Archive for April, 2008

So today finds me two weeks removed from finishing Michael Chabon’s Maps and Legends. I’d recently soured on the essay form—figured it was a stopgap between novels, easier to sell than poetry and slightly more relevant. Trouble was I hadn’t found anything that got me excited. Which should be the point, right?

Until this passage leapt from the pages of Chabon’s essay, Trickster in a Suit of Lights: Thoughts on the Modern Short Story:

I’d like to believe that, because I read for entertainment, and I write to entertain. Period. Oh, I could decoct a brew of other, more impressive motivations and explanations. I could uncork some stuff about reader response theory, or the Lacanian parole. I could go on about the storytelling impulse and the need to make sense of experience through story. A spritz of Jung might scent the air. I could adduce Kafka’s formula: “A book must be an ice-axe to break the seas frozen inside our soul.” I could go down to the cafe at the local mega-bookstore and take some wise words of Abelard or Koestler about the power of literature off a mug. But in the end — here’s my point — it would still all boil down to entertainment, and its suave henchman, pleasure. Because when the axe bites the ice, you feel an answering throb of delight all the way from your hands to your shoulders, and the blade tolls like a bell for miles.

Annotations help a little (“Lacanian” refers to Jacques Lacan, the French psychoanalyst; “parole”—and this gets a little tricky—refers to Lacan’s concept of word or speech, from Lacan’s belief in the primacy of speech as forming human relation), but even without knowing Abelard (you know him, even if you think you don’t) or Arthur Koestler (you should know him, even if you think you shouldn’t), Chabon’s words are vital.

Not just because they echo stuff I wrote about two years ago, in my book tour journal, and not just because Chabon has the chops—and the awards-cum-legitimacy—to write about slumming it in pulp land. But because he’s right. That Kafka nonsense about ice-axes and frozen souls is the sort of eyeroll-inducing purple prose that attempts to elevate the story qua entertainment (all my complaining about eye roll-inducing and here I go and use qua) to something “better.” As if story by itself isn’t elevated enough. Really. Do we need an ice-axe breaking our frozen souls?

Well, yes. But the writer doesn’t have to lead with that. The writer can lead with cracking good yarns. The ice-axe is better off as a seducer. Get our guard down. Please us. Then slip it in and leave us wondering just what the hell you did.

Murakami’s Dance, Dance, Dance is the perfect example of my ice-axe-better-off-as-a-seducer alternative.

Of course there’s nothing wrong with fiction for entertainment’s sake. Damn profundity—make it readable. Chabon finally said it. The scholar with street cred. Thank God. Onward…

An emailer from Coldwater, Michigan wondered if I’d seen any of H.P. Lovecraft’s film adaptations. Specifically, Dagon. And if so, why don’t I include it in my list of “fun and terrible” movies.

I don’t consider Dagon that fun. It has its moments, of course—its chase sequence through the rainy, dank alleyways of a New England coastal town comes to mind—but Dagon drags, and sputters, and isn’t inept enough to keep our attention through the slow spots.

You want fun and not-so-terrible? Rent From Beyond. Fantastic stuff. You’ll never look at a pineal gland the same way. How’s that for a tagline?

It’s long overdue, but I’m finally attending this year’s San Diego Comic-Con, which makes me realize how long I’ve wanted to go. I tend to avoid conventions; my first was the BookExpo America in 2005, when Simon & Schuster launched Gods. It was okay, but I was too stressed to take it all in (highlight: dragging my publicist to the Wizards of the Coast booth, where I geeked out on D&D nostalgia with a fellow thirty-something).

In ages past, Comic-Con was the provenance of geeks, a lousy word (geeks, not provenance) that doesn’t mean anything, other than a caricature of intensely-devoted, whip-smart creative types (of course the old meaning of geek–a circus performer who bites off the heads of live animals–is a tremendous word, and should be brought back into the mainstream, though in the interest of animals, soy substitutes should be used). A love for comic books seems to be a prerequisite for geek-status, but the publishing world has avoided that stigma by calling certain comic books (the ones that cost 20 bucks) graphic novels. I like graphic novel as much as the next writer. It sounds impressive. But does that mean regular comics are graphic short stories?

Of course the geek part of Comic-con is long past, co-opted by the economic power of niche marketing. Not that there’s anything wrong with that. But I do feel a little, I don’t know…sheepish. I missed my chance to get there in the beginning. Before it became the trendy launch pad for those comic book franchises we’ve been waiting years for.

It used to be slim pickings. Remember the first Punisher? The one with Dolph Lundgren, where he lived in the N.Y. sewers, rode his Harley through the tunnels, and meditated in candlelit sewer rooms, naked, contemplating his violent ways? I convinced myself that movie was awesome. Even though I knew it wasn’t. It was the Punisher. It had ninjas. It had Louis Gosset Jr.. It was good enough.

The aesthetic of the absurd provides a clearer critical lens than most cinemaphiles are willing to gaze through. It’s a shame, because for all the criticisms labeling the publishing world as conservative and befuddled, genre continues to rescue the book industry from the highbrow monopoly. Dumas’ swashbuckling masterpieces are hailed as such, Hammett is given his due, and McCarthy’s The Road is the first zombie novel to win a Pulitzer (and one of the most readable books published in the last ten years).

The canon of “important” films, however, has been penned by critics of the same mind, offshoots if not first cousins of the literary fetish clique in the publishing business. An important film is automatically hailed as a good film. A film that exposes forgotten injustice, that anchors itself in real horror rather than caricatures, is given critical leeway. And perhaps this is necessary. Perhaps this shows the value of art as education, the fictionalized form of truth that makes us let down our guard so the nasty stuff can seep in.

But there should always be a place in the critical canon for terrible films that are fun to watch. Not shielded by irony or rationalized by contrarians looking for profundity where none exists. Just fun and terrible. By “fun” I mean hilarious and unbound by the constraints of act structure (start watching the film at any time and it’s just as enjoyable). By “terrible” I mean films bearing the mark of low quality. We all know terrible when we see it, yet terrible is not awful. Terrible is the opposite of awful. Awful wears the countenance of quality. Awful is where the writing has gone through the eager hands of a dozen uncredited writers and script doctors. Awful is where the editing is crisp, the actors weep convincingly, and we are left with something that looks fantastic but can’t keep our attention, like a lobotomized runway model.

The 1989 sci-fi movie R.O.T.O.R. is the opposite of that lobotomized runway model. It’s the earnest, fifteen- years-past-her-prime low-rent strumpet at the end of the bar wearing a bootleg version of Chanel #5. Spend an evening with her and you’ll have a story to tell. As it is with R.O.T.O.R.

A clip for the uninitiated, the skeptical, or the morbidly curious:

My next book may be a return to the world of prep schools and precocious teens. It won’t be another “Gothic Tweed” tale as The Buffalo News labeled my first book. But I’ll stick with that label for now because it was so spot-on for Gods, and it suggests my first novel was the harbinger of a new genre. Flattering, of course. Accurate for my next book? Not so much.

Provided I can make it past the first few chapters—the equivalent of leaving a Spartan child on the mountainside and letting it fend for itself—I’d like to finish this as-yet untitled Gothic Tweed novel quickly. Figure six months, give or take a year. I’m in a rush because I’ll need a clear desk to start work on the sequels and prequels to Jack the Bastard.

Sequels? Prequels? That’s right—I’ve stolen a page (or several) from Zatoichi and Lone Wolf and Cub. Most stories are fit for one book, some require two or three sequels, and a rare few demand a world made flesh. JTB falls into the latter category. I’ve already added a novella to the JTB canon, an urban chambara titled Harlem Shogun. We’ll see where that tale of bloody satisfaction ends up.

My essay “Weird Science” will be in the May 11th issue of Boston Globe magazine. I’ll link the text on the Essay page.

One other thing. Game designer Tim Schafer is one of my gaming industry heroes, and his upcoming title Brütal Legend looks incredible. Heavy metal roadie vs. demons. What more do you need?

I’m both antsy and drained these days, after a year that saw me finish two novels. It might be the weather–the gray days of March in Boston lend credence to that childhood nonsense about lions and lambs. But gray days or not, my persistent ennui is a symptom of an author’s most dreaded time: the creative lull between novels.

I don’t like authors who complain about their jobs so I’ll spare you the hypocrisy and paint a rosy picture of the author as content, spending his free time at the boxing gym, in the garden, playing Streets of Rage 2 on his Sega Genesis emulator. The author is also halfway through writing a text game for the iPod, a little post-apocalyptic tale called Wunderland (working title). I grew up playing Steve Jackson CYOA books, and from there the progression to Infocom was both necessary and inevitable. So I figured a text game for the iPod would be a fun side project, my (very) humble homage to the geniuses at Infocom. When it’s available, I’ll post it on this site. 100% free. No registration, no email required. Just download, play, and send me your feedback.

What else. The Boston Globe magazine is running my personal essay in their “Coupling” column, pub. date unknown but likely coming soon. I’m reading Japanese Tales by Royall Tyler. Great stuff. Some of which may find its way into my next book.

The most interesting thing about the 2,000 page report on Pope John Paul II submitted to the Vatican’s Congregation for the “Causes of Saints” (great name) is the saint-making process. One miracle is required for beatification, and a second is required for canonization, which presents the question: Isn’t one miracle enough?

The two-miracle quota speaks to both the rigorous standards of the Vatican and the arbitrary nature of the canonization process. Were I not in the middle of research for my next book, I’d scour my old Medieval history texts for an answer as to who came up with this two-miracle requirement.

Having just realized how lazy I would be for not doing such scholarly legwork, I’ve found the ranking system (credit to R.H.C. Davis’ History of Medieval Europe) for good dead people within the Catholic Church who are making the ascension from good dead person to saint. Maybe it’s because I’m still thinking about the late great Gary Gygax, but this system carries such a strong Dungeons & Dragons vibe that I’m presenting it as such. To wit:

Level One: Servant of God
Requirements:  None specified, though accepting the Nicene Creed is most likely a necessity
Powers Granted: Heal minor wounds (as level 1 Cleric), Bigby’s Forceful Hand

Level Two: Venerable (i.e. Bede the Venerable, et al.)
Requirements: Heroic virtue
Powers Granted: All Level One powers in addition to Turn Undead (thrice per day), Intercession, and a Prayer Card issued in character’s name. NPC’s may roll for miracle in Venerable character’s name (+2 to roll if NPC is of same alignment).

Level Three: Blessed (i.e. John Dun Scotus)
Requirements: Martyrdom and/or one miracle. If character was not martyred, character must present evidence of miracle. If character was martyred, proceed directly to level four.
Powers Granted: All Level One and Two powers. Character is given a Feast Day which may be used in Character’s home diocese. Roll 1d6 for three additional powers below:

Bless (by touch)
Detect Evil/Good (15′ radius)
Remove Fear (by touch)
Infravision
Suggestion (twice per day)
Minor Globe of Invulnerability (once per day)

Level Four: Saint
Requirements: One or more miracles.
Powers Granted: All Level powers, in addition to Divine Supernatural Gifts, eternal life, personal friendship with God in heaven. Character’s Feast Day is universal and must be followed by those who have chosen this character as their patron Saint. In addition, character has 4 major benign powers and 2 minor malevolent side effects.

Table 1: Major Benign Power

Remove Curse (by touch, 7 times per week)
Wall of Thorns (once per day, as level 8 Druid)
Speak with Dead (unlimited, as level 10 Cleric)
Storm of Vengeance (once per day, as level 12 Cleric; storm rains acid, lighting, and hail inflicting 2d20 damage +10 if in Saint’s home diocese)

Table 1.1: Minor Malevolent Side Effects

Possessor loses interest in sex
Possessor’s hair turns white

Fact is, if the Catholic Church adopted these standards and powers, I would seriously consider dumping my Judaism. I’d trade a Seder for Bigby’s Forceful Hand any day.