East

With one long alabaster spiral
Facing towards the East
Blinding white and graceful
Softly lit like a beacon
Like a star on his hill.

Perhaps one day on your journeys you'll notice
A sound like tiny clarion bells, or
A smell like the clearest of water.
I hope you'll turn and see him,
One day, with his face to the eastern sky
Perhaps waiting patiently
But more likely, I think, 
Running.




I really like unicorns. I doubt this is the last you'll see of them this month.
I'll have some good structured verse for you soon, I promise, but I keep forgetting about this project until the last minute and so don't have time for anything that really takes a lot of thought. Still, I kind of like this one. Do you?

Lyssa-tional Poetry Month

This is overdue in two ways.
First, April was National Poetry Month, and I told myself I was definitely going to do something exciting for that. But, since I didn't actually know which month was National Poetry Month until May, I did not, in fact, do anything remotely exciting. Also, I was challenged way back in February to write a poem every day for a month and see if it didn't make me a better writer. So I will. And because I am a glutton for embarrassment and because I literally only have two readers, I will post them here on the internet. You two will be the grateful recipients of exactly one poem a day, every day, starting today, for a month. They will be up by midnight. EVERY SINGLE DAY.
That being said, you are in for some craptacular poems. My goal is for you to enjoy at least one of them.



On Heroes

There are certain people I've always wanted to meet
someday, just so I could bow to them
(or shake hands or something, as I guess bowing
would probably make most of them uncomfortable)
because they were such heroes,
and I could never imagine being that kind of heroic,
or even, really
any kind at all.
But that's okay, I think,
because I'm more of a continuer anyway
and heroes tend to live short lives
(short amazing beautiful lives)
and on the day after the heroes,
the world would be a pretty sad place if
there was no one left who wanted,
in some deep but sizable portion of her soul,
to in her actions bow to them.



Well, not too bad considering I forgot my self-imposed deadline until an hour before it hit. However, this is a prime example of how I am physically incapable of deciding whether I want to be serious or not. Expect this indecision to plague you for the rest of the month.
*Side note: this occasionally happens to me with respect to fictional characters as well. It is a source of deep and everlasting frustration. Sigh.

Hamlet(s)!!!

Ok, I should just admit defeat and rename this "The Shakespeare Movie Review Blog." I hope you admire my dedication, though: my obsession has led me to spend over ten hours in the library watching every film adaptation of Hamlet I could get my nerdy little hands on. It was fantastic. And now, for your reading and viewing pleasure, I will tell you the merits of all five/six of them, and which one or ones you should watch! You're welcome.
ps. I'm really sorry I haven't posted in so long. First I procrastinated, then blogger locked me out for like a week. Sorry. And as long as I'm apologizing, this post is going to be super long. Sorry.
UPDATE: THIS POST WAS REVISED 3/9/12 FOR ACCURACY AFTER REWATCHING THE DAVID TENNANT VERSION WITH FULL APPRECIATION OF HIS GENIUS.


        First, the easiest one to review: the BBC version. As you may know, BBC has made versions of every Shakespeare play ever. I'm guessing they're all pretty boring. This Hamlet is literally a filmed play. On a stage. With no scenery (very little, at least). It's full-length, so over four hours. And it felt like they were reading their lines. Very, very boring. Don't watch it. Directed by Rodney Bennet, starring Derek Jacobi.
Scene of Hamlet's "to be or not to be" soliloquy: the stage. Duh.

       The oldest version I watched was the classic 1948 Laurence Olivier adaptation (directed by and starring him). It has a very distinct style, all tortured and suspenseful. It was cut pretty heavily to only two and a half hours; there's no Rosencrantz/Guildenstern or Fortinbras at all, so it's pretty much a purely psychological interpretation. Sometimes you can tell where it was cut, it's not as seamless as some of the others. Also this was the only version I watched where they changed the language of the play, as far as I noticed. So if you wanted to comment on a hasty plan, you could sound all educated and sophisticated by quoting Hamlet: "that would be scanned." But if you had only watched this version, you would say "that would be thought on" instead, and then your nerd friends would probably laugh at you. Also it's in black and white. I know that bothers some people. And the actress playing Gertrude is 11 years younger than Olivier. It gets pretty oedipal. The acting is very good, but it feels old-fashioned. Olivier is a very intense, emotional Hamlet. Also, Jean Simmons wins the prize for best Ophelia.
Location of Hamlet's soliloquy: on top of a tower, above the crashing waves. I like it. It makes it sort of more urgent.

        Next, the 1990 version, directed by Franco Zeffirelli and starring Mel Gibson, with Alan Bates as Claudius. Mel Gibson fans might like this one, but I personally am not a huge fan of his style; to quote Hamlet, it has a bit of the "out-Herods Herod" feel to it. This version is the only one I watched that is set in the original medieval period (Olivier's could be, but it was more open-ended in terms of setting). It also has more action than any of the others. It's cut to three hours, but you can't really tell. All the cinematography is very well done; the scenery especially is excellent. However, I have a pretty major problem with it. The Olivier version included the oedipal aspects of the play, this one practically focuses on them, to the extent of portraying the scene in Gertrude's bedroom (where Hamlet kills Polonius) as a huge makeout session. It's actually really distracting from what I think are the main themes of the play. No Fortinbras in this one either, and I think the ending was my least favorite.
Scene of Hamlet's soliloquy: a tomb. Meh, cliche.

        Next, Kenneth Branaugh's 1996 version! After watching just two of his Shakespeare adaptations, I'm already kind of a fangirl. First, he wins the prize for most attractive Hamlet. And I really love his acting. This version is completely uncut, making it just over four hours, but I was on the edge of my seat the entire time. It never felt like it was dragging or boring. It helped that there were occasional flashbacks that aren't in Shakespeare's text. For example, the actual murder of old Hamlet was shown (a couple times), and Hamlet's previous relations with Ophelia (which are pretty PG13 level, but if your small child is mature enough to want to sit through four hours of Hamlet, he/she probably knows the facts of life already). This version also wins the prize for best set and best costumes. It's set in Victorian era, and I just love looking at those costumes. And the castle is all full of secret passageways and mirrors and secret mirror-passageways. So perfect. I really love this one, guys. The ending was amazing. It was much more triumphant than any of the others, and perhaps more so than it really merits, but I still liked it a lot. It probably came the closest to making me cry (a good thing). If I'd watched it at night instead of in the middle of the day in a crowded, well-lit library, it probably would have. On a more negative note, the ghost scene is kind of corny. And the music was good, but it needed more of it. Despite that, you should watch this movie. It is a masterpiece.
"To be or not to be" location: in front of a mirror, from behind which Claudius and Polonius are watching. Solid, resounding stamp of approval. That scene made me very happy.

        The most recent Hamlet is a 2010 PBS version by the Royal Shakespeare Company, directed by Greg Doran and starring David Tennant (of Doctor Who fame), and Patrick Stewart as Claudius. This one was also really great, a fantastic modern interpretation. You can watch it for free online here. The acting is very good, as is the set, etc. It was very intense, and had a lot to do with mirrors, especially broken ones. Approve. I really like this movie overall. IT IS THE BEST THING IN THE WORLD OMIGOSH DAVID TENNANT SO FANTASTIC If you can't find Kenneth Branaugh's, or don't have the patience for a four-hour movie (this one's only three hours) or have a very strong preference for modern clothes, NO MATTER WHAT watch this one. Better yet, watch both of them. You could watch this one right this very second if you wanted! Just click on the link! DO IT NOW. DAVID TENNANT WINS ALL THE PRIZES.
Location of Hamlet's famous soliloquy: just in a regular hall. What makes it special is the lighting on his face.

        Finally is the 2000 version directed by Michael Almereyda and starring Ethan Hawke. I didn't actually watch this one because it was rated R, but since it's a major adaptation I thought I'd mention it anyway. It also has a modern setting, but Hamlet isn't even a prince, he's the son of a CEO. No castles are involved. It sounds like it would be pretty weird. Also, according to the internet, it's terrible. If anyone reading this has seen it, let me know what you thought.
Scene of soliloquy: in a video store. Adds a sort of surreal element.


Aaaaaaaaand the Grand Prize Ultimate Number One Winner is................ The Lion King! Because who needs that emo "tragedy" stuff anyway? DAVID TENNANT BECAUSE TRAGEDY IS BEAUTIFUL.

Transience

It has recently come to my attention that I am a rambler. You, gentle reader, will not be surprised by this, having suffered through my long and boring posts. It is a habit that I, unfortunately, cannot afford to suppress, since it comes in very handy where essays are involved. However, since I am interested in poetry, I must learn when to make use of my gift for gabble, and when to be concise. Hence, an exercise in brevity:


The brief tragic beauty of a flower:
A romantic thought in the minds of dreamers
Who may write lingering elegies to its grace
But only a short while
Before it, too,
withers and dies.

Pathfinder

        Salutations, friends! Today I will be reviewing Orson Scott Card's most recent book, Pathfinder. It stars a 13-year-old and is marketed to teens, but really it is not a YA novel at all, and definitely not a children's book. It's pretty complicated and heavy in both plot and themes, not to mention it's over 600 pages. Not that a teenager wouldn't like it, of course - I think many would. But teen lit it is not.
        It is the first of a series, but it stands alone very well - by the end, the story is resolved enough that you don't feel like you need to have the next one right now immediately this very second or you will scratch your eyeballs out. (Speaking of which, what is OSC doing writing a new series when Master Alvin is still unwritten??? I swear I will kidnap him and chain him to a computer.)

         Anyways. Pathfinder centers around the story of those who have the power to change the past. Following the death of his father, the young protagonist, Rigg, and his friends set out to find his long-lost mother and sister, a quest which leads to startling revelations about his heritage, his powers, and his future. He finds that he is the center of a political upheaval, and factions on every side want to force his hand, or kill him. He must go on the run with the people he cares about, and each of their special gifts will determine their survival - and what they discover about the world they live in.

        Pathfinder is science fiction and not fantasy, but, as in many of Card's books, the line between the two genres is slightly blurred. I don't mean his science is faulty (though I would hardly know if it was), but that he uses thematic and genre elements that are characteristic of both. It is set in a quasi-medieval world, complete with scheming queen and not-as-helpless-as-she-seems princess, and the time-manipulation talents possessed by the characters function, on the surface, as magic. However, the science fiction aspect and many of the novel's most important themes are revealed in the segments that take place several thousand years before the main plot, on board a space ship. (Protip: don't read these ahead, no matter how interesting they are. It works much better if you get the new information at its proper place.) Oh, and I guess there's some scifi right at the end of the main plot, too, if we're going to be picky. Together they weave a complete and compelling narrative. In my opinion, Orson Scott Card is very, very good at fusing genres; Pathfinder is a book that would appeal to both the adamant fantasist and the hardcore scifi nerd.

        A note on time travel: there's lots of it. And it's confusing. The book centers around the concept, but even if you read tons of time travel lit, you'll still be confused. OSC says it himself: the book is "in deliberate defiance of the consensus rules of science fictional time travel" (from the acknowledgments). What does that mean? If you're a logician, you'd better not read this book. Still, don't let that stand in the way of your enjoyment of the book. As a highly reputable and trusted source once said, "time travel is never non-confusing, and if you make it non-confusing, it's cause you're ignoring stuff."

        In terms of literary mechanics, Card is superlative as usual. His characters are likable and realistic, if perhaps not quite as personable as in some of his previous books. The plot is gripping, especially when you don't try to skip to the end and find out what's really the deal with this planet. The magic system (I mean, the science system) is very original and convincing. I always like his systems. Style and themes are a given; the man's a genius, he probably writes meaningful, relevant, beautiful prose in his sleep. Pathfinder is certainly a thinking book; if it doesn't make you wonder about a few things you're probably not paying attention. And of course Card has something profound to say about the human condition. He always does, you know.

        In conclusion, read it. If you like fantasy, if you like scifi, if you're a Card fanatic like me, if you've never heard of him before, teen, adult, whatever, just read Pathfinder. If you are a small child, have an easily explodable head, are a slacker who can't read more than 500 pages at a time, or hate all genre books, it probably is not for you. But the rest of you awesome people out there, read it.

Summer Reading List

       I am terribly sorry about the long time between posts. Finals, you know. But now I am free! Summer lies ahead, during which I can catch up on my reading. So here is a non-comprehensive list of what I intend to read over the summer, in no specific order. If you have any you recommend adding to the list, or if there are any here that you would especially like me to review, please comment!

-The Apocrypha, the Koran, and the Vedas; possibly also the Talmud, the I Ching and the Mahabharata. It's about time I got to know some other religions' scripture.
-L'Morte D'Arthur, by Thomas Malory. I checked this one out but had to return it before I read more than a couple pages. It was very sad.
-The Children of Hurin, by JRR Tolkien. It's been in my house for over a year now and I still haven't read it!! I'm also going to read The Lays of Beleriand, which I have OWNED for almost a year and haven't read. Shocking.
-Hood, Scarlet, and Tuck by Stephen Lawhead. I have an intense Robin Hood obsession and these sound really good.
-Everything by Jane Austen.
-Ivanhoe, by Sir Walter Scott. Also anything else by him that looks good.
-A Tale of Two Cities, by Charles Dickens. I started it but didn't have time to finish, and apparently it is amazing. More Dickens if I have time.
-The Brothers Karamazov, by Fydor Dostoyevski. I loved Crime and Punishment, and I've heard that this one is even better.
-The Kite Runner and its sequel, by Khaled Hosseini.
-Moby Dick, by Herman Melville.
-An Acceptable Time, by Madeleine L'Engle.  The fifth book in what I thought was the Time Quartet (beginning with A Wrinkle in Time). I started this one weeks ago but was interrupted by an attractive male about ten pages in. Then, when I went back to it, someone had checked it out! The nerve. Also I am going to read everything else by Madeleine L'Engle I can find because I love her with enormous amounts of love.
-The Gemma Doyle Trilogy, by Libba Bray. I dunno. It looks good.
-Mockingjay, by Suzanne Collins. I have to keep up my reputation as a connoisseur of teen lit.
-More poetry. I need to find a good anthology or something. I love poetry.
-Saints, by Orson Scott Card.
-Jonathan Strange and Mr. Norrell, by Susanna Clarke.
-The Four Loves and The Pilgrim's Regress, by C.S. Lewis. Something by Lewis I haven't read??? Unbelievable!
-Something famous by Faulkner or Joyce or someone. Because I feel like I should.
-Shakespeare.
-The Hunchback of Notre Dame, by Victor Hugo. Because I like him.
-Various examples of mediocre teen lit and fantasy that my brothers bring home, and which I will enjoy immensely. Scifi paperbacks from my dad's bookshelf. Probably a terrible mystery named after a food or holiday. Newspapers, poetry, internet articles, back copies of National Geographic, the Ensign, and Reader's Digest, blogs, more poetry, graffiti, cereal boxes, and street signs.

       That ought to keep me occupied for a couple months, since I'll have a job and responsibilities and everything, like a real person. And if it doesn't, well, I'll probably be updating it for a few weeks as I remember things I've been meaning to read. If you have a favorite I don't know about, please, let me know! And a very happy summer to you all.

On C.S. Lewis, On Fan Fiction, and then A Little Bit of Both

      As you may have noticed, this post is slightly on the long side – it is, in fact, the surprise big thing I'm sure you have been eagerly awaiting. And really, it's more like three and a half posts rolled into one. I apologize. If you do not read it, I will not be offended. I am sure you have better things to do with your time. Also, if you have not read The Last Battle recently, or at least remember the basic premise of the last couple chapters, this post will not make an iota of sense. (Go on, reread it, I'll wait.) However, if you are feeling exceptionally bored, brave, or in a C.S. Lewis sort of mood, read on.

      I love C.S. Lewis. I adore C.S. Lewis. Sometimes if I haven't read anything of his in a while, I go into C.S. Lewis withdrawal. He is clever and imaginative in plots and perspectives, he knows far more than any Anglican really has a right to know, and he writes beautifully. In fact, my own writing style has been irreversibly altered by his. Not to mention everything he ever wrote (except his poetry. Please never try to find his poetry. There's a very good reason no one knows he wrote any) is marvelously fun to read.

       That being said, I have one major problem with C.S. Lewis. Actually, I have two, but the other one is a bit personal and is probably best left off the internet. The problem I am addressing here has to do with Susan. I think it is terribly, terribly unfair what he did to Susan in the last Narnia book. (Note: if you have not read Narnia, you have no business reading this blog when you have far better things to be reading. While you're at it, read Till We Have Faces and the Space Trilogy too.) He let her down just because she was not the Innocent or the Repentant or the High King. She was just Susan. And it's not right.

       Now, I hope you'll bear with me while I talk a little about fan fiction. I used to hate fan fiction. HATE. It was what the devil would write if he had any creative inclinations. I even had a strong distrust of open worlds, where an author lets other writers publish things set in his/her own created world – good examples of these are Star Wars and Dragonlance. I thought people who wrote fan fiction were even lower down on the scale of creativity and worth than rappers (no offense to any rappers out there. I mean a lot lower down.). What changed my mind? I started writing.

       Once I was (somewhat) seriously writing fiction of my own, I realized that sometimes there really is more than one way a story could go, and it's equally good. But the author can only choose one. I realized that there are going to be things left out, and sometimes it's okay to explore them. Now, my acceptance of fan fiction has a few caveats. I still am rather wary of it, and haven't actually found much that was good enough to read (though I have been known to guiltily enjoy some of the Star Wars stuff). And of course I still abhor the monstrosity known as “slashfic,” which is basically just porn with some famous characters' names stuck on. With regards to that, I maintain my position that it is written by Satan himself. And also I'm pretty sure that every Harry Potter fanfic ever is a abomination. But I have decided that on some rare occasions, fan fiction can be done tastefully and in a way that enhances the original, or at least doesn't degrade it. And I certainly hope so, because I'm about to write some.

       Back to Susan. As I said, it was horrifically unfair of Lewis to drop her like that for the sake of an unnecessary example. In my personal opinion, characters are people too and they deserve to be treated with respect. Not that everything has to turn out perfect (or even well), but they at least ought to be treated like people and not symbols. Enter my fanfic. I'm not interfering with the story itself, of course – I still despise that. And I could never hope to reproduce Lewis' style – so I didn't try, and anyway it wouldn't really have fit. But I hope I've been true to Susan's character and the world of the story, and that this is a faithful representation of what might be. For Susan, as you know, has not quite begun her story yet. And if that's so, well – there's still time to make a few changes to the title page.

_____

Susan's Broken Heart

       “I believe he's looking at you, Susan.”

       “What, Tom?” said Susan. She glanced over to the corner, where a gangly young man was indeed gawking at the two girls. “Please, Judith, I certainly hope I can do better than Tom.”

       “No, not Tom,” Judith hissed. “Over there – careful, he really is looking now.” Susan tilted her head slightly so as to look behind her. She caught the eye of a tall, handsome man sitting by himself, and gave him a very small smile with her eyes half-closed before turning back to her conversational partner.

       “Oh,” she said, “now that is a different matter.”

       “That's Hugh Wood! He's one of the most successful businessmen in London! And only twenty-two. Honestly, I was surprised he accepted my invitation at all. Usually he goes to much better parties.”

       “Well then, he could hardly have an interest in me,” said Susan, but she smirked as she said it.

       “Don't be ridiculous, Susan. There's hardly a man anywhere who could see you and not 'have an interest'.” Judith's eyebrows went down a bit, then lifted to halfway up her forehead. “He'll ask you to dance, I'm sure of it!”

       “No, he won't. He hasn't danced with anyone all evening.”

       “Ah! You've been watching him!” said Judith. Susan looked pleased with herself and a bit embarrassed.

       “Hmm,” she said. “Do you think he would dance at a party of mine?”

       “Ooh, are you giving one? It would be your first!”

       “I have been thinking about it, actually. Mother and Father will be back from Bristol next week, and they could help me plan for it.”

       “Oh yes, do! And you must invite Hugh. And do let me help you with the guest list. I know lots of young men who would love to come. Oh, Susan you must! But don't you worry your little brother and sister will get in the way?”

       “Not at all,” said Susan. “They're away as often as not, visiting some boring old professor. Lucy's not at all interested in parties and things. Probably not even Peter would come.”

       “Hm, too bad,” said Judith.

       “Oh, stop it!” laughed Susan. But Judith suddenly let out a muffled squeak.

       “Oh! He's getting up! He's coming this way, Susan!” her voice had sunk to a breathless whisper. But Hugh was stopped by another man in a gray suit, who seemed very intent on saying something to him. Susan quickly pulled out her lipstick and applied another coat to her already deep red lips.

       “Do I look all right?” she asked Judith.

       “Your dress is a little crooked – there.” Susan adjusted her dress and glanced back again. Hugh was still talking to the suited man. “Here's another song starting up, I'm sure he'll ask you!” said Judith.

       Susan felt a hand on her shoulder. She looked up coyly, but, to her disappointment, it was only a maid. “A telephone call for you in the parlor, Miss Pevensie.”

       “Oh,” said Susan distractedly, looking back at the handsome businessman. “Take a message.”

       “Susan,” said the maid, and for no reason at all Susan's heart suddenly felt cold as ice. “You should take it, Miss.” Susan noticed the girl's hands were trembling. She rose, walked slowly through a room which seemed to have fallen utterly silent, and picked up the phone.

       The cab pulled up in front of the Pevensie house. Susan stared at its dark windows.

       “You be all right, Miss?” asked the cabbie. “Cause I got an aspirin here, if you're not feelin well.”

       “No, I mean, yes, I'm fine,” said Susan.

       “Only you look so pale,” said the cabbie, but Susan was already getting out.

       “Miss, your purse,” he called after her. She retrieved the bag and hurried to the door. Her mind was empty. She had already forgotten the party, forgotten the hurt look on Judith's face when she had rushed out without explanation; forgotten, it seemed, all she had ever known, except for one thing.

       The dark sky seemed unbearably vast and she so exposed under it. She fumbled in her purse for the house key. Quickly – quickly, where is it – ? In her haste she let go of one side, and the contents of the pursed tumbled out; her mirror to smash on the concrete, her lipstick to roll away into the bushes. Her contacts book flopped weakly to the ground like a wounded bird. She heard the key fall too, with a metallic jangle. It was too much. Susan sunk to the ground, gasping and sobbing tearlessly. It was too much, it was all too much. How could she do anything, how could she even open that door? How could she ever stand again? Her shoulders shook and heaved.

       When she finally picked up the key and turned it in the lock, her face was dry and very, very pale.

       Inside, she let the key drop to the floor; it was too much effort to keep it in her hand. She took one step, then another, walking down the hall that led to her bedroom. She walked past the table full of photographs. There was one of her parents' wedding. There was Peter at his graduation, and there was her. There was one of Peter and Edmund and Lucy and Susan –

       She took another step. There was a painting, done a few years before. Lucy wasn't a bad artist, but she would insist on drawing these silly –

       Susan slammed the frame face-down onto the table, but she could still feel the two great eyes, staring  with more intensity than paint could give. She remembered one more thing.

       She turned and fled to her room. She stumbled inside. Then Susan collapsed, with her head and arms on her bed, and wept like her heart was broken.

      Behind her, the light from the hall carved a broad golden pathway in through her open door.