A few days ago I finished The Rapture, the grueling third and final prequel to the Left Behind series of novels. This is now my third post on these books, so without going into much detail, I will say again that each and every volume is deficient in almost any conceivable way. Bad writing? Check. Poor characterization? Check. Unbearably preachy? Check. Offering no insight into philosophical or theological issues? Big check. Portraying God as a monstrous, abusive father? Again, enormous check.
There were a couple of passages so offensive that I made a note so I could reproduce them here. From page 199 of my version (the following is a scene that takes place after the rapture, when God's faithful have been transported to heaven):
"Irene did not even have to listen to learn the simple song. It was as if the words and the melody had been written on her heart. The great multitude, led by the angel choir, blended beautiful voices, drawing Irene to her feet and causing her to raise her chin. And with a dramatic, crystal-clear soprano she had never heard--and certainly never produced--she raised her hands high and joined the triumphant, majestic multitude, singing, "Alleluia! Salvation and glory and honor and power belong to the Lord our God! For true and righteous are His judgments, because He has judged the great harlot who corrupted the earth with her fornication; and He has avenged on her the blood of His servants shed by her.
"Alleluia! Her smoke rises up forever and ever!"
Okay, I'm not entirely sure if this is a direct quote from Revelations, from some other text, or if LaHaye/Jenkins are just making this stuff up, but this is supposed to be the very first song the elect will sing in paradise. Really? In heaven, this is the sort of thing people are saying? Giving thanks for God's revenge on the harlot? This is deranged.
Example two is another scene in heaven, from page 316 (not 3:16):
"Irene shrugged. 'We have new minds and bodies, but we have memories. Maybe in a million or so years we'll be completely free of our humanness.'
Raymie laughed. 'We already are.'
'I know.'"
In case it's not clear, they are celebrating being free of their "humanness". Now that they're in heaven they can develop into the robotic non-entity praise machines that God always intended they should be, until Adam went and ruined the whole plan. Can you imagine a more childish and depressing vision of eternity? I know Jesus exhorts us to have the faith of a child, and there is a sense in that statement--to see with innocence and trust. But there is also a time for the putting away of childish things, and a time to see the complexity in the world instead of denying it. Somebody should tell these authors they are old enough to get out of the nursery and into the sanctuary.
Thursday, July 12, 2007
Saturday, July 7, 2007
Transformers
Regarding Transformers, let me just say that if you are a fan of movies that disappoint, you will not be disappointed!
Wednesday, July 4, 2007
Benchley Shows His Sensitive Side
A couple days back I finished The Girl of the Sea of Cortez by Peter Benchley, the novelist famous for writing Jaws. I have long felt that Jaws the film is quite a bit better than Jaws the book. The movie is full of strange quirks and interesting characters, that come across as stock in the novel. There are also some additional, unappealing subplots in the book that are left out of the movie, to good effect. Anyway, Benchley followed up Jaws (his first novel) with two more ocean related yarns: The Deep and The Island. Both of those were nearly unbearable. Finally we come to The Girl of the Sea of Cortez. As you may be able to tell from the title, this is a novel of different sort than Benchley's others.
A brief description of the plot: a native girl, Paloma, living on an island in the Sea of Cortez spends much of her time snorkel diving off a seamount near her village. She is the only person who knows of the seamount's location. It was shown to her by her now deceased father, who was an outsider on the island. From her father she learned an attitude of respect for the sea; she learned to enjoy the sea, but also to harbor what is essentially a conservationist viewpoint. Others on the island, including her fisherman brother, see the sea as an adversary, from which sustenance must be taken. They live on the water, but not in the water. Naturally, her brother eventually discovers the seamount, along with the sea-life that is abundant there and wants to fish the area, creating a confrontation with Paloma.
The novel is a serious and admirable departure from Benchley's earlier work. I understand that Benchley felt a certain amount of guilt for the rest of his life after writing Jaws, because of the fear that novel created toward sharks. It seems he is trying to make up for some of that here. Unfortunately, I don't think you can really call Girl a success. Though not as sensational as his earlier novels, Girl still suffers from characters that are poorly drawn, only now there is not even plot to drive the story forward. Instead we have a very slow read without much in the way of an emotional payoff. There is also some magical realist type of writing going on at the climax that does not seem to fit with one of the novel's major themes, namely that animals need to be respected but not anthropomorphized. It is difficult to reconcile the conclusion with the bulk of the novel; it is almost a direct contradiction.
At any rate, I do give Benchley credit for leaving behind the formula that he used to create an enormous bestseller. No doubt his publisher had doubts about this book. My suspicion is that Girl probably did not sell all that well and that is one reason why Benchley found himself returning to the "monsters of the sea" prescription in some of his later books. A for effort, C- for execution in The Girl of the Sea of Cortez.
A brief description of the plot: a native girl, Paloma, living on an island in the Sea of Cortez spends much of her time snorkel diving off a seamount near her village. She is the only person who knows of the seamount's location. It was shown to her by her now deceased father, who was an outsider on the island. From her father she learned an attitude of respect for the sea; she learned to enjoy the sea, but also to harbor what is essentially a conservationist viewpoint. Others on the island, including her fisherman brother, see the sea as an adversary, from which sustenance must be taken. They live on the water, but not in the water. Naturally, her brother eventually discovers the seamount, along with the sea-life that is abundant there and wants to fish the area, creating a confrontation with Paloma.
The novel is a serious and admirable departure from Benchley's earlier work. I understand that Benchley felt a certain amount of guilt for the rest of his life after writing Jaws, because of the fear that novel created toward sharks. It seems he is trying to make up for some of that here. Unfortunately, I don't think you can really call Girl a success. Though not as sensational as his earlier novels, Girl still suffers from characters that are poorly drawn, only now there is not even plot to drive the story forward. Instead we have a very slow read without much in the way of an emotional payoff. There is also some magical realist type of writing going on at the climax that does not seem to fit with one of the novel's major themes, namely that animals need to be respected but not anthropomorphized. It is difficult to reconcile the conclusion with the bulk of the novel; it is almost a direct contradiction.
At any rate, I do give Benchley credit for leaving behind the formula that he used to create an enormous bestseller. No doubt his publisher had doubts about this book. My suspicion is that Girl probably did not sell all that well and that is one reason why Benchley found himself returning to the "monsters of the sea" prescription in some of his later books. A for effort, C- for execution in The Girl of the Sea of Cortez.
Saturday, June 30, 2007
Saturday Morning Thoughts on Two Novels
Last week I finished two novels of very different stripes. I'll give short reviews of both here as I enjoy some Saturday morning coffee. I'm up very early today (for me, for a Saturday) and not even hung over, which I think deserves a mention.
First is Aldous Huxley's first novel, Crome Yellow. Crome was an unexpected turn for me. The only other Huxley I had read was the classic Brave New World back in my college days, and a book of his mostly mediocre poems. Crome is quite dissimilar from that wonderful novel, but in some ways you can find early indicators of the direction Huxley is heading. The book doesn't have much a plot to speak of--a group of rich folks in England spend a few weeks lounging about their rural mansion, known as Chrome Yellow. It's very talky. Huxley in seems to simply find settings to pair his characters together so they can have a discussion and flesh out whatever philosophical ideas Huxley is kicking around at the moment. That sounds derisive, but I don't really mean it that way. The novel is not a mature work, but it has its moments of both hilarity (Huxley can be funny!) and of strange gravity.
My favorite moment comes toward the end, when the main character Denis finds a notebook that a minor character is often seem scribbling in. On the front of the notebook is printed "private" and there is some admonishment not to open it. Denis naturally opens it anyway and finds some drawn pictures and words written about himself that portray him in a deeply negative light. He is dumbfounded not because this character doesn't like him, but because he never imagined she was sophisticated enough to form any critical opinions whatsoever. He spends to remainder of the novel amazed that everyone in the world has an interior life, that they are a universe unto themselves. That synopsis really doesn't do it justice--it's both comic and moving in the book.
Chrome clocks in right around 140 pages and is a quick read. It's even still in print somehow, which I was shocked to discover.
The other, less satisfying book, was The Face of Fear by Dean Koontz. The sad fact is that I will be reviewing quite a bit of Koontz in this space because, even though I detest him, I still read him. I'm crazy like that. I'll be brief.
The Face of Fear is in all ways typical Koontz. The title is actually the best part of the novel, since it is not precisely what it seems. The face in question is not a human face, but face as in a side of a mountain or other object which a person may climb. The plot involves a psychic who foresees a murder. The murderer then comes to kill the psychic so he won't be identified. Murderer traps psychic in a building late at night and psychic has to try to climb down the outside of the building to escape. Oh yeah, and the psychic also used to be a professional mountain climber and had a terrible fall and now is utterly petrified of climbing. Do you suppose he will be able to overcome his fear and escape the murderous brute?
The novel is absolute trash. To boot, it is remarkably like Koontz's previous novel, The Vision, which also featured a psychic who foresees a killer in action and then must confront the killer. Neither is recommended. I hate stories or movies about psychics, since there are never any ground rules about how the psychic ability works and the author or screenwriter can use it in whatever ridiculous way the plot requires. I mean, vampires are silly, but at least we know what we're in for; daylight, a stake through the heart, and sometimes garlic or a cross can keep them at bay. Psychics have no rules attached to their power. I'm not sure I can think of a movie that I've ever enjoyed that featured psychics prominently. I guess The Gift was alright. I don't think Minority Report can truly be counted. Somebody help me out here.
Why Koontz persists in being a mega-seller despite his awful prose and plodding stories is one of the great mysteries of our time. But in my effort to read what the people read, I will be continuing in this long, hard slog through some of the most tedious novels known to man. And continuing to bitch about on this blog.
First is Aldous Huxley's first novel, Crome Yellow. Crome was an unexpected turn for me. The only other Huxley I had read was the classic Brave New World back in my college days, and a book of his mostly mediocre poems. Crome is quite dissimilar from that wonderful novel, but in some ways you can find early indicators of the direction Huxley is heading. The book doesn't have much a plot to speak of--a group of rich folks in England spend a few weeks lounging about their rural mansion, known as Chrome Yellow. It's very talky. Huxley in seems to simply find settings to pair his characters together so they can have a discussion and flesh out whatever philosophical ideas Huxley is kicking around at the moment. That sounds derisive, but I don't really mean it that way. The novel is not a mature work, but it has its moments of both hilarity (Huxley can be funny!) and of strange gravity.
My favorite moment comes toward the end, when the main character Denis finds a notebook that a minor character is often seem scribbling in. On the front of the notebook is printed "private" and there is some admonishment not to open it. Denis naturally opens it anyway and finds some drawn pictures and words written about himself that portray him in a deeply negative light. He is dumbfounded not because this character doesn't like him, but because he never imagined she was sophisticated enough to form any critical opinions whatsoever. He spends to remainder of the novel amazed that everyone in the world has an interior life, that they are a universe unto themselves. That synopsis really doesn't do it justice--it's both comic and moving in the book.
Chrome clocks in right around 140 pages and is a quick read. It's even still in print somehow, which I was shocked to discover.
The other, less satisfying book, was The Face of Fear by Dean Koontz. The sad fact is that I will be reviewing quite a bit of Koontz in this space because, even though I detest him, I still read him. I'm crazy like that. I'll be brief.
The Face of Fear is in all ways typical Koontz. The title is actually the best part of the novel, since it is not precisely what it seems. The face in question is not a human face, but face as in a side of a mountain or other object which a person may climb. The plot involves a psychic who foresees a murder. The murderer then comes to kill the psychic so he won't be identified. Murderer traps psychic in a building late at night and psychic has to try to climb down the outside of the building to escape. Oh yeah, and the psychic also used to be a professional mountain climber and had a terrible fall and now is utterly petrified of climbing. Do you suppose he will be able to overcome his fear and escape the murderous brute?
The novel is absolute trash. To boot, it is remarkably like Koontz's previous novel, The Vision, which also featured a psychic who foresees a killer in action and then must confront the killer. Neither is recommended. I hate stories or movies about psychics, since there are never any ground rules about how the psychic ability works and the author or screenwriter can use it in whatever ridiculous way the plot requires. I mean, vampires are silly, but at least we know what we're in for; daylight, a stake through the heart, and sometimes garlic or a cross can keep them at bay. Psychics have no rules attached to their power. I'm not sure I can think of a movie that I've ever enjoyed that featured psychics prominently. I guess The Gift was alright. I don't think Minority Report can truly be counted. Somebody help me out here.
Why Koontz persists in being a mega-seller despite his awful prose and plodding stories is one of the great mysteries of our time. But in my effort to read what the people read, I will be continuing in this long, hard slog through some of the most tedious novels known to man. And continuing to bitch about on this blog.
Sunday, June 24, 2007
The Regime
I've already written a post on the dumbfounding "Left Behind" series a few months back, but I am going to take the opportunity to briefly return to the topic now, since it is something I have devoted a considerable amount of time to reading and trying to understand.
I have finished the 12 book series proper, but the authors have seen fit to write three prequels as well as one additional sequel. As any number of commentators on Amazon will tell you, this is a fairly transparent scheme to keep milking the cash cow they've created. Nonetheless, I've read the first of the two prequels, having recently finished The Regime. I think it's a curious title, considering that the first thing that comes to mind when I consider the phrase "the regime" is the current administration. I don't think I'm alone on that. Anyway, the regime in question is evidently not the Bush presidency, but the regime of Nicolae Carpathia, the anti-Christ of the later books. However, Nicolae has not yet risen to power, so I'm not sure where they get off with the title.
The book came out in 2006, a time when political conventional wisdom was quite different than when the bulk of the books were published (1996-2004). Part of Nicolae's schick is that he claims to stand for peace and hate violence and he calls for global cooperation and internationalism. Making this person the anti-Christ makes political sense (for right-wingers, I mean) in the 2001-2004 timeframe, because Bush was at that time saying pretty much the exact same thing: "those calling for global cooperation are working against the interests of the United States. Only I, the one who dares confront evil head on, can be trusted to protect you, not those weak ones who want non-violent solutions." Now of course, the field is reversed. Bush has been shown to be a power-mad, war mongering imperialist, while those of us who timidly suggested that unilateral invasion of other countries is not morally right look quite a lot better than a few years back. The point of this whole exercise is to say that the book immediately feels dated because of its allegiance to a Bush-like foreign policy, which only a troglodyte could now support.
The prequels seem to be a showcase mainly for the "true believer" sort of characters to try to convert those that are not strident enough or orthodox enough in their faith. There are some marvelous scenes, such as when true believer Irene goes to the nursing home to try to make her husband's senile parents give up their life-long faith in order to accept the born again creed that she promulgates. Or take the scene where Irene (before she becomes a born again Christian) has a series of religious conversations with some other mother at a park. This other mother gives Irene a gospel tract, which though Irene pretends she doesn't care, she is secretly thrilled and rushing to get home and read this awesome piece of life-changing literature. I gather it is supposed to be inspirational, encouraging believers to preach the word to all nations, as it were. However, I think you would have to be delusional in order to see it as anything other than comic.
I still hold out hope that one day I might be able to write a thesis on the politics of the books, which are truly unpleasant, but I won't delve further into the topic now. Suffice it to say that The Regime is just as odious, and in some ways more so, than any other novel in the series. The popularity of these books is a black mark on those who try to defend Christianity as an intellectually serious set of beliefs.
I have finished the 12 book series proper, but the authors have seen fit to write three prequels as well as one additional sequel. As any number of commentators on Amazon will tell you, this is a fairly transparent scheme to keep milking the cash cow they've created. Nonetheless, I've read the first of the two prequels, having recently finished The Regime. I think it's a curious title, considering that the first thing that comes to mind when I consider the phrase "the regime" is the current administration. I don't think I'm alone on that. Anyway, the regime in question is evidently not the Bush presidency, but the regime of Nicolae Carpathia, the anti-Christ of the later books. However, Nicolae has not yet risen to power, so I'm not sure where they get off with the title.
The book came out in 2006, a time when political conventional wisdom was quite different than when the bulk of the books were published (1996-2004). Part of Nicolae's schick is that he claims to stand for peace and hate violence and he calls for global cooperation and internationalism. Making this person the anti-Christ makes political sense (for right-wingers, I mean) in the 2001-2004 timeframe, because Bush was at that time saying pretty much the exact same thing: "those calling for global cooperation are working against the interests of the United States. Only I, the one who dares confront evil head on, can be trusted to protect you, not those weak ones who want non-violent solutions." Now of course, the field is reversed. Bush has been shown to be a power-mad, war mongering imperialist, while those of us who timidly suggested that unilateral invasion of other countries is not morally right look quite a lot better than a few years back. The point of this whole exercise is to say that the book immediately feels dated because of its allegiance to a Bush-like foreign policy, which only a troglodyte could now support.
The prequels seem to be a showcase mainly for the "true believer" sort of characters to try to convert those that are not strident enough or orthodox enough in their faith. There are some marvelous scenes, such as when true believer Irene goes to the nursing home to try to make her husband's senile parents give up their life-long faith in order to accept the born again creed that she promulgates. Or take the scene where Irene (before she becomes a born again Christian) has a series of religious conversations with some other mother at a park. This other mother gives Irene a gospel tract, which though Irene pretends she doesn't care, she is secretly thrilled and rushing to get home and read this awesome piece of life-changing literature. I gather it is supposed to be inspirational, encouraging believers to preach the word to all nations, as it were. However, I think you would have to be delusional in order to see it as anything other than comic.
I still hold out hope that one day I might be able to write a thesis on the politics of the books, which are truly unpleasant, but I won't delve further into the topic now. Suffice it to say that The Regime is just as odious, and in some ways more so, than any other novel in the series. The popularity of these books is a black mark on those who try to defend Christianity as an intellectually serious set of beliefs.
Wednesday, June 20, 2007
Dance of Death
One thing that is inevitable if I am going to post more book review-type items, is that I must reveal the truly terrible reading habits I have. Though I am a fairly prolific reader, much of the material I consume is not exactly of high literary value, or full of insightful wisdom. I won't go into all the details, but I employ an arcane and complex system of deciding which books to read, and in what order to read them. I have so much invested in this system that I feel I must continue down this path, even though it ultimately leads to madness, and on the way to madness, leads to me reading a lot of books that are frankly, a waste of time.
The above preface is going to be true for a lot of the books I will discuss in this space, but I now want to make an argument that it is not true for today's book. The book in question is Danse Macabre by Stephen King. King is an author that gets a lot of grief, unfairly in my opinion. Of course, he is enormously popular (I think probably the best selling author in the US, over the course of his career). You can buy his novels in supermarkets or in airport lounges. And almost everybody who reads recreationally has read something by him at some time. Even if I believed his books weren't very good, the fact that he gets people who are not normally readers to pick up a book would be plenty of defense by itself for King. Except that, in addition to that, I actually do think that King is pretty good.
King sometimes lacks discipline and has page count can soar well above what is strictly necessary. However, compared to other superstar authors, his books contain well-drawn characters and contain often exquisite wordplay. And as someone who is infatuated with the horror genre, his novels have the ability to give me goosebumps better than anyone else I've read. The Stand may well one day be regarded as a classic. Cujo is a model of lean efficiency without any resorting to supernatural events. And his stories excel in creating brightness and hidden horror of small towns; they burst with a blend of nostalgia and realism that I find winning.
But, to change directions again, Danse Macabre is a departure from any of King's other work. First, you will notice it is non-fiction. It is King's effort to evaluate the horror genre from 1950 to 1980 or so. He talks casually, but intelligently, about radio, television, films, and books. He talks about the archetypes of the genre, talks about how our fears are manifested in it, the roots of the horror story, and what some of his favorites are. It is not a book for the casual horror fan, since it delves at length into these topics, but I was enthralled. King has done his homework and produced a book that is essential for horror fans. The argument for how horror fiction can represent societal fears (be they political, cultural, economic, or something more primative yet) is of course not original to King, but he has layed it out more clearly than any other writer I've encountered.
The book is like an enjoyable, long talk with a knowledgable friend. Danse Macabre, the Dance of Death, has always occupied a place in human psyche. Here is a good primer for understanding the strange ways it has been expressed; here is a window into a part of ourselves we are afraid to see.
The above preface is going to be true for a lot of the books I will discuss in this space, but I now want to make an argument that it is not true for today's book. The book in question is Danse Macabre by Stephen King. King is an author that gets a lot of grief, unfairly in my opinion. Of course, he is enormously popular (I think probably the best selling author in the US, over the course of his career). You can buy his novels in supermarkets or in airport lounges. And almost everybody who reads recreationally has read something by him at some time. Even if I believed his books weren't very good, the fact that he gets people who are not normally readers to pick up a book would be plenty of defense by itself for King. Except that, in addition to that, I actually do think that King is pretty good.
King sometimes lacks discipline and has page count can soar well above what is strictly necessary. However, compared to other superstar authors, his books contain well-drawn characters and contain often exquisite wordplay. And as someone who is infatuated with the horror genre, his novels have the ability to give me goosebumps better than anyone else I've read. The Stand may well one day be regarded as a classic. Cujo is a model of lean efficiency without any resorting to supernatural events. And his stories excel in creating brightness and hidden horror of small towns; they burst with a blend of nostalgia and realism that I find winning.
But, to change directions again, Danse Macabre is a departure from any of King's other work. First, you will notice it is non-fiction. It is King's effort to evaluate the horror genre from 1950 to 1980 or so. He talks casually, but intelligently, about radio, television, films, and books. He talks about the archetypes of the genre, talks about how our fears are manifested in it, the roots of the horror story, and what some of his favorites are. It is not a book for the casual horror fan, since it delves at length into these topics, but I was enthralled. King has done his homework and produced a book that is essential for horror fans. The argument for how horror fiction can represent societal fears (be they political, cultural, economic, or something more primative yet) is of course not original to King, but he has layed it out more clearly than any other writer I've encountered.
The book is like an enjoyable, long talk with a knowledgable friend. Danse Macabre, the Dance of Death, has always occupied a place in human psyche. Here is a good primer for understanding the strange ways it has been expressed; here is a window into a part of ourselves we are afraid to see.
Monday, June 18, 2007
The GWB Center for Presidents Who Can't Read Good
I learned from this morning's Hotline that Karl Rove may be tasked with running President Bush's presidential library once it is completed. I ask you what kind of non-biased information is Karl Rove likely to include in his duty as library administrator? One can only imagine. Here's the link to the short and rather vague story:
http://www.usnews.com/blogs/washington-whispers/2007/6/17/big-hitters-steer-bush-legacy-plan.html
("What is this...a center for ants!?!?" I like to imagine W saying that line.)
http://www.usnews.com/blogs/washington-whispers/2007/6/17/big-hitters-steer-bush-legacy-plan.html
("What is this...a center for ants!?!?" I like to imagine W saying that line.)
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)