. Most of this book is fairly straightforward written like a narration, but then there are moments when he makes a shift to the epistolary form, telling parts of the story through personal letters, news articles, and other documents. But it's a trick (for lack of a better word) that works, as these moments add an extra layer of realism to it.
All in all, a very pleasant read, through and through.
Horror Noire: Blacks in American Horror Films from the 1890s to Present by Robin R. Means Coleman
4.0
The topic of equal rights and embracing diversity is always an important one. And as someone who's always trying to be mindful about that, as well as being a huge fan of horror movies, I was initially intrigued by how this book combined and explored these two elements. And it's done in a way that, I hope, makes the reader aware that maybe it's sometimes a little bit too easy for some of us to take certain horror tropes with a grain of salt, not so much because we don't care as it is because of the somewhat oblivious acceptance that certain things in horror movies have always been this way, and it is a thoughtlessness that stems from how some of us never faced certain societal struggles.
In that respect, when a book like this comes along, it should hopefully be an eye-opener for many. Don't get me wrong, it's clear that Coleman has written this with a deep passion, as much from the viewpoint of herself as a horror fan as it is from her viewpoint as an advocate for black rights, so this is in no way meant to be a book written to condemn all things horror. Instead, the message that comes through here is that many of the real-life struggles that have existed through the decades are reflected, either intentionally or subconsciously, through some of these aforementioned tropes.
Horror Noire is very thorough in its approach; Coleman literally takes us back to the beginning of filmmaking in the late 1800s, before the term horror movie even existed, and she takes us on a chronological journey from there and all the way up till present day. Throughout the chapters, she does a great job at setting the film universe and real life side by side and pointing out how the social temperature in each decade often affects the storytelling in movies, with the main focus being how people of color are represented in these stories. Or, in many cases, I should say, severely MIS-represented.
The earliest decades are especially problematic, and while Coleman's writing is from an analytic and observational point of view, she still manages to make it crystal clear how disgusting the times were when it comes to racial issues, everything from mockery through white actors wearing blackface, to people of color being portrayed as uncontrollable savages. And while moving from one decade to the next, she brings up examples of how these stereotypes often linger, even when they're not so blatantly and bluntly featured anymore. As I said, the main focus of this book is the history of racism, but she also touches upon other problematic elements such as homophobia and misogyny.
Another interesting idea she puts forward is the difference between "blacks in horror" and "black horror," showcasing how one category can still be deep-rooted in those same old stereotypes, while the other is meant to be more empowering. However, even here Coleman is very direct and points out how the evolution of "black horror" has not been without its own flaws along the way.
It's a fascinating, occasionally upsetting read, very sobering, and, as mentioned, eye-opening. One minor thing that did cross my mind, though, is that when referring to specific movies to exemplify some of the issues and elements she explored, Coleman sometimes got a little bit too caught up in giving a full synopsis of the movies when it might perhaps have sufficed to point out individual scenes that best showcased the issues she wanted to point out, so that these examples were more clear. But again, that's just a minor observation, because she manages to get the point across either way.
Had this book been published just a few years later than it was, I would have loved to read Coleman's opinion on the current wave of solid "black horror" movies by the likes of Jordan Peele, compared to the things she points out about the first wave of "black horror" in the 1970s, as well as the second wave in the 1990s.
All in all, I found it very interesting, and recommendable.
In that respect, when a book like this comes along, it should hopefully be an eye-opener for many. Don't get me wrong, it's clear that Coleman has written this with a deep passion, as much from the viewpoint of herself as a horror fan as it is from her viewpoint as an advocate for black rights, so this is in no way meant to be a book written to condemn all things horror. Instead, the message that comes through here is that many of the real-life struggles that have existed through the decades are reflected, either intentionally or subconsciously, through some of these aforementioned tropes.
Horror Noire is very thorough in its approach; Coleman literally takes us back to the beginning of filmmaking in the late 1800s, before the term horror movie even existed, and she takes us on a chronological journey from there and all the way up till present day. Throughout the chapters, she does a great job at setting the film universe and real life side by side and pointing out how the social temperature in each decade often affects the storytelling in movies, with the main focus being how people of color are represented in these stories. Or, in many cases, I should say, severely MIS-represented.
The earliest decades are especially problematic, and while Coleman's writing is from an analytic and observational point of view, she still manages to make it crystal clear how disgusting the times were when it comes to racial issues, everything from mockery through white actors wearing blackface, to people of color being portrayed as uncontrollable savages. And while moving from one decade to the next, she brings up examples of how these stereotypes often linger, even when they're not so blatantly and bluntly featured anymore. As I said, the main focus of this book is the history of racism, but she also touches upon other problematic elements such as homophobia and misogyny.
Another interesting idea she puts forward is the difference between "blacks in horror" and "black horror," showcasing how one category can still be deep-rooted in those same old stereotypes, while the other is meant to be more empowering. However, even here Coleman is very direct and points out how the evolution of "black horror" has not been without its own flaws along the way.
It's a fascinating, occasionally upsetting read, very sobering, and, as mentioned, eye-opening. One minor thing that did cross my mind, though, is that when referring to specific movies to exemplify some of the issues and elements she explored, Coleman sometimes got a little bit too caught up in giving a full synopsis of the movies when it might perhaps have sufficed to point out individual scenes that best showcased the issues she wanted to point out, so that these examples were more clear. But again, that's just a minor observation, because she manages to get the point across either way.
Had this book been published just a few years later than it was, I would have loved to read Coleman's opinion on the current wave of solid "black horror" movies by the likes of Jordan Peele, compared to the things she points out about the first wave of "black horror" in the 1970s, as well as the second wave in the 1990s.
All in all, I found it very interesting, and recommendable.
Makeup Man: From Rocky to Star Trek the Amazing Creations of Hollywood's Michael Westmore by Jake Page, Michael Westmore
3.0
I heard about this a while ago, and having a big passion for both all things filmmaking as well as all things Star Trek, I found the opportunity to read some behind-the-scenes stories from makeup legend Michael Westmore himself, quite intriguing. Having now finally gotten my hands on a copy of the book, I spent a few days reading through it all.
In short, while there's perhaps a certain bias in me that caused me to write down a few comments of critique - more on that in a moment - I am glad I've finally read this book. It had many moments that were either entertaining, informative, or both.
I knew Michael himself was the aforementioned legend in the makeup department, but this book helped me understand how long and prominently the entire Westmore bloodline runs through Hollywood. This is made even clearer by the way he sheds some light on the Westmores that came before them, their highs and lows, before he delves more into his own life and career.
There was actually less focus on the Star Trek portion of his career than I had first imagined, as it was roughly only the final third of the book dedicated to that era. However, that's admittedly my bias talking. I was initially impatient and eager to get to the Trek part, but as his overall career unfolded through the pages, I realized that he's (logically enough) had many other highlights outside of Trek. Plus, as indicated above, I've always loved the production end of filmmaking just as much as the actual stories, so this was a great opportunity to go behind the scenes through his eyes and learn more about his involvement in other very famous titles.
And it really was fascinating (to coin a phrase) to learn just how many other things Westmore has been part of that I've also enjoyed without my even realizing it, which is almost embarrassing as I do generally admire the work of good makeup/special effects artists, including Tom Savini, Stan Winston, Rob Bottin, and more. Titles such as Rosemary's Baby, Raging Bull, several installments of the Rocky franchise, Blade Runner, Psycho III, Roxanne, and Mask (from 1985, not to be confused with the Jim Carrey movie), for which he won an Oscar.
One might say I came for the Star Trek history, but stayed for the overall film/TV history. It was especially impressive to read what an intricate process it was to gradually increase the amount of damage and bruises on Sylvester Stallone and Carl Weathers' faces during the filming of Rocky; to storyboard the evolution of the injuries like others storyboard action scenes. It's clear that Westmore takes deep pride in his work on this movie, as he thoroughly takes us through the entire process of filming and applying makeup for it. He talks in similar detail when it comes to other titles too, giving us some insight into some of his proudest moments during his career.
All of this added an extra layer to my excitement when it finally came to the Trek portion of the book. I mean, he'd won an Oscar and half a dozen Emmys before ever setting foot in the Trek franchise, so I'd say the Trek creators were as lucky to get to work with him as vice versa.
The Trekkie part of me only has a few minor gripes with this portion of the book - emphasis on minor; basically nitpick-level comments. First of all, Westmore on just a few occasions misremembers some facts, like thinking Tuvok was on Star Trek: Enterprise (later in the book, however, he correctly remembers Tuvok to be on Star Trek: Voyager), and misquoting the TNG version of the "Space, the final frontier..." intro by ending on "to boldly go where no man-" rather than "no one". Forgivable slips of the mind that could easily have been fact-checked by someone (...his proofreader was clearly not a Trekkie).
One other slightly unfortunate aspect of the Trek portion is that the segments where he talks about Voyager and Enterprise seem a bit rushed. He spends the most time talking about Star Trek: The Next Generation, then Star Trek: Deep Space Nine to a degree, but even this is shorter than the TNG segment. Then, to exaggerate a little, it's almost as if he just brushes the rest off by going "...oh yeah, and then I did some stuff on Voyager and Enterprise too." Of course, that's my eagerness speaking, as this book is clearly not meant to solely be about Trek-related memoirs. Instead, Trek is merely a portion - albeit a significant one - of his overall career.
Overall, I'd say this was a quick and fun read. There are some humorous anecdotes along the way, like the time when he inadvertently helped a card counter acquire various disguises for his gambling schemes, or when a dinner table full of Klingon cosplayers fanboyed when he went over to greet them. It was also kind of funny how he would occasionally share the recipes of certain meals he fondly remembers (usually due to the context). And when it comes to the Trek portion, it was interesting to see that some of the episodes he personally found noteworthy aren't necessarily because of their main stories - which is usually why most Trek fans remember them - but rather the creativity he utilized in the makeup department. Of course, this perspective makes sense, as that was his role on Trek.
But yeah, minor gripes of a geek aside, I enjoyed it!
In short, while there's perhaps a certain bias in me that caused me to write down a few comments of critique - more on that in a moment - I am glad I've finally read this book. It had many moments that were either entertaining, informative, or both.
I knew Michael himself was the aforementioned legend in the makeup department, but this book helped me understand how long and prominently the entire Westmore bloodline runs through Hollywood. This is made even clearer by the way he sheds some light on the Westmores that came before them, their highs and lows, before he delves more into his own life and career.
There was actually less focus on the Star Trek portion of his career than I had first imagined, as it was roughly only the final third of the book dedicated to that era. However, that's admittedly my bias talking. I was initially impatient and eager to get to the Trek part, but as his overall career unfolded through the pages, I realized that he's (logically enough) had many other highlights outside of Trek. Plus, as indicated above, I've always loved the production end of filmmaking just as much as the actual stories, so this was a great opportunity to go behind the scenes through his eyes and learn more about his involvement in other very famous titles.
And it really was fascinating (to coin a phrase) to learn just how many other things Westmore has been part of that I've also enjoyed without my even realizing it, which is almost embarrassing as I do generally admire the work of good makeup/special effects artists, including Tom Savini, Stan Winston, Rob Bottin, and more. Titles such as Rosemary's Baby, Raging Bull, several installments of the Rocky franchise, Blade Runner, Psycho III, Roxanne, and Mask (from 1985, not to be confused with the Jim Carrey movie), for which he won an Oscar.
One might say I came for the Star Trek history, but stayed for the overall film/TV history. It was especially impressive to read what an intricate process it was to gradually increase the amount of damage and bruises on Sylvester Stallone and Carl Weathers' faces during the filming of Rocky; to storyboard the evolution of the injuries like others storyboard action scenes. It's clear that Westmore takes deep pride in his work on this movie, as he thoroughly takes us through the entire process of filming and applying makeup for it. He talks in similar detail when it comes to other titles too, giving us some insight into some of his proudest moments during his career.
All of this added an extra layer to my excitement when it finally came to the Trek portion of the book. I mean, he'd won an Oscar and half a dozen Emmys before ever setting foot in the Trek franchise, so I'd say the Trek creators were as lucky to get to work with him as vice versa.
The Trekkie part of me only has a few minor gripes with this portion of the book - emphasis on minor; basically nitpick-level comments. First of all, Westmore on just a few occasions misremembers some facts, like thinking Tuvok was on Star Trek: Enterprise (later in the book, however, he correctly remembers Tuvok to be on Star Trek: Voyager), and misquoting the TNG version of the "Space, the final frontier..." intro by ending on "to boldly go where no man-" rather than "no one". Forgivable slips of the mind that could easily have been fact-checked by someone (...his proofreader was clearly not a Trekkie).
One other slightly unfortunate aspect of the Trek portion is that the segments where he talks about Voyager and Enterprise seem a bit rushed. He spends the most time talking about Star Trek: The Next Generation, then Star Trek: Deep Space Nine to a degree, but even this is shorter than the TNG segment. Then, to exaggerate a little, it's almost as if he just brushes the rest off by going "...oh yeah, and then I did some stuff on Voyager and Enterprise too." Of course, that's my eagerness speaking, as this book is clearly not meant to solely be about Trek-related memoirs. Instead, Trek is merely a portion - albeit a significant one - of his overall career.
Overall, I'd say this was a quick and fun read. There are some humorous anecdotes along the way, like the time when he inadvertently helped a card counter acquire various disguises for his gambling schemes, or when a dinner table full of Klingon cosplayers fanboyed when he went over to greet them. It was also kind of funny how he would occasionally share the recipes of certain meals he fondly remembers (usually due to the context). And when it comes to the Trek portion, it was interesting to see that some of the episodes he personally found noteworthy aren't necessarily because of their main stories - which is usually why most Trek fans remember them - but rather the creativity he utilized in the makeup department. Of course, this perspective makes sense, as that was his role on Trek.
But yeah, minor gripes of a geek aside, I enjoyed it!
The Castle by Chuck Valentine
3.0
With this book being only 90 pages long - and the pages themselves being short due to the book's small format - this is a book you can finish within just a couple of hours, depending on your reading speed. It nearly falls into the short story category rather than being a novella. But I still found it to be an enjoyable read. I've loved the anthology vibes of all the Eden Book Society releases so far, and this was no exception.
There is a clear theme of choices and consequences throughout these pages. A fork in the path, the toss of a coin, free will versus destiny, and while I like the exploration of themes like that, they are made slightly obvious in this story, while also being wrapped up in some brief references to philosophy perhaps for the sake of adding some depth.
All of this ends up being presented in quite the meta way when we find ourselves reading about a story within a story - one that the main character himself ends up being trapped in, which in and of itself seems to represent a nightmarish version of that standard teenage dilemma: Are we really free to choose our own path in life, or are we destined to be ruled by our parents' expectations? And are we at the same time destined to make the same mistakes they have?
It's like those "choose your own adventure" books, except you're literally a part of the adventure. We've had versions of these things before - The Neverending Story, Jumanji, The Chronicles of Narnia, and so on - but this novella presents it in a darker, more gothic horror-esque way, and appears to focus more on topics like regret, grief, and missed opportunities.
Some predictability aside, it's an interesting story, and for the most part well-written. There were a few moments at the beginning where I felt the bleakness of grief was portrayed very well through the way the author slipped in just a few well-chosen words here and there during his descriptions; bits of random details that adds a touch of realism and atmosphere. I think that this foundation also makes the contrast even clearer once we get into the more fantasy-like portion of the book as we're transported into the other realm.
So yeah, the themes and metaphors are very clear, but the author still manages to avoid spoon-feeding us with it so much that it becomes boring. The core story is an interesting enough concept, so you might say I have no regrets about choosing to spend a portion of my day on this!
There is a clear theme of choices and consequences throughout these pages. A fork in the path, the toss of a coin, free will versus destiny, and while I like the exploration of themes like that, they are made slightly obvious in this story, while also being wrapped up in some brief references to philosophy perhaps for the sake of adding some depth.
All of this ends up being presented in quite the meta way when we find ourselves reading about a story within a story - one that the main character himself ends up being trapped in, which in and of itself seems to represent a nightmarish version of that standard teenage dilemma: Are we really free to choose our own path in life, or are we destined to be ruled by our parents' expectations? And are we at the same time destined to make the same mistakes they have?
It's like those "choose your own adventure" books, except you're literally a part of the adventure. We've had versions of these things before - The Neverending Story, Jumanji, The Chronicles of Narnia, and so on - but this novella presents it in a darker, more gothic horror-esque way, and appears to focus more on topics like regret, grief, and missed opportunities.
Some predictability aside, it's an interesting story, and for the most part well-written. There were a few moments at the beginning where I felt the bleakness of grief was portrayed very well through the way the author slipped in just a few well-chosen words here and there during his descriptions; bits of random details that adds a touch of realism and atmosphere. I think that this foundation also makes the contrast even clearer once we get into the more fantasy-like portion of the book as we're transported into the other realm.
So yeah, the themes and metaphors are very clear, but the author still manages to avoid spoon-feeding us with it so much that it becomes boring. The core story is an interesting enough concept, so you might say I have no regrets about choosing to spend a portion of my day on this!