At any rate, I wasn’t going to let the year end without something, so courtesy of the aforementioned friend, comes a remarkable animation short by Rodrigo Blass, an animator at Pixar, entitled Alma. Enjoy.

Click here to view the embedded video.

I didn’t disappear, but I have been very, very distracted lately. Almost a year after we lost my Mom, Dad had a stroke and was hospitalized. Since then, I’ve temporarily moved in with him to assist in his recovery, which is coming along amazingly well. To top everything off, my XBox 360, which is over three years old now, coughed up an E74 error and died.

The consequence though, is that it took me three weeks to read a Discworld book, which, by rights, should have been devoured in a day or so. However, things are looking up on all fronts, and we’ve moved on, so although I doubt I’ll hit fifty-two book this year, I should be able to put in a good showing.

-K

In April 2008, I wrote a review of the HBO series presentation of John Adams, and as enjoyable as it was, the book is still better. Not only because it adds depth and coverage of events barely hinted in the mini-series, but because David McCullough knows how to write and write well.

The book covers Adams’ entire life, but really concentrates on his career in public service and his relationship with his wife, Abagail. Adams, of course, was our second president, but his career spanned over twenty-five years in some form of public service, including helping to draft the Declaration of Independence and serving as the first Ambassador to the United Kingdom. Along the way, McCullough attempts to bring to light a new interpretation of Adams, as an indispensable part of our revolution and growth as a new nation. However, he also doesn’t shy away from the fact Adams apparently irritated just about everyone with whom he ever worked, including many of the other Founding Fathers.

All this might seem a little dry, but this is where McCullough really shines. As a narrative historian, McCullough doesn’t just give a dry recitation of facts, but rather tells the Adams’ story and does it so well that it’s almost as if it were a historical novel, not a biography. It’s a compelling read and worthy of anyone’s study, even if they aren’t a history buff.

-K

-K

If you’ve read Tolkein and are disturbed by the amount of regurgitated clones flooding the fantasy market, what do you do? There are a lot of answers to that question, but if you’re a writer of Michael Moorcock’s caliber, you create one of the first anti-Tolkein fantasies – the Elric saga.

Elric of Melnibone, the eponymous protagonist, is king of an island nation which had ruled the world for ten thousand years, but recently finds itself in its twilight years. Elric is an albino, and a cultural outcast in his own kingdom, where his subjects view themselves as the cruel masters of all around. Elric, however, worries about the future of his kingdom and is known for his rejection of magic, cruelty and sadism – all core Melinbonean attributes. Also complicating matters, are the ambitions of his cousin, Yrkoon, whom many people see as the ideal of a Melnibonean ruler.

With Elric, Moorcock creates a world diametrically opposed to the classic Tolkein conflict of good vs. evil. Moorcock’s world is ruled by the continual fight between dieties that represent order, or chaos, and each in turn acts good, or evil depending on how the outcome will advance their side. It’s an existential fantasy world, and frankly, since I read Elric first, made reading Tolkein very difficult.

This was another book I had not read since high school, but I was pleased it still worked for me. Moorcock is a good writer and certainly understands the meaning of brevity, unlike, say, Robert Jordan. Indeed the only caveat I have in recommending Elric is that Moorcock is one of those artists who constantly tinkers with their work. There are multiple editions of the Elric saga, and the novel I’m reviewing, in its form, has been out of print for some time. However, it seems to be readily available from used book sellers, if you want to read this edition.

Whatever one you choose, it’s certainly a good afternoon’s read.

-K

I first read The Lords of Discipline in my senior year of high school as an assignment. Although we were normally given a couple of weeks or so as the class worked through the book, I believe I had read it in three days. I distinctly remember being told I couldn’t answer anymore questions because it was believed I would spoil the book for everyone else. What can I say. I was a scalawag.

The Lords of Discipline is the story of Will McLean, a senior private at the Carolina Military Institute (standing in for the prestigious and controversial Citadel) during 1967 – the year in which CMI will admit its first black cadet in the school’s history. A buildungsroman, the culture and milieu is based on Conroy’s own experiences as a cadet at the Citadel, while the plot is fiction. However, it’s a story of loyalty and betrayal, at its heart as well as, in some parts, a scathing commentary of military culture itself.

I had not read the book in twenty years, since I graduated from high school. At the time, it was the plot and the background which enthralled me. I was heavily into military culture at the time, steadfastly planning to enter into a ROTC program once I reached college. (I was already a four year veteran of my school’s NJROTC program.) Conroy’s novel, interestingly enough, was held in high regard by a lot of the core members and we all enjoyed the camaraderie felt by Will towards his roommates in particular. At the time I remember identifying with Will in the same way a lot of teenagers identified with Holden Caulfield.

Twenty years later, reading the novel brings back all the bittersweet memories of those days, but on top of all that comes another wonderful realization – Pat Conroy can write like a son of a bitch. This book is one of those rare gems that is a pleasure to read purely for the sake of the prose alone. Even if you’re not into military culture, or 1960’s Southern social issues, it’s still worth the read simply because there are few enough writers of this quality to begin with, you might as well read something by all of them. It’s really stunning.

However, the core of a novel is story and a well-told story it is. Will and his roommates go through hell and back in their senior year and some of the individual scenes are just wonderful. A particular favorite occurs at a carnival. I would say more, but I honestly wouldn’t want to spoil it. Conroy has a master’s control over pacing and characterization, allowing the story to build to its final climax, rather than forcing it. When the end comes, it feels very natural, instead of crafted.

The Lords of Discipline will be one of those books I recommend to just about anyone. I’d forgotten about it, honestly, for a long time, but having found it once again, it gains a high place on my shelf. Right now, that will be occupied by the dog-eared, spine-broken, well-loved paperback I was given in school. One day, it might be a better edition. If not, it will serve.

-K

It’s very rare to see this level of story development in a so-called “children’s” animated feature and I defy any parent to explain how their five year-old understood anything in the first ten minutes, never mind how it relates to the central conflict within the protagonist.

This is another prime example of how animated films can be for everyone, not just (and even not primarily for) children without having to resort to prurient sex and violence.

Carl’s struggle is timeless and, more likely than not, prone to be something we all have to encounter at some point. However, as moving as it was, it’s certainly not something I would wish on my niece, for example.

It’s time to start chipping away at the idea that animation is for children. Not that they should be robbed of their own content, let me make that perfectly clear, but rather that we ought to be able to enjoy the pleasures of the medium ourselves, without it being “dumbed down.”

I might make an exception for the marketing department, however. Based on the trailers, I can only imagine they were struck deaf and dumb at the idea of selling a piece of art as if it were Warhol’s Marilyn Diptych. Honestly, I pity them.

-K

I’ve had this book on my list for a while, having discovered it from Heliologue’s blog a while back. Since religion, despite my own absence thereof, holds a certain level of interest for me, the subject caught my eye. Could someone attempt to follow the Old Testament as literally as possible and not wind up in Bellevue within forty-eight hours?

Author A.J. Jacobs attempts to find out. At the beginning of the book, he’s a non-practicing Jew, fully ensconced in the secular world. Jacobs even writes in the book, “I’m officially Jewish, but I’m Jewish in the same way the Olive Garden is an Italian restaurant.” Nice line. Fresh off his attempt to read the entire Encyclopedia Brittanica within a year, he’s itching for another project in which to throw himself. (Jacobs seems to be a milder, far less funny version of the gonzo journalist, but Hunter S. Thompson would have at least recognized another soul experimenting on themselves in the name of a good story.) He resolves to adhere, as closely as possible, to the rules in the Bible to their literal meaning and not just the Ten Commandments, oh no. Those are for amateurs.

At one point, he counts up over 3,000 different Biblical rules, presumably handed down by God, to govern His follower’s behavior. That’s just in the Old Testament alone. Some of them you might have heard – the prohibition against planting two crops side by side, or wearing garments made of two different threads. You’re supposed to stone adulterers on sight and never, ever chow down on a bag of boiled crawfish. Some, on the other hand, are so esoteric and eccentric, one would have to be a Jewish scholar to dig them up. such as the commandment to always wear white.

Along the way, Jacobs decides to investigate religious fundamentalism as well, paying visits to an Amish community, a Creationist museum, and even inviting a Jehovah’s Witness for a very long conversation. Of course, the irony is that while investigating fundamentalism, Jacobs is attempting to become a fundamentalist himself. Some of the outcomes from these meetings are exactly what you’d expect, some are not at all.

In the end though, the Jacobs that emerges is not the Jacobs that started the journey. As the old Nietzsche quote says, “if you look into the abyss, the abyss looks into you.” In fact, Jacobs is warned by several people of that very thing.

The Year of Living Biblically is a nice read, and certainly a very novel concept. While I remain skeptical about just how much Jacobs might have been moved by such a feat (not to mention the presumed religious requirement), its accomplishment is a wonder in itself.

-K

There are a number of authors these days writing quirky novels of absurdist fiction. Authors like Christopher Moore, Tom Robbins, and the like tell stories of people, but the picture always seems to be tilted, as if it were told entirely at a Dutch angle. I find myself fascinated by these stories, as often as not simply because of the viewpoint or setting, but mostly because they know how to tell a good story.

And that’s where Mario Acevedo goes horribly wrong. His novel, The Nymphos of Ricky Flats, has all the hallmarks of an absurdist novel, but they are just window dressing over an empty house. The main character, an Iraq War veteran turned vampire P.I., (don’t roll your eyes) is stereotypically adverse to consuming human blood, which makes him a loner – an outcast. The supporting cast is constructed from even more shallow archetypes – a Dryad who’s a sexy, perpetually aroused woman, for example.

All of which would be perfectly forgivable if there was a story worth telling, or empathetic characters in the book, of which there are neither. It’s not that it’s a bad book, or a good book, it’s a book that really didn’t need to be written. It has all the impact of a brick made of Jello. It’s simply not worth the effort to make.

-K

It all begins with a knife in the dark and the murder of a child’s family.

Not exactly how children’s books begin these days, although that is changing, but it would have been a beginning Kipling or Doahl would have recognized right off the bat. In fact, The Graveyard Book draws inspiration directly from Kipling’s The Jungle Book.

Bod (short for Nobody Owens) is adopted by the denizens of a local graveyard and there he begins his life and education among the ghosts and other inhabitants. Along the way, Bod learns about ghouls, how to Fade so no one pays attention to him, and explores every niche and crevice of his adopted home. Along the way, he also comes into contact with the larger world around him, which often brings conflict to his life. And all the while, his family’s murderer stalks the world looking for the one victim that escaped.

Gaiman is a master storyteller and this book is no exception. Each chapter is set up as an encounter in which Bod will learn something, either about himself, or the world. Oftentimes both. Reader’s of Kipling’s work will recognize a lot of parallels, but they are not all direct ones. There is no direct analogue of Shere Kahn, or King Louie. Rather, it is a story of a boy raised in a society not his own, just as Mowgli was, though with Gaiman’s own Gothic interpretation.

The Graveyard Book is a good read, even for adults, but it is primarily aimed at younger, pre-adolescent children. In an age where all children’s books are supposed to be light and airy (although, as I pointed out, this is changing a bit), Gaiman’s book is written to speak directly to children, instead of at them. The darker material will no doubt make some parent’s wary, but overall the book is worth it.

-K