Jacob’s sister wrote a book, too, you guys! 😀
Psychological thrillers are a bit out of my wheelhouse, but thanks to this one, I may have found a new genre worth exploring.
A Flash of Red by Sarah K. Stephens tells the intertwining stories of three characters: Anna Kline, a psychology professor afraid that she’s traveling down a dark family path; Sean, her husband, who struggles with feelings of inadequacy; and Bard, a student of Anna’s who has a particular interest in his professor and her subject matter, for potentially dark reasons of his own.
To say more would be to give away spoilers, as one of the novel’s greatest strengths is how it reveals its characters’ secrets and how it plays on reader expectations. As a new reader of psychological thrillers, I’m generally unaware of the genre’s tropes, but nonetheless I found myself tricked into making certain suppositions in each chapter, only to be surprised by the truth (or developing truth) of the matter some chapters later.
The chapters are also short and quick, which propels the story along at a healthy pace, and despite their length, they convey a lot of information. Stephens is efficient with her characterization, telling the reader exactly what they need to know when they need to know it, often in lovely turns of phrase.
Characterization is, of course, key in a genre as necessarily character driven as the psychological thriller, and Stephens deftly manipulates how readers view her characters from chapter to chapter, careful to balance their flaws and sympathies. Anna has a very real mental struggle, but she’s also a pretentious intellectual ass; Sean is a manipulative bastard, but he’s also unappreciated by his wife, despite genuine efforts to show his affection; Bard is deeply concerned for his professor and has legitimate reasons for asking her advice about schizophrenia, but he has a manipulative streak as well. Thing is, Stephens writes them so that, from scene to scene, the reader doesn’t know which traits are the dominant traits in each character; in some scenes, they’re all basically sympathetic, but the other scenes sneak a haunting “What if?” into the backs of readers minds.
A “What if?” which lingers even after the final page.
Engaging, fast-paced, and psychologically complex (especially for its length), A Flash of Red is a must-read for people who like to get into characters’ brains – even if they’re disturbed by what they find there.
***
Note: Holo Writing is a participant in the Amazon Services LLC Associates Program and, as such, may earn a small commission from any product purchased through an affiliate link on this blog.
Reviews
Detective Pikachu – Movie Review
I showed up to an early preview of Detective Pikachu in my full-body Pikachu jammies, fueled by 20 years of Pokemon nostalgia and an insatiable love of bad movies, so there was no way I wasn’t going to like this thing.
https://www.instagram.com/p/BxQ1BhlnE6e/?utm_source=ig_web_copy_link
Even so, you can imagine my delight when it proved to be not a so-bad-it’s-good travesty of Pokemon fandom, but legitimately good, entirely worthy of my Pikajams, and perhaps the only recent piece of entertainment (other than Avengers: Endgame) that has actually respected the dedication of its fans.
Based upon the 3DS game, Detective Pikachu follows once-aspiring Pokemon trainer-turned-insurance drone Tim Goodman as be begrudgingly teams up with a talking Pikachu to investigate the death of his detective father. Given what I’ve read of the game (I haven’t played it), it actually seems to be a pretty fair adaptation, but let’s be real, no one is seeing this movie for adaptive accuracy. We’re seeing it so we can squeal at the absurd miracle of getting 1) a big-budget Pokemon movie in which 2) Pikachu is voiced by Ryan FREAKING Reynolds and 3) the fan artist responsible for the “creepy realistic Pokemon” series was tapped to help design the Pokemon for the big screen. It’s not a perfect movie (I’ll get to that in a bit), but for our particular audience, Detective Pikachu is a treasure.
It’s unabashedly a fanservice movie, but it’s a fanservice movie done right. It watches as if the filmmakers somehow delved into all our Pokefan heads, found what we most wanted to see on screen, and then crafted a plot that allowed us to see it in a way that (mostly) made narrative sense. We get to see many of our favorite Pokemon, and we get to see Pikachu battle both a Charizard and a Mewtwo, all set up in a world that we would willfully inhabit if we could: a world that combines both the childlike wonder of the regions we remember exploring with the adult perspective of the world we grew up to live in.
Tim himself is very much a stand-in for adult fans, who wanted to be Pokemon trainers as kids but now find themselves in significantly less magical adult jobs. And though it’s a movie based on a children’s property, it’s not really a movie for children. Kids can watch it, of course (as long as parents are okay with them hearing Pikachu drop some mild cusses), but ultimately it’s designed for those of us who grew up with the franchise.
Which is why my inner 12-year-old was screaming the whole time, and my adult face literally hurt from grinning so much.
Half the people in my theatre squealed Pokemon names with delight every time they popped up on screen—perhaps the only time anyone has ever been excited to see Pidgey or Magikarp—and though I usually hate it when people talk during movies, this time I was squealing right along with them. Detective Pikachu’s filmmakers earned my trust the moment Tim comments about a cubone wearing the skill of its dead parent, and kept it right though the ridiculous end.
Make no mistake, this movie is an absolute love letter to Pokemon fans.
Its mileage with non-fans, though, will vary. While the Pokemon fan in me gives Detective Pikachu infinite stars, the analytical writer has to acknowledge that outside that context, it’s close to a 3.5-star movie. The opening act is solid, but near the middle and end, the plot undertakes some seriously complicated gymnastics to make itself make sense, and they don’t always land gracefully. Many plot twists are revealed through barely-earned flashback-style exposition dumps, and the device used to make these dumps—advanced holographic imaging tech that can piece together complex environments from video footage—introduces plot holes through its very existence.
Characters often lack information at the convenience of the plot, even though they should logically have that information because of the way the device gathers it. Never mind that some was gathered from police cameras that can apparently travel through time. Given that the source of its most essential information was police footage, Lieutenant Yoshida (Ken Watanabe ❤!) in particular should have had significant plot-affecting information that he conveniently didn’t, purely at the whim of the writers.
Unexpectedly, some of the plot gymnastics became less egregious upon a second viewing (Of course I saw it twice), but even then those come down to the cheap writing trick of cutting off important information the mere second before characters can actually receive it. Granted, it works to keep the structure of the film intact—and the film is tightly paced—but such devices also make the tension feel artificial and frustrating.
The film’s emotional beats also fall flat. It’s hard to take seriously as anything but a comedy, which means that its attempts at genuinely sad scenes don’t really work, especially when Tim is mourning his dad to a talking Pikachu of all things (despite a convincing performance by Justice Smith). When it combines its emotions with comedy, though, it excels—as when a devastated, lonely Detective Pikachu sobs the iconic Pokemon theme in a truly inspired gem of a scene.
Finally, though she’s essential to moving the plot along, Kathryn Newton’s unpaid intern-slash-aspiring reporter Lucy Stevens fills her role with every spunky reporter stereotype ever and as a result is, frankly, grating to watch. The way the movie uses her Psyduck partner, however, is hilarious.
Psyduck itself raises pesky world building questions—Why the heck would a person in a high-stress environment in the middle of a densely populated city want a Pokemon whose stress headaches can literally trigger apocalyptic geography-leveling energy pulses?—but then, those kinds of questions are ultimately irrelevant to Pokemon fans, given the absurd characteristics we’re accustomed to seeing in Pokemon lore (see again: cubone wearing its mother’s skull. And that’s not even the most WTF of them).
Pokemon’s is a world that functions best when you don’t think about it too much except in terms of how it’s awesome, which is something the filmmakers did quite well—even for Pokemon that didn’t necessarily merit it, and this is yet another great success of this movie.
I’ve never given two thoughts to Mr. Mime or Ditto except to be pissed at how hard it was to find them and how lame they were once I did. Detective Pikachu took two of the lamest Pokemon, used them brilliantly, and instantly turned them into two of my new favorites.
More than being mere fanservice, this movie contributed something new and wholly unexpected to the Pokemon universe—first by simply existing, and then by giving fans a movie that loves its world as much as they do.
Now if you’ll excuse me, I’m about to don my Pikajams and see it again.
***
EXTRA: Also, because they’re fun, the other promos, including the brilliant and adorable release day “full film leak.”
***
Note: Holo Writing is a participant in the Amazon Services LLC Associates Program and, as such, may earn a small commission from any product purchased through an affiliate link on this blog.
Suicidal Samurai – Book Review
Several years ago at Anime Weekend Atlanta, we had the pleasure to be table neighbors with Sarah G. Rothman, and when she described her book Suicidal Samurai as “a samurai-cowboy solves mysteries in Victorian Japan,” it was a natural insta-buy.
Of course, me being me, I didn’t actually read it until last month. But I digress.
Suicidal Samurai is an interesting combination of many things – a Western-style revenge story, historical adventure, and comedy of errors all rolled into a read that goes by much faster than its length would suggest.
The story centers around Mori Makoto, who has spent fifteen years exiled in the United States and now returns to Japan to exact revenge on the people responsible for the near-complete murder of his family – and his exile. His stealthy intentions are completely thwarted, though, when he’s seen in the wrong place at the wrong time by a dead body he didn’t kill, and suddenly finds himself wanted for murder. This murder, though, turns out to have some threads that might connect to the murders of his family, and so he decides to follow them to their source. On the way, he encounters bumbling policeman Yamada Kotaro, American tourist and actress Helen Arkwright, and mysterious shrine maiden Hayashi Emiko, and together they unravel a mystery that, in the end, threatens the very stability of Meiji Japan.
I say “together” very loosely, though, because Makoto has no real interest or intent to team up with any of them (except maybe Emiko, who in addition to being wildly beautiful, also has ties to his family’s old shrine). Rather, Makoto – in classic lone cowboy/lone samurai style – is determined to solve the case by himself, but he just can’t seem to stop crossing paths with Kotaro and Helen, who themselves have gotten wrapped up in more trouble than they were looking for. Helen, visiting Japan with her businessman husband, is bored in the hotel room and just wants a little adventure in this exciting new land. Kotaro is a low-ranking policeman who wants to ingratiate himself with the higher-ups and ends up tailing Makoto (against orders) once he finds something suspicious about the whole case. None of them ever plan to join forces and don’t actually do so until the very end of the book, and half the fun of reading is seeing how Rothman pulls their paths together. The story occasionally relies on too-convenient coincidences to make this work, but on the flipside, those contribute positively to the quick pacing of the plot, and even become part of the amusement.
See, Suicidal Samurai walks a fine line between revenge drama and light comedy. Makoto’s scenes are all serious, but they are balanced with the near-Shakespearean foils of Kotaro and Helen, who are such a buffoon and a busybody, respectively, that it’s hard to take them seriously even when they’re trying to be so. Their trope-ish repetitions of certain phrases only contribute to their humor (even if they’re sometimes a bit grating) – Kotaro frequently refers to himself as “The Great and Powerful Yamada Kotaro,” and Helen makes a persistent habit of quoting plays in case the reader forgets she’s an actress. Yet, despite these tonal differences, they’re woven together in a way that reads smoothly, much like the structure itself. It can be enormously hard to structure a story that relies on coincidentally-overlapping storylines without it reading like the characters know the plot ahead of time, and that Rothman was able to pull it off with such fluidity shows a truly deft writing hand.
The setting itself also deserves some mention. My knowledge of Meiji-era Japan is admittedly limited to what I’ve seen in historical anime, so I can’t comment on the literal accuracy. However, the level of historical detail present in the book suggests that it’s quiet well-researched. Rothman doesn’t shy away from the cultural biases of the era, especially in the form of the Japanese mistrust of foreigners and the West in particular. In fact, that fear of the coming era’s potential changes becomes key in the overall plot. Japanese law also plays a major role, and the sheer amount of effort Makoto has to make to 1) get his illegal gun into the country, 2) find time to put it together, and 3) get the necessary materials to even fire it could only have come about through intense research. Not to mention that Yokohama’s so well-described that I feel like a time machine could plop me down in its Meiji version and I’d have no trouble finding my way around.
All in all, readers looking for a fast-paced historical adventure would do well to pick up Suicidal Samurai. There’s some blood (’cause, you know, murder), and though an age range is not specified, I’d consider it safe for 7th grade and up, and if you like it, a sequel, Notorious Ninja, is reputed to be on the way!
***
Note: Holo Writing is a participant in the Amazon Services LLC Associates Program and, as such, may earn a small commission from any product purchased through an affiliate link on this blog.
Easy to be a God – Book Review
In Robert J. Szmidt’s Easy to be a God, humanity has been expanding through the universe for 300 years, and not once has it encountered any other form of intelligent life – until a rough-and-tumble salvaging crew stumbles upon the 50,000-year-old remains of the first…and comes to regret it.
It’s not the last time humanity encounters alien life, though the next is significantly different – two civilizations that are still so planet-bound and primitive that humanity hesitates to interact with either, lest it negatively affect the development of the two. Trouble is, the two civilizations are about to engage in a war that could end up being genocidal for both, and some of the observers cannot let that stand. Acting under the name – and in the capacity of – Gods, they deliver messages and technology to the aliens under the humans’ watch, hoping to avert an atrocity.
In the midst of all this is Henryan Swiecki. He’s been assigned to thwart those interfering Gods, but his own situation is not so simple. He secretly agrees with the logic behind Gods’ actions, but if he fails, he’ll be sent back to one of the most psychologically oppressive prisons in human history, with no hope of escape. Between challenges to his morality and threats against his very life, he has quite a task ahead of him…
I read Easy to be a God on the recommendation of a friend and found it to be well worth the recommendation, but it’s a book that requires some effort. I had to read it twice to fully appreciate it, first because it’s divided into three wildly different parts that don’t seem to have any connection to each other until halfway through the book, second because it features two of the most truly alien cultures I’ve encountered in sci-fi. Neither of these are flaws in the long run, but if you don’t know to expect them, they can make for a challenging (and sometimes frustrating) first read. However, in the end, they all add up to quite an intriguing hard sci-fi novel.
The novel opens up on Nike Stachursky, a top graduate of the Federation Fleet Academy who, after some…ill-advised activity with the Admiral’s youngest daughter finds himself assigned to the Recycling Corps – a salvage unit with such a high casualty rate that it’s not-so-ironically referred to as the Recycling Corpse. There he finds himself amidst the ragtag crew of the FSS Nomad, beneath the coarse but weirdly charismatic Captain Henrichard Morrissey, as they search the wrecks of old battlefields for salvageable loot, and soon happen upon something altogether unexpected.
This section sets up a fun space adventure with a colorful, irreverent cast that could have easily carried through the whole novel, so you can imagine my disappointment when, just after the most exciting part of their own story, they’re dropped for a story and setting so alien that I first thought I’d accidentally opened up a different book (more on that later). Still, the characters make great use of what little time they have in the novel. Nike is a smart (if not exactly sensible) protagonist; Captain Morrissey is one of those odd characters who is a total asshole and yet so hilariously written that he becomes likable; and all the characters in between bounce off each other like a close-knit pirate family (which is essentially what they are).
It’s when their story takes a turn for the dark, though, that it becomes truly intriguing. What starts as the discovery of the “El Dorado” of spaceship hauls reveals that humans aren’t alone in the universe – and maybe haven’t been for a long time. Recollections of other salvage teams that were silenced after certain discoveries leads the crew to wonder if this perhaps wasn’t humanity’s first encounter with alien life – if the Federation has, in fact, known and been covering it up for some reason.
That dark thought aside, certain circumstances of the discovery lead the Nomad‘s chaplain in particular to have a distinct crisis of faith, with even darker implications for humanity.
Unfortunately, the novel never explores those characters or their discoveries beyond this point.
Instead it rockets without preamble into a meeting of the alien Suhurs, who are dealing with their own religious experience – a “Thunder Sower” gifted by the “Spirits of the Mountains” to one of the lowest-ranking members of their society (as opposed to a priest). Here Szmidt has created one of the most fascinating alien species and cultures that I’ve read about in recent sci-fi, with anatomies so unlike those of earth creatures that all Suhur sections necessitate multiple readings. Szmidt doesn’t hold the reader’s hand through these sections either, introducing the aliens with an avalanche of unfamiliar terms and expecting us to rely on context to figure out the relevant information. In retrospect, it’s a pretty cool way to make the reader realize, “Oh hey, these aliens are really alien, not just humans in prosthetics and makeup.” However, on the flipside, it did make for a frustrating initial read, especially since the shift comes out of nowhere following a group of characters we’ve grown to like and whose story has no connection to that of the Suhurs.
And especially since, immediately after, we’re introduced to yet another brand new set of characters. It was at this point on my first read when I began to wonder if any of the stories in this novel would actually connect, particularly because the fourth major shift seems to introduce another new character. (It doesn’t, just an established character using a pseudonym.) Fortunately, except for the first, most of the storylines ultimately do connect, but the abrupt way in which the novel as a whole is structured and the fairly slow reveals of how it all comes together might be enough to turn impatient readers off.
This is perhaps the novel’s greatest flaw; though it is an interesting novel, its very structure risks frustrating readers before they even get to the heart of the main storyline.
That storyline centers around Henryan Swiecki, who was a captain in the Federation Fleet before a corrupt officer allowed forty-two soldiers – including Swiecki’s brother – to die in a depressurization incident solely to hide evidence that he’d been involved in illicit dealings. When the officer escapes justice, Henryan takes it into his own hands, shooting him point-plank and killing him instantly.
This lands him in the Sturgeon Belt, perhaps the cruelest penal colony in the universe, with a warden so sadistically harsh that his prisoners routinely strive to commit suicide…but rarely get the chance in the colony’s tightly-structured and technologically-reinforced schedule (another element of the warden’s sadism). When Swiecki eases himself further onto the warden’s bad side, his punishment is to be in charge of preventing attempted suicides, which does nothing to endear him to the other prisoners – but what choice does he have when his failure results in unimaginable torture? The warden takes enormous pleasure in making Swiecki suffer in whatever way he can, physically and psychologically.
Which is why Swiecki is surprised to suddenly be summoned away from the Sturgeon Belt on orders that even the warden can’t ignore.
Under a new name, he’s been assigned at the space station Xan 4 to help with a secret project: The Federation Fleet has discovered its first (that is, “first”) two alien species and is observing them from afar – never interfering – as the Suhurs and rival Gurds prepare for what is sure to be a genocidal war. That’s not his only secret project, though. As mentioned earlier, the real reason he’s been summoned is to help root out the dissidents acting as Gods and interfering with the operation. His situation becomes even more complicated when Gods tries to recruit him, and he has to decide which he values more: his sense of morality, or avoiding the torture prison at all costs.
What follows is a complicated tale switching between the Suhurs and Gurds as they prepare for battle and Swiecki as he plays both Gods and the Federation to his advantage. At points, it’s almost like reading a spy novel with aliens. Though not as fun and likable as the human cast on the Nomad, Swiecki is capable and fierce, fueled by the disproportionate injustice done to him (and his brother and fellow soldiers), and determined that no one’s going to take advantage of him. If you’re looking to read about a character who takes no crap, he’s it, and you can’t help but cheer when he sticks it to anyone who tries to manipulate him.
All this said, Easy to be a God is ultimately a satisfying, entertaining read, albeit far from a leisurely one. It’s demanding of its reader; there’s a lot to unpack within its pages, and some readers will be frustrated by its structure and untied story threads. (As a small note, there are also enough translation quirks to notice – strange turns of phrase, unusual punctuation choices, etc. – which may be distracting for some). There are subsequent books, though, so one would expect that such threads are tied up in those. Unfortunately, as of this writing, the series seems to have gone out of print in English, but if you happen to come upon a copy, this one’s a challenging, recommended read.
Food Wars (S1) – Anime Review
After subjecting Jacob to the emasculating experience that was Cute High Earth Defense Club LOVE!, I decided to have some mercy and suggest Food Wars, which has become famous (infamous?) for its fanservice.
Food Wars (aka Shokugeki no Soma) follows amateur chef Yukihira Soma, whose dream of becoming a full time chef at his father’s restaurant is derailed when his dad suddenly closes up shop to travel – and tells him he can only have it if he survives the rigorous training at the elite Totsuki Culinary Academy. This being a shonen anime, nearly every episode comes down to a high-stakes shokugeki – a cooking duel through which students settle debates and rivalries – and through which Soma learns much about cooking and about himself.
Food Wars has become my new second-favorite anime, y’all. It very nearly dethroned Gurren Lagann as my absolute favorite, but there are few anime out there like Gurren Lagann, and many food anime, so Food Wars sits solidly at #2.
This comes as a surprise to no one who knows me, because first of all, FOOD. But I’m also an enthusiastic fan of weird, well-executed premises, complex characterization, meaningful conflicts, and good-natured, genuine competition (as opposed to angst-ridden competitive nastiness), and Food Wars has all of those.
But then there’s the fanservice.
Normally I can’t stand blatant fanservice, so it takes an extra special twist to even get me to watch a fanservice show. (See again: FOOD.) Even with the food appeal, though, I initially wasn’t sure about it, as many reviewers had been uncomfortable with the fanservice, some going as far as to call it rapey.
But fear not: That is (mostly) pure Internet exaggeration.
Still, that said, if no amount of food will make you comfortable with sudden explosive nudity, don’t even try Food Wars. As with many cooking-themed anime, much of the comedy comes from characters’ over-exaggerated reactions to the taste of food, and in Food Wars’ case, Soma’s cooking launches diners into such overwhelming fits of bliss that their clothes periodically burst off in no small approximation of orgasmic pleasure. Though I disagree, I can see why some viewers would compare Food Wars to porn.
I mean…
The difference between Food Wars and other fanservice shows, though, is that Food Wars generally handles its fanservice with class (if such a word can be applied to fanservice).*
First – and most pivotally – though Soma’s cooking makes clothes explode off left and right, he himself is absolutely unaware of this (possibly because all the nudity seems to happen in the same alternate dimension as magical girl costume transformation). He just wants to make people happy with his cooking, and given how sensual the best cooking can be, it’s perhaps not inappropriate that his customers have sensual reactions to match. The point is, no one in this series gawks at nudity that wasn’t meant for their eyes, and even the fanservicey characters are only treated as such for the self-aware humor of it. (It is a blatantly un-ironic joke that the most scantily-clad female is a master of meat, but even then, that joke rarely leaves a cooking context).
Second, the fanservice is equal opportunity. Though the majority of it is female, the series doesn’t shy away from male nudity (young or old). One main male character literally walks around in an apron and nothing else in several scenes.
Finally, the fanservice isn’t even exclusively human. If this series is aiming to be any sort of porn, it’s foodporn. The food art in this series is hands down the best I’ve seen in any anime ever, and I literally ended every episode saying “I want to cook that.” Not only that, the level of detail the series puts into describing the techniques behind each dish shows dedication far beyond what one would expect from a typical anime production. Real research went into making the culinary facets of this show work, and it shows in every episode. My only dislike about this research is that the more complex the characters’ challenges become, the more complex their ingredient requirements, such that, by the end of the first season, I couldn’t make anything in my own kitchen without visiting a specialty store first or learning a very specific time-consuming technique.
But seriously, even if you’re indifferent to everything else about this show, watch it for the food.
All this foodie goodness, though, flows on the hands of the show’s characters like the waves of the most delicious mosh pit. There’s not a single unlikable character in this show, even among the antagonists. All of the characters face each other in the spirit of competition rather than generic antagonism; all are fully rounded people with their own hopes, goals, and high stakes to overcome, such that even when an opponent character loses, the viewer has a reason to be bummed for them. The one possible exception to this is antagonist Erina Nakiri, whose hypersensitive God Tongue is so thwarted by Soma’s cooking that she’d love to see him fail, but even then she judges him fairly.
Strangely, the weakest character of the bunch is Soma himself. He’s a typical shonen protagonist, determined to win no matter the stakes, but he often raises the stakes so high himself that viewers automatically know he’s going to win. After all, if the show’s about a cooking school, it can’t go on if its main character loses enrollment in a bet! As a result, there’s absolutely no tension in the show, except where the semi-expendable minor characters are concerned. But then, even though you know Soma’s going to win, seeing how he does it is a real treat, and therein lies the show’s real suspense.
The same is true, if not more true, of all the other characters. Consider that each character represents a different preferred ingredient, style of cooking, or even food preparation technique, and you’ve got a show that is downright educational! I’ve learned more about creative cooking from this show than I’ve learned from years of Food Network and cookbooks.
In short, Food Wars is a masterpiece. Watch it.
***
*Admittedly, the first episode piles on the fanservice (see: the above gif), as do some of the finale episodes, and there are a few references to tentacle hentai here and there (usually in reference to one particularly disgusting squid dish – thus why some viewers have called it rapey). But outside those instances, the show tones itself down significantly.
P.S. – If you want to recreate some dishes from the show, AniTAY has a series of recipes modified from a few episodes. The Gotcha Pork recipe is now a mainstay at House Holo, but I recommend separating it into 4 to 6 smaller loaves rather than two big ones, as they’re easier to move off the pan when finished. They will take an extra pack of bacon, though.
P.P.S – I’ve also finished Season 2, but I don’t plan to review it because it’ll just be more of the same gushery. And the complaint that, now that the characters are competing in very advanced competitions, with recipes to match, little amateur me has no hope of being able to cook these foods.
***
Note: Holo Writing is a participant in the Amazon Services LLC Associates Program and, as such, may earn a small commission from any product purchased through an affiliate link on this blog.
Mary Poppins Returns – Movie Review
In Mary Poppins Returns, there’s a song titled “A Cover is not the Book.” It’s about various whimsical figures who are not what they seem on the surface, but it might as well be about the movie itself:
What looks to be an expensive, nostalgia-reliant cash grab is…well, still an expensive, nostalgia-reliant cash grab, but it’s also a delightful, deserving follow-up to a timeless classic.
In this sequel to 1964’s Mary Poppins, the Banks children are all grown up and facing grown-up problems—namely, the death of Michael’s wife, which has brought his sister Jane back into the fold of 17 Cherry Tree Lane to help take care of his three children, Annabel, John, and Georgie. A year without their mother has forced these children to grow up fast, but even the help they offer can’t stave off the most recent threat to their family—the potential loss of 17 Cherry Tree Lane and all the memories contained therein. Financially strapped, the only way the family can save their beloved home is to find the shares in Fidelity Fiduciary Bank that their father left to them, but in the disorganization of his grief, Michael has misplaced them. These are problems large enough to require the services of a magical nanny, and with all the foresight of such a nanny, Mary Poppins floats right in.
Mary Poppins Returns is a sequel that almost requires two viewings—one so you can roll your eyes at how often it leans on viewer memories of the original, a second so you can stop being a cynical modern moviegoer and fully enjoy how it not only pays homage to the original, but develops a complex theme all its own and does a practically perfect job of it. (Sorry not sorry.)
That said, the film definitely relies on the structure of the original, to the point where halfway through, I wondered if the film would have a single original plot point. The film opens with its own Bert, in this case a lamplighter named Jack, whose purpose is to carry on Bert Prime’s tradition of awful Cockney accents, introduce the audience to London, and remind everyone of how enigmatic and perfect Mary Poppins is. There’s the Making-a-Mundane-Task-Fun song (“Can You Imagine That?”), the Travel-to-a-Whimsical-Animated-World song (“The Royal Doulton Music Hall”), the jaunty “Supercalifragilisticexpialidocious” romp (“A Cover is Not the Book”), the Visit-to-the-Eccentric-Directionally-Challenged-Cousin song (“Turning Turtle”), the Song-and-Dance-with-Laborers (“Trip a Little Light Fantastic”), and the concluding Everything-is-Happy-and-Stuff-is-Flying song (“Nowhere to go But Up”). By the end, I was astonished that there wasn’t a Lullaby-About-Pigeon-Ladies (though there was a lullaby).
This said, it’s easy to write Mary Poppins Returns off as an unnecessary rip off of a classic. What keeps it from being so is how skillfully it handles its multitude of homages and how it builds upon elements introduced in the original to develop its own meaning.
This is a movie clearly made by fans of the original Mary Poppins. It’s obvious from the very opening song (“(Underneath the) Lovely London Sky”), to the painted-backdrop-and-overture credits to the unmistakably Sherman Brothers-inspired wordplay of the lyrics. (The soundtrack has been on repeat in my office and car since I first saw this movie.) Moreover, it fully understands the stern-yet-whimsical spirit of Mary Poppins as both a story and a character: the philosophy that sometimes even the dark, adult parts of life are best tempered with a little “stuff and nonsense.”
And that is even more key to this film than the last.
For though the movie is, on the surface, a nonsense storybook tale, it’s ultimately a story about grief—Michael coming to terms with the death of his wife (or not, as evidenced by the fact that he can’t run a functioning household without her, try as he might), and the children trying to do the same (but unable to because they have to take care of the household that their father can’t). Contrary to stereotype, when a nanny like Mary Poppins shows up, its because the adults need fixing, not the kids, and in this case, it’s two types of grown-up who need her help—one actual grown-up, three who have been forced to take on grown-up responsibilities tragically early in life.
Granted, the movie’s wildly lavish musical numbers often distract from that. Disney pulled out more stops than usual here, often to spectacular effect (“Trip a Little Light Fantastic” is a show-stopper), sometimes to CGI excess (“Can You Imagine That?” is a great song, but so conspicuously computer-generated that it barely feels like it belongs in the world of the movie). Still, ultimately the lyrics and themes of each individual song come together in a way that leads the Bankses to process their grief from a different perspective and, in effect, to reclaim the joys of innocence and happiness lost.
That this is accomplished through meaningful callbacks to the original Mary Poppins makes it that much better. Though several are admittedly pure window dressing for fans, many serve a relevant, indispensable purpose to the plot—namely the iconic kite from the “Let’s Go Fly a Kite” scene, which may as well have been a character in this film. Even references that don’t influence the plot are used in a charming, characterful way (Admiral Boom, Mr. Binnacle, and their punctual cannon make recurring appearances with a cute twist).
The cast performances are charming as well. With a character as distinct and iconic as Mary Poppins, the strength of the movie naturally rides on the depiction of said character, and Emily Blunt, from her precise language to her calculated slips of mischief, is spot-on in her role. Lin-Manuel Miranda, despite the accent, is as ebullient as the lamps his character lights. Ben Whislaw as Michael maintains a fine, likable balance between loving father and grieving husband, who comes across as emotionally incapacitated rather than completely incompetent, which is key for the appeal of his character (…even if the eventual reveal about the bank shares made the responsible adult in me want to scream at him). Despite not having a lot of screen time compared to the other characters, Emily Mortimer plays a sweet and assertive Jane, whose labor activism is a nice callback to the character’s suffragette mother. Finally, Pixie Davies, Nathaniel Saleh, and Joel Dawson as Annabel, John, and Georgie respectively also fill their roles well, balancing responsibility with playfulness and only coming across as precocious or whinging when children normally would.
The movie does have its flaws, but for me, most of them were nitpicks. There are moments when the film’s visuals become too overwhelming—as in the aforementioned “Can You Imagine That?” scene or in the animated “Royal Doulton Music Hall” sequence, where the backgrounds and costume design hearken back to the scratchy, sketchy Xerox era that produced Mary Poppins…but the animated animals all have clean, modern, digital lines. There’s also an actual antagonist in the form of William “Weatherall” Wilkins (Colin Firth), the new president of Fidelity Fiduciary Bank, who is determined to reclaim 17 Cherry Tree Lane for the very Hollywood reason of Profiting The Bank At All Costs. There’s a minor payoff for this conflict in the form of a fun character reveal at the end (Dick Van Dyke, revisiting a version of a role he played in the original), but in a story where the conflict is about characters overcoming personal problems, a concrete antagonist felt extraneous, and the entire climax could have worked even without the threat of Wilkins’ character. Fortunately, though, we don’t see enough of that character to really complain about, and the end itself is delightful enough to overshadow it.
The same can be said of the movie as a whole. The jaded adult in me might point out its flaws and repetitions, but the child in me delights in the way that it solves hard problems with childlike whimsy. While that seems like an unrealistic way to solve problems, hardships in my own life have taught me that often the best way to survive those periods (or at least ease oneself into a state where one is able to handle them) is to look at the darkness from a different, lighter perspective.
The wackiest song in the film, “Turning Turtle,” is actually the one that conveys the movie’s central message, and when Mary Poppins sings, “When you change the view from where you stood / The things you view will change for good,” it carries a deeper meaning far beyond her topsy-turvy situation. And, indeed, beyond the movie itself.
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Note: Holo Writing is a participant in the Amazon Services LLC Associates Program and, as such, may earn a small commission from any product purchased through an affiliate link on this blog.
Dog Aliens #1: Raffle’s Name – Book Review
I spotted Dog Aliens #1: Raffle’s Name by Cherise Kelley on a Book Barbarian promo, and with my love of all things animal and sci-fi, how could I turn it down?
In Dog Aliens, Clem is not a dog, but rather a Kaxian, an alien race that looks exactly like Earth dogs and is living on earth to mine for Jex. Jex is a mineral that humans don’t need but is intensely important to the Kaxian – and to the Niques, another race of dog aliens who will do anything in their power to stop the Kaxian from getting the Jex.
This sounds like a setup for an epic animal story via Erin Hunter’s Warriors or Kathryn Lasky’s Guardians of Ga’Hoole, but really it’s the tale of Clem as he goes on various little adventures, from finding a new family once he’s abandoned by his original owner, escaping from his new careless owner, trying to get adopted from a shelter, fending off pesky cats and Niques – and figuring out his strange new ability to influence minds by projecting “mind movies” onto them.
The story lacks direction because of this episodic structure, but I doubt this will matter for its target audience, which is young middle schoolers and people who just love to read about dogs. For those readers, it’s fun to see earthly dog habits explained in Kaxian terms: Dogs dig all the time because they’re mining for Jex; they eat Jex to carry it, poop it to deliver it, and eat it again to carry it further if needs be. Not all of the content has earth dog parallels, though: Kaxians, for example, have multiple lives (as cats are reputed to, not dogs), and the book never establishes why exactly Jex is so important.
This may detract from the enjoyment of picky readers (Personally, I wanted more details about nearly all nontraditional elements of the story). Others who are looking for a quick, clean read, though, will enjoy it. The book is clear from the beginning that it’s a gentle read, with page one clearly stating that no dogs die, and in general it’s pretty tame, though there is one scene where a bad owner threatens to hit a dog with a frying pan and another wherein a dog in a shelter hopes that it won’t send him to his next life (i.e. implying he’s in a kill shelter).
Ultimately, it’s a quick, fun read for fans of talking animal adventures.
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Note: Holo Writing is a participant in the Amazon Services LLC Associates Program and, as such, may earn a small commission from any product purchased through an affiliate link on this blog.
Everything I Am I Owe to Bad Movies
The #1 question readers ask authors is “What inspires you to write?” Many authors have deep answers like “intellectual curiosity” or “the ability to create my own reality,” but mine’s nothing of the sort.
My greatest inspiration is bad movies.
I enjoy good entertainment, too, of course, but looking back on my life as a writer, I realize that my emergent interest in writing coincided with my discovery of several not-so-classic bits of media, and once my interest in writing was established, similar media propelled my writing interests forward.
Good movies inspired me, too, but the thing about good movies is that they tend to be, for the most part, complete. They’ll always have some flaws, but generally their worlds will be refined, their plots will come together nicely, or you at least leave them satisfied with the adventure you just took while watching.
This isn’t the case with bad movies. Bad movies are defined by their flaws, whether it’s terrible acting, slapdash worldbuilding, lazy characterization, or plot holes galore – but some of these movies have just enough good in them to snag the viewer’s attention, and that is where my interests caught.
When I was starting out as a writer, I didn’t see “plot holes.” I saw “parts of the story that the movie didn’t have time to flesh out.” I made up my own explanations. These explanations became fanfiction. Soon after writing a few early fanfics I realized I could overlap ideas to create my own worlds, and the more bad movies I watched, the more plot holes I explored, and the more ideas I had.
The flaws in bad movies, then, became a playground for my imagination.
Because of that, even when sitting in a crowded theatre, I’m never watching the same movie as everyone else. Terrible movies continue to drive my writing to this day.
But without these initial gems (rocks? gravel?), I’d never have become a writer. To that effect, here are the terrible pieces of entertainment to which I owe the formation of my entire creative being.
Samurai Pizza Cats
Technically it’s not a movie, but it’s pivotal, so we have to start here.
Only the most awesome 0.001% of the Internet has even heard of this show, and it’s probably made up of people from the other percentages who love mediocre animation, the most eye-rolling of dad jokes, and who grew up watching this mess during its brief appearance on ‘90s TV.
Samurai Pizza Cats is a show set in Little Tokyo, where the population is anthropomorphic animals who are also sometimes robots and the main characters are pizza delivery cats by day, sentai by night or whenever the Big Cheese (He’s a big mouse) and his lackey ninja crows (The leader is named Bad Bird) get up to mischief.
It’s one of those anime where the translators saw the original Japanese script, went “PBBBT!” and decided to just write whatever came to mind, no matter how outdated or cringingly awful the humor was. It’s why we have the Big Cheese (who was a fox in the original Japanese), as well as an old crow named Jerry Atric and a dog named Al Dente (for no particular reason except that it was a pun). The very theme song sounds like the performer got himself drunk and just sang the first pizza-related puns to come to mind while inexplicably channeling the B-52s.
And O LORT did 4th Grade me devour it.
My first pieces of real writing were, no lie, Samurai Pizza Cats fanfic. I even attempted to write a musical at some point but stopped because, even in my ill-advised elementary school days, I knew the world did not deserve an atrocity of that scale. (Also I have no idea how to write music.)
Soon after that, Warner Brothers released Cats Don’t Dance – which is a fantastic movie and thus has no place on this list, but kicked my cat-based writing fling into a full-on hobby. For the next several years, I spent all of recess and free time exploring my fictional world of my Wild Cats – a bunch of anthropomorphic cats who…well, actually I can’t remember what they did because high school me burned all the old manuscripts out of embarrassment. But I bet it was incredible.
And that interest still sticks with me today, albeit in a different form. Although I’m far from a furry, I do enjoy writing talking animal characters and building complex cultures around them – something that surfaces quite prominently in the dogmen and Brunl (bear) cultures in The Wizard’s Way (and is explored in even more depth in the upcoming The Wizard’s Circus).
Quest for Camelot
If Samurai Pizza Cats was my gateway drug to writing, Quest for Camelot was the bag of [insert drug of choice here] in which I planted my face, heart, and soul, and let’s face it, never really came up for air.
Quest for Camelot is a miracle of a movie in that it has an A-List cast (including Cary Elwes and Gary Oldman); top tier musicians of its time (Celine Dion and Andrea Frickin’ Bocelli); and came from Warner Animation in between two of the greatest modern animated films (The Iron Giant and Cats Don’t Dance)…and yet somehow ended up one of the worst big budget animated films ever made.
The Nostalgia Critic has already covered everything that makes it terrible, and Jacob could barely make it through that. It is literally so terrible that Jacob has promised to watch it with me only as a landmark anniversary present.
I came upon Quest for Camelot in a roundabout way, finding the movie novelization on my 5th Grade English teacher’s shelf and picking it up because I’d read anything that had to do with Arthurian legends. Though the book was a pretty standard medieval fantasy – Tomboyish girl who wants to become a knight goes on a quest to save Excalibur – it had many details that snagged my attention more so than other fantasies I was reading at the time. First, one of the main characters is blind and yet, despite this seeming flaw, an essential and active contributor to the protagonist’s quest. Second, he has a falcon companion, which is just badass. And third, its heroine was a female adventurer, and in a lot of the books I was reading at the time, this wasn’t the case. All this to say, I was a hardcore Quest for Camelot fan before my parents even took me to see the movie. After the movie, I was 3000% a fan and writing tons of fantasy inspired by its world.
Which is why I was bewildered when I watched it again as an adult and realized that it is, in fact, a dumpster fire of a movie. XD I vividly remember being excited to show it to my cool college friends…who not even halfway through went WHAT IS THIS HP I CAN’T EVEN. This in the days before it was fashionable for millennials to lack the ability to EVEN. This from a crowd that had regular Mystery Science Theatre 3000 movie nights. It’s that bad.
Warner Brothers tried SO HARD with this movie, but at some point, all their grand plans went to hell and gave us okay-hand-drawn-animation-to-atrocious-CG-animation, a sense of humor that doesn’t know if it wants to stay in its world or go full Looney Tunes (There are ACME references), and a plot that craps on every single bit of potential presented by its Arthurian world. King Arthur is only in the movie long enough to be voiced by a James Bond actor pretending to be Sean Connery (perhaps a First Knight reference, but let the complexity of that irony sink in), before his arm is broken when a griffin snaps Excalibur off the back of his seat – not even in a battle, not even out of his hands. He tells his peeps to find Merlin and go after Excalibur, at which point Merlin’s like “Hm, I’m just gonna send this falcon to protect the sword. He’s got this.” And so it’s up to Kayley, the aforementioned tomboy farm girl, and Garrett, the aforementioned blind dude, to save the sword. Because everyone more qualified – like, I don’t know, actual knights – is too indisposed by, I don’t know, listening to King Arthur’s terrible accent. Or maybe hypnotized by bad guy Ruber’s eyebrows.
(For real, I am pretty sure his eyebrows had their own animator.)
(And maybe he had his own choreographer for this jam.)
(Ok, for real, I’m done now.)
I could go on about the obvious villain, his nonsensically complicated plot to take over Camelot, the fact that he uses a magic (ACME!) potion to turn his underlings into half-weapon people as if maces for hands are somehow more practical than, I don’t know, hands for hands. Not to mention the one rooster he turns into a half-axe like really, dude, what’s a rooster going to do with an axe face?
Even so, 5th graders don’t think about those kinds of things when they watch movies, so Quest for Camelot snatched my interest away from talking cats and poured it all into medieval adventures. Most of my stories through junior high were medieval fantasies featuring kick-butt girl protagonists, falcons and hot blind hermits, and again, some of those elements surface in The Wizard’s Way. Chaucey’s pal Ellid totally has a sassy griffin companion because of Ruber’s griffin minion, and the medieval aesthetic that pops up in certain areas of Aurica (the Queen’s Guard wearing ceremonial armor, for example) is a definite holdover from my medieval fantasy days.
Atlantis: The Lost Empire
https://youtu.be/D_1yq1xJ3QA
[Insert sound of all steampunkers clutching their pearls]
Admittedly, it pains me to consider Atlantis a bad movie, given the place it holds in the hearts of dual Disney and steampunk fans (myself included), and given that we rarely get animated steampunk movies at all, much less ones that are that pretty.
When it comes down to it, however, Atlantis is a film fraught with flaws. Much of this seems due to the fact that it changed identities halfway through production, which never seems to end well for movies. (Apparently it was going to be a monster movie in an early stage, before it became more focused on the city of Atlantis itself.) Even so, a change in focus is no excuse for the undeveloped characters, predictable plot twists, and convenient-for-the-moment plot details that don’t make any sense in a larger context. (Like, how can the Atlanteans speak modern languages without having been exposed to the development of those languages, and why do they know all those languages BUT NOT REMEMBER HOW TO READ THEIR OWN NATIVE LANGUAGE. 😐 Why entrust the health of an entire expedition to a cook who doesn’t understand the four basic food groups? How on earth could a 16-year-old be the most experienced mechanic Whitmore could find?)
The logic of the movie’s world-building is terrible.
However – and it’s a big HOWEVER – its individual pieces had the makings of something great, and this is why Atlantis still holds onto its place in my heart with giant crabby Leviathan claws.
Much as with Quest for Camelot, the details that grabbed me with Atlantis were the ones I wasn’t seeing in other stories at the time. The hero of the movie is not a conventional adventurer, but a weedy little linguist of all things.
Its princess was not a porcelain doll trapped in a castle, but a warrior (uncommon in animated films at the time) who was more concerned with helping her people than being the hero’s girl (though the end of the movie suggests they ended up together). Really, all of its women were quite capable on their own.
Most notable for me was its effortlessly diverse cast, all characterized with little nuggets of backstory that made them just interesting enough…but then, disappointingly, didn’t develop any of that. Atlantis could have approached being a masterpiece if it had dedicated just a little more meaningful screen time to Audrey, Sweet, Moliere, and Vinny (and solved its world-building problems).
But I guess that’s what fanfiction’s for. Likewise, because of those flaws, my imagination ran wild to fill in the gaps, or at the very least play with the movie’s ideas. One of my heroes in an as-yet-unfinished novel was a linguist (albeit a buff linguist who goes on an intergalactic adventure), and again, echoes of Atlantis permeate The Wizard’s Way. Atlantis was the movie that made me want to write a steampunk novel; Chaucey’s last name is Thatcher as a reference to Milo Thatch (Thatcher being an early-production name); the magic mineral clarien is blue because of Atlantis’ magic crystals (though the magic works quite differently); and the central characters are diverse, well, mainly because the real world is diverse, but also because Atlantis planted in my head a notably diverse cast with whom I wanted to spend more time.
This is just the tip of the iceberg. There are plenty of other awful entertainments that drove my writing. Perhaps one day I’ll write about my Digimon/Titan A.E.-inspired world from junior high, or my Monster Rancher/Mystic Knights of Tir Na Nog saga. (Hey, there were a lot of monster shows back then.)
Until then, readers, what are your guilty pleasure movies/TV shows? 😀
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Note: Holo Writing is a participant in the Amazon Services LLC Associates Program and, as such, may earn a small commission from any product purchased through an affiliate link on this blog.
What to Read While You Wait for The Wizard’s Circus (or, a Gift Guide for Steampunk/Wizard/Magic Nerds)
Hey, wizard fans! It’s been a while since you’ve heard from me about The Wizard’s Circus, but rest assured, it’s still on its way! The first draft is over halfway finished, with plenty of bears and Pentalion (and if you have no idea what any of that means, find out in Book One, The Wizard’s Way).
In the meantime, here are some reads for you to check out while you wait! These are all books that have influenced my writing of The Wizard’s Quartet series thus far – or, in a few cases, books that spurred me along when I needed that extra touch of inspiration.
The Color of Magic by Terry Pratchett
Okay, first of all, if you’ve never read any Terry Pratchett, you need to drop everything right now, take a few weeks off, and delve into the brilliant fantasy comedy satire that is the Discworld series (and then check out all the BBC miniseries, too, because they’re legit).
The Color of Magic is the first in the series and follows the hapless wizard Rincewind and tourist Twoflower as they go on adventures and get into trouble involving everything from dragons to Death himself to a sentient luggage with feet.
The amazing thing about Terry Pratchett is that he wrote better books while suffering from Alzheimer’s than most people can with a fully functioning brain. You can’t go wrong with any book from the Discworld series, but if you’d like a little direction, some of my other favorites include Interesting Times, Hogfather, The Wee Free Men, Going Postal, Making Money, Monstrous Regiment, and Thud!
Etiquette & Espionage by Gail Carriger
This was the first of Gail Carriger’s books that I read, and I’ve solidly gone from skimming the ARC to wholeheartedly recommending everything else I’ve read of hers (which, at this point, is Curtsies & Conspiracies, Waistcoats & Weaponry, and her two adult series starters, Soulless and Prudence). Gail Carriger is my go-to author when I need some steampunk writing inspiration; her works are a perfect blend of steampunk comedy, magical technology, and Victorian prissiness. Etiquette & Espionage in particular is a fun girl-spy-in-training-on-a-floating-airship-school novel, with an engaging cast of characters and also a hot werewolf and a robotic weiner dog named Bumbersnoot. If you’re into audiobooks, Moira Quirk’s readings of The Finishing School Series are also fantastic.
View from the Imperium by Jody Lynn Nye
JEEVES AND WOOSTER IN SPACE, Y’ALL. That is all.
The Jeeves and Wooster series by P.G. Wodehouse
All right, I can’t mention Jeeves and Wooster without mentioning the actual Jeeves and Wooster books. Pentalion and Chaucey were loosely written to be a steampunked version of the two wherein Jeeves was a swordfighting pug and Wooster was less of an imbecile. (Oh sure, Chaucey still gets himself into trouble, but it has more to do with his being a precocious teenager with some truly wild issues, as opposed to someone who’s just basically dumb.)
Admittedly, the A&E TV series starring Stephen Fry and Hugh Laurie as the title characters influenced The Wizard’s Quartet more so than P. G. Wodehouse’s original books (primarily because I’d marathoned the whole series before I even touched the books), but the books naturally hold as much charm as the series. When I needed some extra inspiration (for Pentalion in particular) I’d pick up any book in the Jeeves and Wooster series.
Mortal Engines by Philip Reeve
I could write a whole blog post devoted to Philip Reeve and his fantasy worlds. In fact, I’ve already reviewed Mortal Engines in more detail and a review of Larklight (mentioned below) is forthcoming. Aside from Gail Carriger, Philip Reeve is easily my favorite steampunk author because his worlds are so delightfully imaginative and so effortlessly steampunk. As much as I love it, I find that a lot of steampunk reads like it’s trying so hard to be steampunk, bless its heart. Reeve’s work doesn’t feel like it’s trying at all; it feels like he put pen to paper and magic just happened because some divine being thought readers needed some good in this world. Mortal Engines’ good, in particular, is a tale of traveling cities that eat other cities, amongst plenty of moral dilemmas.
Larklight by Philip Reeve
Where Mortal Engines explores the dark post-apocalyptic underbelly of a steampunk world, Larklight takes readers in the exact opposite direction – into outer space, where pirates and lizard people and giant robot spiders in bowler hats await. Readers who love the whimsical side of steampunk will have a hard time finding a better book.
Artemis Fowl by Eoin Colfer
Artemis Fowl was one of those pivotal series that I read before I even knew I wanted to write, and that worked its way into my writing style like a force all its own. I owe my current approach to fantasy humor to Terry Pratchett, but Eoin Colfer was the first to show me the possibilities of magical action comedy and even fantasy linguistics. The series-titled first book is a clever, sassy, devious thing that combines young criminal geniuses with magic, fictional languages, and wonderful puns. (Turns out that the word “leprechaun” is just a misunderstanding of “LepRECON,” which is an organization of militarized magical folk.) The second book, The Arctic Incident, takes these basics and then ramps up into a full-on action-adventure story, and the series only spirals into more exciting mayhem from there.
Airman by Eoin Colfer
If you like reading about Chaucey because he’s building a flying machine, here’s a book for you. Historical adventure that is far more adventure than history*, it follows young inventor Conor Broekhart as he goes from being born in the midst of a hot air balloon crash, to building one of the first powered flying machines, to being framed for a crime he didn’t commit…and all the rollicking mayhem that ensues. It’s a fun, fast-paced read that often gets lost amidst Colfer’s avalanche of other work and guided the writing of The Wizard’s Way’s many flight scenes.
*I was disappointed after reading to find that the history of the Saltee Islands was completely made up for the story, so this book is to historical fiction as Indiana Jones is to archaeology.
The Raven Cycle series by Maggie Stiefvater
I discovered this series too late for it to actually shape the world of The Wizard’s Quartet, and truly, it doesn’t have much in common with the series other than magic. When it comes to editing rough drafts, though, the audiobook adaptations of this series were my go-to inspiration material. Maggie Stiefvater has a majestic way with words, and Will Patton’s reading imbues each character with unique life.
Paranormal urban fantasy isn’t usually my cup of tea, but this series not only made me like this tea, but savor it.
Delilah Dirk and the Turkish Lieutenant by Tony Cliff
Swordfighting? Check. Globetrotting? Check. Flying ships? Check. A lady adventurer who escapes from dungeons and fights tigers and robs a pirate’s treasure like it ain’t no thang? Check. A Turkish lieutenant…er…inadvertent traitor who just wants to survive it all and drink some tea? Check.
I returned to this book again and again when I needed some inspiration for The Wizard’s Way because, even though it’s not about steampunk magic or pug butlers, it hits all of the stylistic notes that I wanted the novel to hit – namely its sense of high-stakes derring-do and effortless wit. Its sequel, Delilah Dirk and the King’s Shilling, expands nicely upon the first, and a third, Delilah Dirk and the Pillars of Hercules, is forthcoming (and eagerly awaited on my part!).
Love, Lies, and Hocus Pocus series by Lydia Sherrer
I literally finished the first book in this series a month before writing this entry, but I can solidly say that fans of The Wizard’s Way will find everything to love in these books. There are wizards, witches, plenty of sass, two wonderfully complex and well-designed magic systems, and (in later entries) a talking cat.
Akata Witch by Nnedi Okorafor
I’ve spread the gospel of this one, too, and put off reading the last chapter of its sequel forever just because I don’t want it to be over. Akata Witch isn’t steampunk, nor does it feature talking animals – but it is the standard to which I hold my fantasy worldbuilding. In Leopard Knocks and its magical Leopard People, Okorafor has created a truly original magic society, albeit one with strong echoes of the familiar (There are a lot of surface similarities to Harry Potter, even though they’re spiritually different). Anytime I’m bummed about writing and need some inspiration, I come back to Nnedi Okorafor’s books.
The Harry Potter series by J.K. Rowling
What? I’m a millennial. For me, every wizard thing goes back to Harry Potter, and in its earliest stage, The Wizard’s Way literally goes back to me saying, “I want to write a story about a wizard, but I want wizardry to make his life suck so it’s different from Harry Potter.” (Sorry, Chaucey.) 😛
That’s all for now! Readers, what books have been getting you through the wait for The Wizard’s Circus? 😀
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Note: Holo Writing is a participant in the Amazon Services LLC Associates Program and, as such, may earn a small commission from any product purchased through an affiliate link on this blog.
Akame Ga Kill – Anime Review
*Thanks to reader John B. for the recommendation! 😀
Akame Ga Kill is a deceptive series.
Its colorful character designs and opening set up – Main character Tatsumi leaves home with two friends to join the Capital army and Be Good Guys – lead the viewer to think that it’s going to be a fun shonen series where characters solve problems through lots of yelling and the power of friendship. After all, the show’s first problem sees Tatsumi separated from his friends and resting at the home of a sweet, hospitable aristocratic family and their soft-hearted daughter, Aria.
It’s not fifteen minutes before the series goes “LOL jk ;P” and rears its disturbing head.
Tatsumi’s two friends? Oh, he finds them. In a vast and gory torture house kept by that family’s sweet, soft-hearted daughter. Who captures and kills lower class wayfarers, because why not? After all, they’re just poor and unnecessary people.
In case you need more evidence of how crazy she is, here’s a pic of her at the height of her crazy:
And the Capital that Tatsumi aims to fight for? Turns out it’s full of more of the same. But he doesn’t find this out until Night Raid, a notorious team of assassins, shows up at the torture house to reveal the truth. Everyone outside the capital has been lied to about the Capital’s competence and purity. By that point, Tatsumi’s allegiance is decided.
Akame Ga Kill, then, is the story of Night Raid as they assassinate all the bad guys.
Akame Ga Kill is a flawed anime, but if you’re looking for a bright, colorful, and yet exceedingly tragic, bloody show, it fits the bill. Its particular brand of insanity is what anime does best – and oh, there is SO MUCH insanity – but you have to be in the mood for its violent sense of morality.
Granted, the series isn’t trying to make you ponder the complexities of said morality. It gets around the obvious moral issue of solving problems though murder by making most every one of the antagonists an undeniable caricature of abject evil. Prime Minister Honest (ha) is a nasty piece of work, the true power behind the child Emperor’s throne, interested only in maintaining his power and blatantly corrupting the young Emperor to do it, all while munching gluttonously on raw meat.
The most obvious in the series, though, is General Esdeath. One of the most powerful military leaders in the Empire, her mantra is “The strong survive and the weak die,” and she tests the strength of her opponents to sadistic ends, at one point even burying a population of 400,000 people alive.
In most cases, I’d consider the extreme characterization to be cheap writing, but Akame Ga Kill has such fun with the absolute wackiness of its characters, good and bad, that this was for once forgivable. Seryu Ubiquitous may be an overzealous Capital soldier with a twisted sense of justice, but this zeal also led her to have hidden guns installed in the stumps of her arms and her throat, which is simultaneously disturbing and hilarious.
And that’s before you even get to the adorable horror that is her pet (and additional weapon) Coro.
(This is not his final form.)
For real, this show watches like Soul Eater and One Piece had a baby and then left it to be raised by Future Diary.
That said, Akame Ga Kill is a show that you watch for how wack it is. Even the good guys have their levels of crazy, like Sheele, whose backstory is that she’s so darn clumsy and absent-minded that she can’t find anything she’s good at…until she happens to go on a murdering spree and realizes she’s just that good at killing people. (Also she fights with a giant pair of scissors.)
And even though Tatsumi is easily the most well-balanced of the characters, it takes him and his innocent-looking sweater less than half an episode to decide that he wants to kill everyone he’d wanted to work for fifteen minutes before.
But that doesn’t mean the characters aren’t well developed in their own weird ways. The first several episodes of the series are a bit average, but when The Jaegers take the place of the early antagonists, the series really begins to take off.
Mundane-looking Wave is a do-gooder like Tatsumi who just hasn’t realized what the Capital’s up to. He’s what Tatsumi could have become if he hadn’t come upon Aria’s murder house, and this makes him surprisingly easy to sympathize with. Bols is a creepy-looking silent type…who stays creepily silent only because he’s too shy to speak up, and is actually something of a family man. Angel-haired Run is allied to the Capital only because he sees the revolutionary cause as a lost one and wants to do actual good from within the flawed structure. Though Seryu is nuts, she genuinely believes her intentions are pure. Granted, the stylish Dr. Stylish is just nuts and the remaining Kurome has a rather uninteresting backstory. But even General Esdeath has a softer side: despite her infamous sadism, she only wants to experience true love, and when she eats a good ice cream, wonders if her soldiers would enjoy it. This doesn’t really make up for the fact that she’s an absolute sociopath, but it is amusing to watch, if only for its absurdity.
Overall, this is a show that you watch more for its characters than its plot – first because the plot is the very simple “Kill all the bad guys,” second because the plot is not very good.
Akame Ga Kill watches like a show that tries to do both too much and too little in the expanse of its allotted time. The first several episodes watch like baddie-of-the-week filler, albeit entertaining filler. The series also introduces the concept of the 48 Imperial Arms – some truly neat magical weapons – but doesn’t explore them beyond using them to give the characters their identifying abilities, and generally watches like a device that was intended for a longer show that didn’t happen. (We don’t even see half of the 48.) There’s also a point where Esdeath decides that Tatsumi is her true love; Tatsumi confesses his connection to Night Raid in the same episode, hoping her affection for him will cause her to change sides. She doesn’t, viewing his confession as merely cute, which is not remotely believable behavior for a general who’s famous for subjugating enemies of the Empire in horrific ways – and whose very goal is to destroy Night Raid.
The climax of the show is also a hot mess, with the young Emperor realizing that he hasn’t been a good Emperor and that he’s been surrounded by complete sadists (HOW COULD HE NOT NOTICE?)…and then bemoaning his condition by whipping out the biggest Imperial Arms ever and wrecking the heck out of the Capital. Because that will certainly make up for all his failures. 😐
There’s not even a clear reason for the title by the end. Sure, the titular tsundere Akame plays a significant role in the series, especially after her sister Kurome shows up as an antagonist, but her role’s no more significant than that of the other protagonists. (It’s telling that I didn’t feel the need to mention her before this point.)
Maybe she earned the title because she’s one of the few survivors? (Oh, right, like you expected a show like this to let your favorite characters live. 😛 )
Still, despite its flaws, Akame Ga Kill is worth watching for what it does well. It’s not for everyone – particularly those who dislike bloody violence or shows that require a huge suspension of disbelief – but if you’re already accustomed to the wacky heights that anime can achieve, it’s a fun show.
***
Note: Holo Writing is a participant in the Amazon Services LLC Associates Program and, as such, may earn a small commission from any product purchased through an affiliate link on this blog.
Self-Publishing for Profit – Book Review
These days, “How to Self-Publish” books are a dime a dozen. Chris Kennedy’s Self-Publishing for Profit is $6.99 on Kindle, but it’s easily the best $6.99 you’ll ever spend if you’re looking to break into self-publishing.
Kennedy’s writing background is similar to that of many indie writers, which is to say, he’d never really been a writer until he suddenly had an idea that wouldn’t let go (in this case, the idea that became his book Red Tide: The Chinese Invasion of Seattle). Since then, he’s gone from never having written a novel at all to writing several series and an ever-growing universe with several other authors and running his own publishing house. All this said, it makes him a perfect teacher for new writers who are starting in a similar position.
This is what makes Self-Publishing for Profit stand out from other self-publishing books. Though its first three sections focus on information similar to what you’d find in other books – namely, marketing and engagement – the fourth is where the book becomes truly valuable for writing newbies. It outlines everything from how to figure out what kind of book you should write (Tip: Don’t just follow trends, and try to be niche when you can.), to creative writing tips he learned through trial and error, to a section literally titled “How Not to Look Like a Newbie.” Formally-trained writers won’t have much use for this section, but if you’ve barely ever picked up a pencil except to write a grocery list, this is the section for you.
Formally-trained writers, depending upon their experience with book production, will have some use for the fifth section, which outlines how to perfect a book for publication. This section covers the different types of editing (copyediting and content editing), how to go about finding editors, words to avoid, and simple ways to tighten up your writing. Before I started publishing, writing had been one of the defining elements of my life – the people around me have identified me as “the writer” since 4th grade, and I took as many creative writing classes as I could and even majored in creative writing at one point – and there were a few practical tips in this book that I hadn’t come across even in my years of study!
These sections, then, are a gem for the new and inexperienced writer. The subsequent sections, however, are invaluable for writers of all kinds. Sections six through nine cover the important details one must consider to give a book the best chance of selling. Section six covers basics like cover design, while section seven covers how to make the book available for sale as an eBook. Section eight, though, is where this area begins to shine, covering the many ways in which books can be repackaged for sale – as print books, audiobooks, or foreign-language editions – and providing the reader with the resources to make those versions happen. This is perhaps the most valuable thing about this book – for every piece of advice given, there are links to resources where readers can pursue that topic further. Section nine delves back into marketing, and the book ends with section ten, which explores what to do next, whether you want to continue producing books, or whether you want to figure out why your current book isn’t selling as well as you’d hoped.
All in all, Self-Publishing for Profit stuffs a whole lot of information into a small, quick, easy-to-read package. If you want to self-publish but have no idea where to start, this is a great place, and even if you already publish, it can’t hurt to give it a read. You’re bound to learn something new!
***
Note: Holo Writing is a participant in the Amazon Services LLC Associates Program and, as such, may earn a small commission from any product purchased through an affiliate link on this blog.
Star Wars Episode VIII: The Last Jedi – Movie Review
SPOILER SPACE! SPOILER SPACE! SPOILER SPACE! SPOILER SPACE! SPOILER SPACE! SPOILER SPACE! SPOILER SPACE! SPOILER SPACE! SPOILER SPACE! SPOILER SPACE! SPOILER SPACE! SPOILER SPACE! SPOILER SPACE! SPOILER SPACE! SPOILER SPACE! SPOILER SPACE! SPOILER SPACE! SPOILER SPACE! SPOILER SPACE! SPOILER SPACE! SPOILER SPACE! SPOILER SPACE! SPOILER SPACE! SPOILER SPACE!
SPOILERS AHEAD.
YOU’VE BEEN WARNED.
H.P. is a pretty casual Star Wars fan. Which is to say, she enjoyed the original three, tolerates the prequels, loves the porgs even if she wonders what they taste like, and her most pressing fan question is “WHYYYY hasn’t the Star Wars Christmas Special been re-released yet?”
Jacob is not. Which is to say, his first pieces of writing were Star Wars fanfic. He has a level of reverence for the Empire that would give Kylo Ren goosebumps. He decorated the Holo dining room with Imperial Fleet propaganda. The Holo dining room table is frequently covered with not dinner, but Imperial Star Wars Armada miniatures, their cards all arranged in the plotting of his next devastating fleet. His most pressing fan question is “WHYYYY does the First Order even exist?”
All this to say, we covered both target audiences that The Last Jedi aimed to please.
Which is to say, when a fan who wants to see a Christmas Special release is disappointed by your movie, you’ve done something wrong.
Which is to say, when a fan whose dining room is a mini Star Wars shrine erupts into an angry rant that ends in impassioned manly fanboy tears at your movie, you’ve done something wrong.
(Seriously, guys, you missed out on some potential Internet gold last week.
Jacob’s still so angry at the movie that H.P. had to write this review.
Also seriously, f*** the First Order.)
To be fair, The Last Jedi is not a bad sci-fi movie. It’s not even a disappointing sci-fi movie. It is, however, an intensely disappointing Star Wars movie. Star Wars is as looming a behemoth in the fandom world as Disney is in the moviemaking world, and both are at their height right now. Given this situation, and its great if derivative trailer, one would expect The Last Jedi to be a perfect marriage of everything fans love about Star Wars and the massive resources Disney can devote to a project of that scale.
Of the considerable resources Disney did fling at this movie, none of them were in the writing department, which is where every single piece of this movie fails.
There are plenty of good moments in The Last Jedi – most of its humor is laugh-out-loud (even if it approaches being too goofy), and the art direction is stellar, especially in the climax – but a movie needs more than a string of unconnected moments to pull it together.
The plot, simply put, is terrible. Its most glaring flaw is the pacing. Most of the film comes down to the Resistance fleet, low on fuel and unable to jump to hyperspace, slowly puttering just out of reach of the pursuing First Order’s cannons. This is literally the opposite of the exciting space battles one expects of Star Wars. Switch to Rey in her quest to recruit Luke Skywalker to the Resistance cause, and we have more waiting – first for Luke to be something other than a crotchety old man who has no time for Rey, then for him to decide to train Rey, then take it back when her power scares him. Switch to the First Order, where Kylo Ren has fallen from grace and struggles with his own deep internal conflict – which could be interesting, but is only expressed through strange Force conversations that he’s able to hold with Rey (any advancements made in which are completely negated by a late-movie twist).
I honestly do not understand how anyone could read this slow-paced mess and decide to throw millions of dollars of funding behind it.
Even worse, though, is the way the movie handles its characters. For all its flaws, The Force Awakens at least set up some interesting characters and relationships – Finn and Poe and their frequent Need of Pilot, Rey and her mysterious backstory, Kylo Ren and all his issues. The Last Jedi explores none of that. In fact, it separates Finn from Poe, reducing Finn to a coward who starts the movie by trying to desert (despite being able to go toe-to-toe with Kylo Ren in the previous movie) and ends up roped into an off-ship side quest trying to hide that he was deserting. Poe, meanwhile, is back on the Resistance cruiser being a loose cannon and generally not being a pilot (except for the movie’s opening scene). Rey spends so much time trying to win Luke that when he finally starts training her, it’s a relief, not a joy, and we don’t learn any more about her than we’d already guessed, even if we do get some neat, weird metaphysical scenes out of it. Of the new trilogy characters, Kylo Ren’s arc had the most potential for development—and did have several exciting “Ooo!” moments—but his considerable internal conflict doesn’t lead him anywhere new or interesting by the end.
Supreme Leader Snoke and Captain Phasma get the worst of it, though. Captain Phasma, at least among fan expectations, has been built up to be an imposing antagonist as cool as her armor. I forgave The Force Awakens for not cashing in on that because, after all, there were two more movies coming at that point, but in The Last Jedi, all Captain Phasma does is botch an execution, fight once, and then fall into a flame pit. Snoke’s identity and ultimate plan was another such highly-anticipated reveal, only to be revealed as…nothing. The only things we learn about him are that he is, in fact, not as giant as his holograms suggest and that he has really snappy taste in bathrobes. He dies without any meaningful bits of his mystery being solved, in the most obnoxious tease-without-a-payoff of the entire movie.
I feel you, Rey.
Again, I simply cannot understand why someone greenlit a script that solved none of the mysteries fans were clamoring to see solved. (We do learn the secret of who Rey’s parents are, and it is unexpected, but it also comes from an untrustworthy source, so who knows if that’s the actual truth?)
Now—ONLY NOW—do we come to the flaws that drove Jacob to absolute nerdrage on the way home from the theatre.
As an avid Armada nerd, Jacob knows his Star Wars military strategy. Whoever created the military circumstances of The Last Jedi does not, and does it hard. The First Order and Resistance are two complete disasters of military planning, and it’s evident from the very first scene.
In it, the First Order hypers in to take out a Resistance base, armed with several star destroyers and a dreadnought, which is basically a bigger, angrier star destroyer with nice guns…and apparently no shields. And no combat space patrol to escort it. Only after Poe—just Poe—flies in on his sassy X-wing and starts taking out cannons does the leadership think it prudent to sent out some TIE fighters to maybe wreck him. But oops, they’re too late; he’s done his job, which is apparently to distract the entire First Order fleet so that five big-ass bombers can appear out of nowhere and advance with excruciatingly slow speed toward the unshielded dreadnought.
Logical problems run rampant here: If the bombers are that slow, how could the First Order not notice them coming in the first place? And if they hypered in, why not hyper in on top of the dreadnought and drop their load there? But wait, you might say! “Drop their load? They’re in space! What gravity are they expecting to pull these bombs into free fall?” Well, The Last Jedi hears your question and answers…actually nope. It doesn’t. But the scene at least gives us some fun Poe being Poe and a touching self-sacrifice (not Poe), so there’s that.
Proceed to the main plot, during which the Resistance fleet is forced to slowly motor away from the ever-patient First Order, and you encounter the frustrating problem of “THE RESISTANCE IS TRAVELING IN A SLOW, STRAIGHT LINE, AND THE FIRST ORDER HAS HYPERSPACE CAPABILITIES. WHY NOT HYPER SOME STAR DESTROYERS OUT IN FRONT OF THE RESISTANCE FLEET AND WIPE THEM OUT IN A SECOND OR JUST SWARM THEM WITH TIE FIGHTERS instead of following them slowly and politely through space I swear is General Hux in the back playing Angry Porgs when he’s not on screen?
It’s not like he’s a competent general, anyway; otherwise he might have realized that the First Order—which nearly controls the entire galaxy—vs. the last 400 Resistance fighters is not a war. It’s an itch, a skirmish at most. A single star destroyer carries more personnel than remains in the entire Resistance (70,000 to be precise)! The scale of this conflict is so unbelievably one-sided that I can’t even fathom how these 400 fighters have managed to evade the First Order in the first place, especially as easily as they’re picked off in this movie, and especially since they’re traveling together in one convenient package. The only explanation I can come up with is that they’re protected by the sheer badassery of Carrie Fisher, which given the logic of this movie, is as reasonable as anything else.
Proceed to the next phase of the plot, where a forgotten, uncharted Rebel base randomly shows up to give the Resistance a big ol’ dose of Hope, and the Resistance decides to evacuate its doomed cruiser to make for the base. In transports that don’t have hyperdrives, even though EVERY Resistance ship has hyperdrives. (On that point, why all head to the base to begin with? Why not scatter and force the First Order to chase more than one target?) That’s another disaster of strategy, but worse is what the movie could have done with this scene, compared to what the movie actually did.
Early in the movie, Princess Leia is knocked out of commission, the rest of the leadership is blown to bits, and so a new character whom I’ve never heard of but is presumably a great leader steps in to take her place. I can’t remember her name, so I’m going to call her Effie Trinket, because she looks like her and has about as much substance…but still gets a heroic death when she decides to stay with the cruiser and provide a distraction…in the form of turning the cruiser toward the First Order and hypering through the whole fleet (more on that later. UGH SO MUCH MORE). Effie isn’t developed. We’re supposed to feel sad at her sacrifice, but we don’t, because we as viewers don’t know her. You know who could have gotten a deservingly heroic death out of that scene? PRINCESS F*****G LEIA. Or even Admiral Ackbar, going down on his iconic Mon Calamari ship. Not some invented one-shot who does nothing more than be a pretty purple piece of cardboard with the apparent ability to break the laws of even Star Wars physics.
Which brings up another great, frustrating flaw. In the very first Star Wars movie (okay, fourth by modern chronology), it’s clearly established that if a hyperdrive detects any obstacles in its path, it sits down like a finicky two-year-old and goes NOPE until its path looks perfect again. It doesn’t have any safeties to be deactivated. It just DOESN’T. And it certainly doesn’t hyper through an entire space fleet.
At least, it didn’t. But here, what makes for a superficially badass scene and sacrifice ultimately rips the world of Star Wars physics apart (and there wasn’t much to begin with). If it’s now possible to hyper through things, why not make hyperdrive-equipped missiles? In fact, why not just strap hyperdrives to anvils if that’s all it takes to wreck a star destroyer? That small suggestion alone completely changes the face of warfare in the Star Wars universe and brings up the all-encompassing flaw in The Last Jedi:
If the movie isn’t going to care about its own lore, why should I?
That is ultimately what sucks the magic out of The Last Jedi.
I can enjoy even a mediocre plot if the world sets and respects its own rules. Once a world breaks its rules for the convenience of its plot, I’m done, and unfortunately, The Last Jedi is a thorough world-breaker.
The film doesn’t even do its fan-service well. In the climax on the Rebel base, it misses a perfect opportunity to send the heroes out in classic X-wings and Y-wings, but instead sends them out in rickety space jalopies that don’t even have a particularly interesting design.
Mercifully, The Last Jedi does have one redeeming quality.
About the only thing it handled well was Luke Skywalker’s personal arc, which sees him through a hard, emotional transformation and drags him through a spiritual gauntlet before launching him out to a truly fitting end. The final battle of the movie has some logical flaws (in terms of military strategy, because of course), but beyond those it’s the stuff Star Wars dreams are made of. Visually, it’s damn beautiful, and emotionally it hits all the notes that the rest of the movie should have hit.
In retrospect, I probably should have cried at the end, and am actually tearing up a bit right now thinking about how well-done it was. But when it happened in the theater, I was so pissed at the rest of the movie that I was just ready for it to be over, which is something neither I, nor Jacob, ever thought we’d say about a Star Wars movie.
Except for its isolated high points, The Last Jedi is an expensive, flashy, unmitigated disaster that might even be on par with Episode III.
But hey, at least it gave us the porgs.
***
Note: Holo Writing is a participant in the Amazon Services LLC Associates Program and, as such, may earn a small commission from any product purchased through an affiliate link on this blog.