The Road by Cormac McCarthy

Read: 14 February, 2013

A father and son travel across an apocalyptic wasteland, struggling to find a reason for survival.

This was a hard book to read. It’s a journey of suffering with no possibility of an end. Any time the boy tries to find some hope, his father just shuts him down – even when that hope is just to die and see an end to the relentless cold and starvation.

The child, though born after the world was destroyed, never seems to adapt. I found that strange, particularly when we look at actual children who have grown up in real world combat zones (whether political  or familial), and the ways that they learn to tune out or join in. Yet the boy seems to function as more of a conscience for the man than as a character in his own right. This story is about the man, about his forgetting the past world, yet his refusal to adopt the current one. The child is a device, he’s “the fire,” and I found that somewhat disconcerting.

In this way, the child and the man seem to be polar opposites of Rick and Carl Grimes from the Walking Dead graphic novels. Rick tries so hard to keep to the values of the old world while watching in horror as Carl adapts to the brutality of the new, whereas the man finds himself adapting to the needs of survival in the new world while the child retains a sense of pure horror every time he is faced with the new realities.

I had a hard time finding the story compelling. Because there was no hope, absolutely no possibility of a happy ending in a world that is literally dead, the characters had no where to go. They just kept shuffling along, driven by purposeless instinct like zombies. All I kept thinking was “good god, just let that poor kid die already.”

I felt like even McCarthy couldn’t come up with a plausible reason for why his characters would continue fighting. We get vague references to “The Fire” and to some unformed hope that things might be different in the south (though, even then, the man is very careful about that hope and seems to understand on all levels that it’s wrong, so it doesn’t even get the status of false hope).

The world was so bleak, so depressing that I didn’t even get that “I’m so glad my life isn’t like that!” feeling. It just made me feel down. Even the “happy” scenes when they find some big cache of food just made me feel more depressed because it only meant that they’d have to start the starvation process back from zero, further extending their suffering.

There were some odd stylistic tricks, such as the lack of quotation marks, which I would imagine would make the dialogue difficult to follow. But I listened to the audiobook, so I had help from the reader. Thinking about the writing, I think it works to stylistically reflect the theme of the novel, but I could see it ticking people off.

I didn’t enjoy the book too much, but a lot of people apparently do. In fact, I only picked it up (having seen the movie and contented myself with that) because so many people were telling me that it’s a wonderful book. If you enjoyed it, could you tell me what I’m missing?

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Series: The Walking Dead by Robert Kirkman

I’ve read sixteen of these things now, so I think I’m ready to comment on the series as a whole.

This graphic novel series is about Rick Grimes – a police officer in a past life, but now simply trying to survive in a world overrun by the walking dead. Early on in the series, he is reunited with his wife and son, as well as a small group of survivors, and they travel around the Atlanta/Washington area trying to find a safe home.

There’s some good character development in the series. It’s not an easy thing to take a reader who feels reasonably safe and secure, and make them believe that someone is, if not justified, at least understandably turning into a monster. Rick’s progression is slow, and – at first – his increasingly unhinged decisions seem justified. And maybe they are in book 16 as well, but it’s sure clear enough that he’s lost that wide-eyed innocence that made him so compelling in the first few books of the series.

The plot is quite interesting. There are many twists and turns, and there’s no holding back on killing off main characters so there’s a real legitimate fear of main characters dying when things get hairy. Taking the survivors through a number of different locales keeps in interesting and allows us to see all the different ways that the people in Kirkman’s world have found to survive. There are some overly convenient bits – such as when the group is separated and then just happen to stumble on each other later on – but it’s easy enough to ignore.

The big issue with the series is the dialogue. It lacks flow, people say painfully artificial things (particularly the monologues, but this happens in conversation too), and the phrasing is very stilted. Some of the errors could be solved easily with an editor, but this seems to have been bypassed. The central theme of “humans are the real monsters” is spelled out over and over again, which is terribly unnecessary given that a) it’s an easy enough theme to convey through subtle means, and b) anyone familiar with the zombie genre is already going to be expecting it since wowzers, can anyone say “overdone”? I’m not really into graphic novels, but given that Kirkman’s only job is to write plot and dialogue, I’d expect him to do the latter much better.

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The Time Machine by H.G. Wells

Read: 19 January, 2013

The use of describing a fictional land to make a political or philosophical point is nothing knew – after all, that’s how Atlantis got its début. Later, during the Age of Exploration, the explorer’s tale was combined with this fictional land device, giving us books like More’s Utopia and Swift’s Gulliver’s Travels, in which a seafaring explorer happens upon magical lands – each of which teaches us a lesson about ourselves and our society (and what these could be or become).

In The Time Machine, Wells modernises the premise, giving his protagonist a time machine instead of a ship, and sending him far into the future instead of into uncharted lands.

There’s no question that Wells was consciously creating a story of the Utopia or Gulliver’s Travels type, but he does it with a wink and a nudge. Over and over again, the Time Traveller makes assumptions about the futurescape he explores and what led to it, only to be shown wrong later and have to revise his theories. As usual, he learns that things tend to be a bit more complicated than they may appear at first (or second!) glance. Even at the end, when the Time Traveller is gone and we are left only with his theories and the narrator, the narrator calls the final theories into question yet again, informing us that the Time Traveller had always be prone to arriving at those types of conclusions, reminding us that the Time Traveller – the lens through which we see the future – is flawed and untrustworthy.

I found it to be an interesting read. Certainly, the injection of evolution into the poli-sci-ism of More and Swift gave the genre a neat new dimension. But I found it to be a bit short. I think I would have enjoyed the novel more if the 802,701 C.E. storyline had been a little more condensed, and the Time Traveller had gone to a few more points in history. Then again, I know what Wells was trying to do, and the book is certainly interesting and entertaining enough as is.

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World War Z by Max Brooks

Read: 14 June, 2012

I’ve been reading a lot of zombie stuff recently, so I picked up World War Z after a YouTuber (I think it was Hank Green?) made a comment about being really freaked out by the book. So, knowing absolutely nothing else about the book, I decided to check it out from the library. The result was that I went on vacation with three books in my bag, two about zombies (Rise of the Governor and World War Z) and one about bunnies (Watership Down, which my dear gentleman friend has decided to read). Only slightly embarrassing.

All zombie stories that I’ve read/watched to date have followed the Rise of the Governor model: Small group of people are hit by the zombie apocalypse, and the story follows their efforts to survive. From the subtitle of WWZ (“An oral history of the zombie war”), I assumed that it would follow the same general format from the perspective of a character narrating her/his survival story from some point in the future.

That’s not what WWZ is about at all.

Rather, WWZ is presented as the “human stories” behind a report written by the United Nations Postwar Commission. These are presented in a collection of first person accounts, written by a wide variety of people from all over the world, offering a global perspective of the zombie apocalypse.

Because each POV character gets only a couple pages, the reader doesn’t have the chance to bond with them. This directs the focus more towards a sense of shared humanity that, in some ways, made the tales even more emotionally powerful.

I really can’t stop raving about WWZ. It was alien yet relatable, entertaining yet thought-provoking, horrifying yet uplifting. This isn’t just an excellent zombie book, it’s an excellent book, period. I ended up buying a copy as soon as I got back from vacation, and I highly recommend that you do the same!

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Mechanique: A Tale of the Circus Tresaulti by Genevieve Valentine

Read: 13 July, 2012

The Circus Tresaulti is the circus that never dies. It is a haven for soldiers, orphaned children, and other victims of the wars that have ravaged the world. It is the one splash of colour and wonderment left to a people reduced to mere survival.

I picked up Mechanique after it got a fan review on Sword and Laser. I’m attracted to the visuals of steampunk, but I’ve never really delved into the genre.

The story is told in a non-linear collection of vignettes, and they cover the origins of the circus, as well as a “present day” plot line involving efforts to re-establish civilization.

I found Mechanique to be very interesting and entertaining. The combination between style and subject made it quite lyrical, particularly all the references to music, and I’ve rarely seen parentheses used to such great effect. Unfortunately, there are some proof reading errors (“…and then she hears a the[sic] chord shift to a minor key…” (p. 264) that are somewhat jarring.

But mostly, I just didn’t feel like I took anything away from the book. Stuff happens and the writing is quite beautiful, but I felt like I was just watching the story unfold from a removed vantage point; like I was strolling along a path that doesn’t go anywhere. Then again, maybe that was the point.

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The Walking Dead: Rise of the Governor by Robert Kirkman and Ray Bonansinga

Read: 11 June, 2012

Rise of the Governor is an add-on to the Walking Dead graphic novel series, chronicling the journey of the eponymous character. If you’ve read the graphic novels (or, shortly I am sure, seen the TV show), you’ll know who the Governor is. If not, he’s the ruthless leader of a small town of survivors, and the antagonist of books #6-8. In the comics, he appears as a fully formed Bad Guy™, so this novel gives some of his backstory and an explanation (such as it is) for how he came to be that way.

Though a different medium from the graphic novels, Rise of the Governor is clearly part of the same series, and shared all the same weaknesses. In my reviews of the series, I’ve often complained about the editing issues, and these are present in the novel as well. Words and phrases are repeated close together in a way that sounds awkward, or a not-quite-right word will be used (a car is rolling down a hill: “The weight of the vehicle is building inertia.”). All problems that could have easily been solved by the use of a good editor.

There were also problems in the way that the narrator related to the characters. Or, rather, in the way the narrator doesn’t relate to the characters. The characters are blue collar guys, and it’s frequently pointed out (derisively) that one had attended college. And yet when a character starts turning into a zombie and begins to move, this is described as being: “like the typical residual nerve twitches that morticians might see now and again.” The killing of zombies is described in very clinical terms (“He hears the THWACK of another axe blade outside the closet, smashing through the membrane of a scalp, into the hard shell of a skull, through the layers of dura, and into the pulpy gray gelatin of an occipital lobe”). Why on earth would a a story about a couple blue collar guys from Georgia be narrated in this kind of way?

My last gripe is with the character exposition, which suffers terribly from what I like to call Dollar Bin Syndrome. The books in the dollar bin of a store have more differences than similarities – some are romances, some are murder mysteries, some are historical fictions, some have female leads, some of male leads… but all share one trait in common: They are universally terrible at introducing new characters. We see this in Rise of the Governor, where every new character is introduced with an emotionally dissociated laundry list of traits (usually physical, although sometimes the “twinkle of the eyes and salt-and-pepper hair” betrays some profound temperamental facet, or whatevs). It reads more like an eHarmony profile than an engaging novel.

But for all that, it did keep me interested and the character development was reasonably well handled. The Governor is a very difficult character to live up to, but I found his backstory to be executed satisfactorily. The twist at the ending was fairly gimmicky, but it fit in with the narrative and it did work.

If you’re into zombie stories / apocalyptic fiction / survivalism, or if you’re a fan of the Walking Dead series, Rise of the Governor definitely wouldn’t be a waste of your time. It’s nothing to write home about, but it’s worth reading.

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The Walking Dead #5-6: The Best Defense & This Sorrowful Life by Robert Kirkman and Charlie Adlard

Read: 29 March, 2012

In The Best Defense and This Sorrowful Life, we continue with the survivors’ stay in the prison. When Rick sees a helicopter going out just a few miles away, he takes Glenn and Michonne to see if anyone survived the crash. But what they find instead is a whole town of the living, reminding us once again that the greatest danger in a zombie apocalypse isn’t the zombies.

These two issues suffer from most of the same problems as the others, namely the shoddy dialogue. The pacing does seem to have slowed down considerably, and we actually get something resembling an arch. We start off nice and slow with the short term goal of getting the prison’s generator running, which requires leaving the safety of the fence to syphon gas from nearby cars, and then we move into the hope/trepidation over the helicopter. The actual encounter with the living doesn’t begin until quite a ways through The Best Defense.

There are other classic storytelling elements that we haven’t really seen prior to these volumes. Rick is now given a foil, known by his followers as the Governor. He is the Rick that might have been. If you’ve recently finished watching Season 2 of the AMC show, one might say that the Governor is the Rick that Shane wanted him to be.

But these two volumes are incredibly brutal. The series has always been fairly graphic (it is a zombie series, after all), but these volumes have crossed the line between violence as a necessity for survival to violence as sadistic pleasure. It’s necessary to the story and character development, so I’m not saying that it shouldn’t have been included, but D and I both agreed that it didn’t need as much panel time as it got. And oh boy, major trigger warning!

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Never Let Me Go by Kazuo Ishiguro

Read: 21 March, 2012

I watched the movie a few days after my son was born, while I was still riding the hormonal high and at the peak of my weepiness. Because of this, it’s hard to say just how much of the movie’s awesome was because of how awesome the movie was, and how much was enhanced by my emotional state. Regardless, I feel confident in saying that if you haven’t watched the movie yet, do so as soon as you get the chance.

I was so enchanted by the movie that I decided to pick up the book and give it a try.

I have to say that the movie did an amazing job of capturing the book, and of translating them into the silver screen format. But still, I found the two to be very different. The movie is, primarily, a love story. It’s about the love shared by Tommy and Kathy, and the sense that time is running out for them. Kathy’s monologue at the end makes this focus quite clear.

The book, on the other hand, seems to focus more on the characters and their growth, which is continually undercut by the reminder of their eventual donation. I couldn’t help but feel that Ishiguro was commenting on the way that we, generally, refuse to talk to our children about death and the urgency of living well. He’s highlighted the problem by speeding up the timeline, but that’s about it. Perhaps the most striking element of both the book and the movie is just how normal Kathy and her friends are, which is quite different from the norm in the dystopian genre.

I did enjoy the book, and I was impressed by the skill with which Ishiguro smashed many of the conventions of the science fiction / dystopia genres, but this is one instance where I’m tempted to say that the book has little to add that the movie doesn’t convey. And while there’s a lot of value in Ishiguro’s depth and the slow pace at which he covers his topic, I don’t feel like anything important was lost in the transference to the movie format and, if anything, the story may have benefited from conciseness of the format.

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Series: The Hunger Games by Suzanne Collins

The Hunger Games is a dystopian series set in the distant future Appalachia. The world – as much as we know of it – has destroyed itself and been reborn as Panem. In the centre is the Capital, where people live in luxury and entertain themselves with fashion and the drama of the Hunger Games. Around it are twelve districts, each focusing on a single industry so that all dependent on each other for the basic necessities of life. Once, 75 years before the series begins, the districts rebelled in what has come to be known as the Dark Days. There were thirteen districts then, but the Capital destroyed one in the battle. To ensure that the districts would never again seek to rebel, the Capital instituted the Hunger Games – a gladiatorial event in which two children, a boy and a girl, from each district is selected by lottery and entered into the arena, there to fight to the death until only one child is left.

The odds were in Katniss Everdeen’s favour and she was not called to be a tribute for the Capital’s Hunger Games, but her little sister was not so lucky. When Katniss volunteers herself to take her sister’s place, her personal refusal to accept the Capital’s rules lay the groundwork for a return of the Dark Days and the possible extinction of what’s left of human society.

Are you on Team Peeta or Team Gale?

The Hunger Games series followed many conventions that could have reduced it to a superficial, silly novel – the love triangle between Katniss, Peeta, and Gale perfectly illustrates my point. It would have been all too easy for the Hunger Games to become about Katniss’s “boy troubles,” to make her struggle be about the men in her life. The narrative does flirt with this at a few points, but it does so in a psychologically real way that preserves Katniss’s identity as an individual in her own right, rather than as an object for the competition between two males. As Shoshana Kessock points out, the only real team in the Hunger Games is Team Katniss.

Living vs Surviving

Katniss’s reaction to her dystopian government grows and changes in interesting ways. In the beginning, she is resigned to her fate, content merely with survival. She dismisses the interests of both boys in her love triangle because she cannot envision a future with either, a future which may include having children, in a society that would allow have something like the Hunger Games. It’s Peeta who offers her an alternative to simple survival – living – which, paradoxically, may mean martyrdom. His refusal to sacrifice who he is as a person to play by the Capital’s rules is a lesson to Katniss that simply surviving isn’t enough. She comes back to this lesson again and again through the series, each time understanding a little more about what Peeta meant.

Coming back to the romance tropes, it was so refreshing to see Katniss and Peeta help each other grow as individuals rather than simply learning to don a new identity at the expense of the self. Bella Swan, of Twilight fame is a perfect example of the latter. She sheds her self to take up the identity of her paramour (in this case, his identity as a vampire). In the Hunger Games, on the other hand, Peeta serves as a lesson, but it changes Katniss in a way that is unique to herself. She doesn’t become a copy of Peeta, but rather a person who has been shaped by her relationship with him.

Moral Complexity

In the first book of the series, the sides are fairly clear: the Capital is bad, the Districts are victims. But by the second book, Katniss is unable to reconcile her hatred for the Capital with her love for the Capital people in her life, such as her design team, Cinna, or even Effie. By the third book, the moral line that divides the sides becomes even more complicated as we meet the people of District 13 and fine them to be something less than the rescuers they have presented themselves to be. As with so many of our real world revolutions, when the rebels win the war, they adopt all the habits they had so recently fought against. There’s a lesson there for readers about trying to fit groups into a “good guy vs bad guy” narrative, and about thinking too uncritically about one’s in-group.

Image

Much of the series revolves around Katniss’s image. Throughout the series, characters are always dressing Katniss, using her appearance to tell a narrative that promotes their own agenda. I kept thinking of our fashions and the way that clothes often display the maker’s branding in a highly visible spot, using their customers as walking billboards. Through it all, Katniss struggles to keep hold of who she is as a person, an individual separate from the image is made to project.

There’s also a lesson here about the importance of image, and how powerful our appearances can be.

Conclusion

This series is absolutely fantastic. At only three books, there’s really no reason not to go out and read it. It’s very well written and excellently plotted. If you haven’t already, give it a try!

Edit: And hey, if you think that the Hunger Games (the actual games, not the books) were awesome, you can now experience them first hand (sort of)! Presenting “literary tourism.”

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The Hunger Games #3: Mockingjay by Suzanne Collins

Read: 11 March, 2012

The Hunger Games ended when Katniss destroyed the barrier keeping the tributes in the arena, but the battle against the Capital is far from over. After an all-too-short glimpse of freedom, she finds herself yet again a pawn in someone else’s game – this time she is the Mockingjay, a symbol of the revolution used by the rebels and District 13 in their PR campaign.

I was worried about the third instalment of the Hunger Games series because so much could have been poorly handled. The love triangle between Katniss, Peeta, and Gale – which had been on hold while Katniss fought for the survival of herself and her loved ones – needed a resolution, and that might mean turning Katniss’s world towards ‘boy issues.’ The Capital had been set up as the baddies from the start, but Mockingjay is the first time we get to look at possible alternative rulers. It would have been so easy to maintain the perception of the Capital is the series’ baddies and reduce the conflict into a simplistic good vs evil conflict. And, lastly, the first two books in the series focused around a Hunger Game – what was left for the third? Surely we wouldn’t see another Hunger Game? But where else was there to go?

I was pleasantly surprised on all fronts. Collins navigated the standard whirlpools with much grace and ended the series powerfully. Even the “years later” epilogue fit the story and only increased the emotion, rather than feeling too removed from the events for the reader to process. I’m not ashamed to admit that I was in tears for much of the ending.

I really enjoyed the twist – yes, there’s a twist. It caught me by surprise, but only because it solved an issue that had been concerning me rather than because it was from “out on left field” or otherwise lacked sense. In retrospect, it fit Katniss perfectly.

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