At the end of August...

Beware of spoilers for: The Screwtape Letters, Wide Sargasso Sea, On The Road, The Stranger, The Old Man and the Sea, The Jane Austen Book Club, Dune and The Unbearable Lightness of Being, as well as more general discussion of The Chronicles of Narnia, Jane Eyre, Atlas Shrugged, Neal Cassady, Supernatural, The Great Gatsby, Desolation Angels, 'The Old Man', Austen's novels and DH Lawrence's writing.

Maybe I should be concerned about the possibility of getting sued for flagrant plagiarism? Even a casual glance through my entry titles shows myriad examples of my penchant for filching lyrics and other quotations. Oh well, ahem, good writers borrow from other writers. Great writers steal from them outright. (At least I have the chagrin to admit that I'm stealing Aaron Sorkin's words from the mouth of Sam Seaborn there.)

On the subject of writing, since another month is fading into that strange and distant land called the past, I declare it time for another book round-up post! Woo, and a mighty hoo.

First of all can we all take a moment to rejoice in the fact that I honestly have nothing more to say about Atlas Shrugged? Nada. Zip. Zilch. (Unless it's in comparison to other things, which is clearly utterly and totally different.)

Onwards to books I wish to discuss at length! Starting with The Screwtape Letters (although not really, as you'll see). Let me preface this by pointing out two things: I absolutely adore The Chronicles of Narnia, and I have a deep and abiding distrust of religion. Add to that the fact that I actually rather enjoyed The Screwtape Letters and you have a situation which appears a little contradictory. I feel like a sort of Narnia apologist (in both senses of the word) sometimes, because whilst I can see (and indeed saw as a child too) the Christian symbolism and clear religious message which is both implicit and explicit in the series, it does little to dull my pleasure in reading the books again and again. I suppose it's partly because Lewis' portrayal of Aslan-as-Christ represents a very specific (and almost odd) version of 'muscular' Christianity which doesn't necessarily call up all of the things which I normally associate with religion/Christianity, simply because its somewhat out of the ordinary. Mostly though I think that although Lewis obviously became a devout Christian in later life, he was influenced by his long period of, if not quite agnosticism, indifference. He treats Christian theology as he treats other mythologies (Greek and Mesopotamian, for example)- something full of beautiful ideas and images which are ripe for the plundering when creating a fantastic and fantastical world.

I have far more problem with the blatant racism and lack of religious tolerance in the books, especially The Horse and his Boy and The Last Battle. The sexism actually isn't as rife as you'd expect (although a clear distinction is made between male and female roles especially in the earlier books), but something that does really irk me is the random unexplained dismissal of Susan in The Last Battle. It's declared that she's no longer a friend of Narnia because she likes nylons and lipstick, and whilst this snarkiness is kind of likable (especially when you're a solemn six year old) it doesn't really seem fair to her. Susan could be a slightly annoying character (and she's been even more castrated in the screen adaptations) but she wasn't by any means portrayed as a bad person. I think that if Lewis wanted to narrow the number of these 'friends' down to the magical number seven he could have at least had the decency to include a scene in which Susan rejected Narnia rather than just shoehorning the point in. Perhaps she also ought to have been given a chance to redeem herself too, after all Edmund and Eustace are both given that opportunity and their crimes seem worse than developing a taste for make-up (although that certainly would have made an interesting sub-plot).

All in all I do still really enjoy the series (The Magician's Nephew and The Voyage of the Dawn Treader are special favourites), which is why I had an urge to investigate some of Lewis' other writing. The Screwtape Letters, letters from a senior demon to a junior one giving advice on how to secure a man's soul, seemed like a good place to start. It's a fun, satirical read- and Lewis created a really interesting 'Lowerarchy' of Hell, as well as elucidating the existence of 'The Enemy' outside of non-linear time. There's a lot of wonderful detail- I loved Screwtape detailing how the friction that exists between people who live together and end up grating on each other's nerves constantly can be taken advantage of. I feel almost guilty for reading it "wrong" however, giggling delightedly at Screwtape's tale of dragging a man in the British Library away from potential religious salvation by making him focus on his grumbling stomach. I also like that Lewis stuck to the idea of having demons (or often an individual demon) scrabbling for an individual's soul, rather than giving in to some Apocalyptic vision of people en masse being corrupted incredibly simply (although Screwtape does suggest that this could be an achievable aim).

The book does contain some important points which I broadly agree with too. Firstly it mocks religious people who focus on the wrong things- on being disgusted by the irreligious nature of others, for example. That's a point I can get behind. Secondly it points to the dangers of over-subscribing the Historical Point of View, and basically the consequences of trying to destroy the concept of morality. Thirdly, the really bitter tirade against the stupidity and problems of the world (most prominently contained in 'Screwtape Proposes a Toast' but also evident in the letters itself) is brilliant. Lewis eloquently rails against the way political ideology and religion are misused, and his rant about how the term 'democracy' is used incorrectly, and could in fact be abused to perhaps bring about the demise of human excellence, is truly fantastic. Screwtape's parody, 'If they were the right sort of chaps they'd be like me. They've no business being different. It's undemocratic' and the argument about intelligent pupils being fettered by the 'democratic' education system read like they could have come straight out of Atlas Shrugged. In fact since The Screwtape Letters is essentially a monologue advocating a viewpoint that I don't wholeheartedly agree with makes me think that they might have more on common than the surface, and the mere fact that I enjoyed them both, suggests.

The next book I read, Wide Sargasso Sea (which I'm going to attempt to discuss without recourse to words with 'post' prefixes) was also a choice inspired by a book that I'd loved as a child. I now feel that I may need to re-read Jane Eyre because I want to closely look at the portrayal of Bertha (beyond 'crazy'). I find that re-examining childhood favourites can be a bit of a double edged sword. On the one hand I'm always intrigued by whatever insights I can glean, but sometimes these can be uncomfortable. For example, I found the suggestion that Alice in Wonderland was filled with drug references delightful and fun, but the idea that it was inspired by a paedophilic obsession seemed somewhat less pleasant. So whilst I was eager to read Wide Sargasso Sea I was also really hoping that it didn't trash the original work too much. I love Jane Eyre as a romantic tale (and of course I adore the tempestuous Mr Rochester), but I also love it as a story about a strong female character surviving against the odds, having the courage of her convictions and not allowing any of the men in her life to control her.

I'm glad that Wide Sargasso Sea doesn't detract from that, in fact it doesn't really deal with Jane at all. Although it paints Rochester in a somewhat negative light, the book isn't unfair to him- the main point is the sorrow caused by a lack of understanding. What Wide Sargasso Sea does is turn 'Bertha' (i.e. Antoinette Cosway) into a sympathetic, but also deeply troubled, composite character instead of just a caricature. This isn't done with a dislike of Jane Eyre or Charlotte Brontë in mind, it's merely addressing a perennial problem- the presentation of a one-sided view. I don't think that Wide Sargasso Sea ought to be seen as an outright prequel to Jane Eyre, as others have pointed out the timelines don't actually accurately meet up but I don't think that that's particularly important. Personally I just don't think that Rhys intended Wide Sargasso Sea as a straight-up prequel, it's a reimagining of the life of 'Bertha', and as such it's a the tragic tale of a woman. That woman could have been the deranged one in Mr Rochester's attic, but I don't think that's the most interesting part of the story- in fact it's probably the least important. I only really had one gripe with this book in the end, it was too short.

I said I was swearing off stories told in the first person, but I think I'm going to have to retract that because On The Road was awesome. I was feeling a bit wary about reading it after my disappointment with The Catcher in the Rye (they're somehow tied together in my head), but I loved pretty much every second of it. Obviously the character of Dean Moriarty is a big draw, so brilliant that he achieved legendary status for Sal before they even met (thanks to his amusing letters). I was a little bit in love, along with Sal, with this hyperbolic, bullshitting, constantly sweaty maniac who apparently split his youth equally between the pool hall, prison and the library. The story wasn't quite what I expected- yes they do spend quite a lot of time actually on the road, but not in the way that I envisaged. I thought that it really was a road book and that most of it would involve Dean and Sal's roadtrip(s). Whilst that does become a large part of the story, these trips come in varied forms (the first consists of Sal hitchhiking solo) and form a chain of journeys which are interrupted by periods of semi-settling in various cities. I think I had misconceptions about the drug use in On The Road too. Yes, drugs are certainly there, but that's just how they're treated- as something which happened to exist, not as something to be glorified excessively.

Although Dean is this wonderful, vibrant character he's also a bit of a cunt. You can completely appreciate why he is, but I think that in many ways Sal is actually a much more interesting character- he's not merely passionate but compassionate too. The narrative style is excellent, switching between relatively straightforward descriptions (which somehow manage to sound frantic most of the time even when they're about the most banal things) and reality filtered through beautiful, poetic language which casually tosses in literary and philosophical references. Maybe it's because of Sal's compassionate nature that he becomes so obsessed with Dean, there's this brilliant moment in the book when he realises that he's let slip something terrible: that he thinks about him. Dean fascinates him; fills his thoughts. It's not a one-sided thing, they have a real friendship and often it's Dean who makes plans for them or turns up on Sal's door step (indeed he's really shocked when the tables are finally turned and Sal appears at his door in the middle of the night). However, Dean is filled with a burning passion for just about everything, and although Sal shares this to an extent (or perhaps he just attempts to?) he is somehow more grounded.

I don't think that I need to point out the barely submerged homoerotic subtext of this book. What makes the book even more interesting for me however is that it is loosely autobiographical. I don't think that Kerouac fell into the trap of just writing his own life (possibly since he was rebelling so hard against that idea), and this isn't just a series of amusing anecdotes. It's a full-fledged, compelling novel. It just so happens that he created a narrator with a voice not unlike his own (and really, who doesn't?) and, like everyone else, he wrote what he knew. In this case that was mostly Neal Cassady (but also Allen Ginsberg, William S Burroughs and so on). It's the kind of thing that makes me never want to attempt to publish fiction, because like Brennan in Bones or Jack in Desolation Angels (detailing Cassady's unexpected visit on the day that the advance copies of On The Road arrived) you'd eventually have to face those people you used as your inspiration, and just have to hope that you could look them in the eye.

My copy included possibly the best and most useful introduction I've ever read (although I didn't read it until after finishing the main text of course). It included excerpts from some of Cassady's letters, and you can understand why Kerouac was so delighted with him. He had this fresh (and incredibly funny) writing style, which Kerouac either shared or emulated to an extent. I can completely understand why Kerouac shifted from trying to invent characters and situations to mould his idea of a 'road book' around, here was a wonderful character complete with plenty of hilarious happenings ripe for the plucking. On The Road definitely encapsulates something very different to (the also enjoyable) The Great Gatsby. Fitzgerald's writing belongs to a completely different world and time, and whilst The Great Gatsby is full of jazz and liquor it seems really stilted compared to the novels of the Beat generation. I can understand why Kerouac was rather dismissive of writers like 'Fitz' and Hemingway.

I've always liked the word 'beat', it's one of those wonderful words that conjures up a whole host of associations. It can mean: literally to hit or strike, to completely batter (or beat up), to punish, to defeat, to have been defeated, the rhythm of music, to tap out that rhythm, the flapping of wings, to be better than, to throb, a moment of time, someone's usual section, to retreat... etc. One word which I never directly associated with the word 'beat' however, was beatific. Kerouac imbued his idea of Beat with this joyous, religious concept. This is why one should probably beware of religious types (and can we please all take a minute to enjoy the fact that the Great American Novel was written by not only a Catholic but the child of French-Canadian immigrants whose first language wasn't English?), they'll sneak God in whenever they find an opening. Here, with Dean as the holy man and later holy 'goof', it does work well however.

Some commentators have complained about the racial sentimentality expressed in the book, but it actually didn't annoy me that much. I took it as a depiction of Sal (and Dean's) loneliness, and longing to belong to something larger. I felt that most of the time this sentimentalism was a little tongue in cheek. What I did have a problem with was the fact that the novel was a little too comprehensible. I know that that sounds like an insane criticism, but it's just that the book often seemed to be threatening to go off onto completely mad tangents, but then never quite achieved it. I think that if Kerouac had been allowed to publish the book that he really wanted to (i.e. madder, with the characters displaying their proper real life names and the sexual relationship between 'Carlo' (Allen Ginsberg) and 'Dean' (Neal Cassady) being explicit) it could have been even more brilliant.

I hear that there's to be a film adaptation (although I think that this is once more in the safe "one day" way, rather than "to be released in 2009!"), and I have to say I'm very dubious. Whilst a screen version could perhaps capture the characters and their interaction as well as the energy of the book, much of what I truly loved was Sal's introspection which I really doubt that a movie could properly show. Instead of a straight adaptation I think that most fans of the book can honestly enjoy something which was in part inspired by it and self-consciously borrows from it (occasionally even with the sexual tension between the 'brother' characters). Yes I am talking about Supernatural. Alright the characters' respective ages are reversed, but there's still Dean being beautiful, sex-obsessed and constantly hungry- followed by his descent into self-destruction. There's still Sam hero-worshipping Dean, occasionally being a pissy bitch but mostly just radiating love and compassion. There's still a gorgeous car which is basically the third character (certainly in the beginning of the show), although there's a few moments of hitchhiking or Sam renting weird ugly cars too. I wouldn't be too surprised if someone out there has done the maths, but I'd bet that an analysis of the show would find that minus time spent in motels, the Impala or engaged in fights the Winchester brothers actually split there time pretty equally between playing pool in bars, being intimidated by (or impersonating) officers of the law/prisoners/prison guards and researching (mostly in libraries).

Even though On The Road left me with a desire to immerse myself in Supernatural I plowed on with reading instead (after all lugging my laptop to work is too much effort, and anyway I'm worried that if I re-watch season one it'll start feeling dirtybadwrong to be perving on Jared Padalecki).

The next book which I read (and enjoyed) was Camus' The Stranger (I'd still rather listen to The Lovecats than Killing an Arab though). I have a vague recollection of reading... something or other by Camus for one of those interminable theory courses, but I'd never read any of his fiction. The Stranger (or The Outsider) is a short but interesting book, following the narrator, Mersault, from the point of his mother's death. I found Mersault to be a fairly likable character, he doesn't quite know how to properly interact with people yet he's honest and pleasant. He's not emotionless about the death of his mother, he just isn't a wailing mess either. However his honesty and stoicism are later used against him when he's in court after killing a man 'because of the sun'. Instead of being tried for the murder, he's basically punished for the crime of being terrible enough to place his mother in a home (where he seems to have genuinely thought she'd be happier) and for not showing appropriate sadness at her funeral. The judge and others are also appalled by Mersault's lack of remorse for the murder, and for shooting the body after death, but as he points out, do these apparently terrible things actually matter? They don't have an effect on the main outcome: Mersault killed the man.

My copy is a more recent 'American' translation of the French novella. I understand what Ward means when he says that Camus was influenced by the American style (especially Hemingway's), and that short, stacatto sentences suit said story (as alliteration always applies à Anne apparently). I can also see that, especially for an opening sentence, 'Maman died today' and 'Mother died today' have slightly different resonances (although I do think that replacing 'Maman' with something like 'Momma' would be an acceptable alternative). However I really do think that the point can be stretched too far, although slightly different translations of the same sentence or paragraph can create subtly different meanings in the end (as long as they are translated reasonably well) they will convey the same idea. I certainly wouldn't argue against the point that American and British English are different (as are other regional variations) since I seem to spend half my time translating back and forth between the two, so of course translations done by a Brit and an American would end up being somewhat different. So too would translations done by people of different ages though, or those from disparate regions within the same country. If you want an incredibly precise understanding of what the author intended to say there's really no alternative to reading the work in the original language, especially as there are bound to be concepts which have no direct translation.

I do believe that I mentioned Hemingway somewhere in that. How fortuitous. The Old Man and the Sea was the first Hemingway I've ever read, and I have to say that I wasn't overly impressed. Maybe it's partly because the title reminded me of a brilliant short story by Daphne du Maurier called 'The Old Man' which I'd have preferred to re-read instead. I don't think that The Old Man and the Sea is a bad book, and it does actually have flashes of entertaining brilliance, it's just that if I'm in the mood to read a detailed account of fishing I'd much rather read Coming Up For Air. I also found the random Spanish interjections to be incredibly annoying. I don't need it to be pointed out to me that a Cuban fisherman thinks in Spanish, that he thinks of 'the sea' as 'la mer' and 'bone' as 'hueso' rather than as their English names. Either write the whole thing in Spanish or shut up. To be fair I did find the distinction between thinking of the sea as la mer and el mer vaguely interesting, and it gives a neat little example of concepts which can't be translated well into English. I didn't particularly dislike Hemingway's style the way that a lot of people (including Jack Kerouac) have, neither was I particularly enamoured with it though. I'm willing to give him another try and am quite interested in reading For Whom The Bell Tolls because I have a special place in my heart for anthing pertaining to the Spanish Civil War. If it's dull I'm going to be very unimpressed however.

I was honestly surprised by how much I enjoyed The Jane Austen Book Club since I wasn't all that impressed with the film. Most of the book was written in the first person plural which was a little jarring to start with especially since the narrator wasn't identified. Somehow it did work though, and gives the reader a sense of being intimately placed at the meetings along with all these characters. The characters in the book are much better than in the movie- they're more interesting, older and (wonderfully!) much more realistic. Instead of just being annoying, they're annoyed by each other all the time- aware of, and mostly forgiving, each other's faults and quirks the way that real friends do. The character whom I found most irritating in the film, Bernadette, got on the other characters' nerves all the time, yet she did have some honestly shining moments. I really liked the fact that everyone was more likable (and Grigg was instantly more acceptable) when everyone was slightly fuzzy and drunk, I think it's a fairly realistic portrayal of much social interaction!

There was certainly more in-depth analysis of Austen's work in the book than the screen adaptation, although I could always go for more! The parallels between Fowler's and Austen's characters weren't drawn so explicitly (or perhaps not so crudely), and when they were it was often pointed out self-consciously by the characters, but not in a way that beat the reader over the head with the point. There were some truly wonderful observations that just wouldn't have translated well on film, such as the tiny paranoia that Bernadette could be an alien in the wake of the Northanger Abbey discussion. That being said I do think that the film did include a couple of good scenes that weren't in the book- such as pushing Prudie's almost-affair with her (gorgeous) student, especially because her blurring of reality and fantasy echoed her mother's lies to her, and Grigg's gothic decorations for the Northanger Abbey discussion.

It is clearly a 'pomo' novel, but not in a way that's jarring or unpleasant (it takes care not to upset the sensibilities of its characters as much as anyone else). It's kind of hard to understand how a novel which is mostly about six other (relatively similar) novels works, and I doubt that it would be all that interesting to someone who doesn't already love Austen (although I could be wrong). It's hard to explain what's so good about Austen's writing, especially if people already have preconceived notions that she mostly wrote about dancing and houses. Certainly she did write great romances, but I think what I really appreciate about her is her creation of strong, interesting characters who tend to play breathtaking verbal tennis, as well as her creation of ridiculous, bumbling characters who fail to understand what's happening around them and get satirised so completely but often so subtly that it can easily be missed. Austen's wry style is wonderful, and can really leave you guessing as to her actual meaning. Mansfield Park is an odd one too, I really enjoy it but it's hard to put my finger on why. On the surface it's a fairly stuffy, moralising tale about a Puritanical heroine winning out against the rest, but truly it is so much more. Maybe I just love it for the ridiculous characterisation of the aunts and Mary Crawford's sarcasm though.

I wasn't aware that Karen Jay Fowler was also a science-fiction writer, but it does certainly make sense. I need to read more sci-fi written by women, I think I'm going to end up re-reading some Ursula le Guin stuff... Fowler included a list of questions from the perspective of the six main characters at the end of the book, some of which are a little dull but some of which are truly brilliant, for example Allegra "asks",

"In The Jane Austen Book Club, I take two falls and visit two hospitals. Did you stop to wonder how a woman who supports herself making jewelery affords health insurance? Do you think we will ever have universal health coverage in this country?"

Not only does this raise an interesting point (setting aside the irritating use of the phrase 'this country') it points to how ready we are to suspend our belief for the sake of the plot. Being alerted to this oversight doesn't make me like the book any less, but it does make me like the author more. She also included the responses of various people (including Austen's family) to the novels, many of these were interesting but often, frustratingly, included only a glib phrase or amusing comment about a small point rather than a real commentary. At least it's provided me with a long, long list if I feel like reading more on Jane (and indeed her Janes).

The next book that I read, Dune, was rather different to the previous six, although there is of course room for a tenuous segue since Fowler is indeed a writer of science-fiction too. What united these first six books I read post-Atlas Shrugged was that they were all very easy to read, my eyes were gleefully skipping along the page as I devoured the material. Most of them I read very quickly, the last three in a day each (squished in around working and living). Dune wasn't really the same, it's not the kind of book that you can absorb quickly all at once. It's a wonderfully crafted story and certainly a brilliant work of science fiction (even I, who has never seen a Star Wars movie can see where Lucas stole some of his ideas), but to me it has that slightly draining association that most sci-fi has for me. If I close my eyes and think of Dune or The Day of the Triffids I see drab, rusty colours, whereas if I think of fantasy I either see something bright and vibrant or glowing hints amidst darkness.

Dune seems that it might falls into that annoying trap of science-fiction right from the beginning, creating an interesting world but not providing enough explanation to avoid confusing all but the most alert and avid reader. This could easily be worsened by the fact that at the beginning of the novel the Atreides and their retinue are in the process of leaving their home world of Caladan for the mysterious planet Arrakis. However Herbert somehow gives suficient detail to give an understandable explanation of these circumstances (and much more), whilst maintaining a sense of mystery as well as dropping some subtle hints and clues of what's to come along the way. I was gratified to find that when I read through the appendices and glossary I actually had a good understanding of everything. I have to admit that I was cheating a little since I have already seen the original film. It's a wonderful, confusing mess though and doesn't necessarily provide the clearest path to understanding the novel of the same name.

The book provides some very interesting ideas about politics and ecology, as well as incorporating elements from various religious and mythological sources to construct its own unique belief system. The idea of the Bene Gesserit breeding program is chilling but enthralling, as is their use of the Missionaria Protectiva to manipulate people's religious beliefs to fit their purpose whenever it may be useful. I do find the idea that the majority of people are too stupid to, for example, even posit a connection between the spice and the worms a little ridiculous I have to say. Some of Paul's (and Jessica's) apparently "amazing" knowledge and insight is shown to be a careful construction. Paul and Jessica constantly take advantage of their knowledge and abilities to almost 'dupe' people, including their friends and allies.

Due to their training and experiences Jessica, Paul and Alia (as well as other characters to greater and lesser extents) tend to not show or explore their emotions. I don't consider this to be a flaw since it makes sense within the context, however it can make them difficult to identify with and care about all that much. So whilst it is certainly a very interesting, inventive story it doesn't necessarily have the resonance that it could have. I'm interested to read the next book in the series, and if I enjoy that I'll aim to carry on.

I don't have an extremely big problem with the depiction of women in this book and Jessica, Chani, Harra and Alia are all certainly portrayed positively (and Irulan is to an extent too). Even Paul is considered to be so powerful because he embraces his feminine side in a way that other men cannot. The use of Bene Gesserit women as brood mares of the state isn't treated as an acceptable or desirable thing (Paul is repulsed by it), it's an illustration of the tactics that these high-powered groups are prepared to use. However I could have happily done without the dull gender norms; men take and women give and blah blah blah. Also if there's going to be a cliché evil Baron with a taste for pretty young boys (including Paul who is, unbeknownst to him, actually his grandson- because what's sci-fi without some wacky space incest?), I think there ought to some positive representation/s of homosexuality too. If I'm going to insist on reading books written by men between the 1920s and 1960s I probably shouldn't complain too much though.

The book that I'm currently reading, The Unbearable Lightness of Being, is shockingly modern in contrast having been written in 1982 and published two years later. It's the first book by Milan Kundera I've read because I'm terribly behind the times and I hardly ever read best sellers/'modern classics' (that aren't by authors that I already adore anyway) unless the book happens to be pressed into my hand, or comes highly recommended. I've also got the excuse that it was actually published two years before my birth in this case, so I can't really have been expected to have been paying attention.

I have to say that I almost gave up on this book after the first page (which is something I very rarely do, in fact I don't think that I've ever actually done it, I almost always pursue a book to the end unless it happens to be Adam Bede). The first thing that bothered me was the Nietzsche reference in the very first sentence. I don't have a problem with Nietzsche, but university has equipped me with a healthy distrust of people who are overly-fond of quoting him, and starting a novel with the idea of eternal return seemed beyond pretentious. The second thing that irritated me was the ambigous tone in the statement,

"We need take no more note of it than of a war between two African kindgdoms in the fourteenth century, a war that altered nothing in the destiny of the world, even if a hundred thousand blacks perished in excrutiating torment."

I'm glad that I stuck with the book though because I've actually been really enjoying it, and although I've been eyeing it suspiciously I haven't seen any evidence of racism. Not only does it tell an interesting story in an inventive way (jumping around in terms of point of view and the timeline) it uses some techniques which I really adore. The use of dream sequences is powerful, and the breaking of the fourth wall (if the phrase can appropriately be applied to novels?) is playful but also allows some serious topics to be discussed. I find Kundera's asides about language interesting, particularly his comparison of 'compassion' in Romance languages (and English) with the subtly different meaning that it has in Slavic and Germanic tongues. I also like the frank, and yet somehow sweet, examination of the sex lives of his characters.

Although I am enjoying it, I do sometimes find it to be a little patronising and know-it-all. I often get irritated with books that purport to tell me philosophical 'facts'. Kundera also uses techniques that I find common in DH Lawrence, but they're somehow more irritating here- perhaps it's because Lawrence has a more whimsical style? For example, it's fairly common for Lawrence to make a statement such as 'He loved the grass' (although probably somewhat more eloquently) in a way that suggests that the character loved the grass in general and always. This will then be followed by a lengthy explanation of how the character loved the grass in that moment fully and extremely, and is fairly likely to be contradicted a few chapters later when said character realises that he actually hates the grass for convoluted reasons that relate to his mother. I don't usually mind the way that Lawrence presents contradictory statements in the form of absolutes because he makes clear that the characters feel these things to honestly be absolutes at that time, and may not even be aware of the existence of any contradiction. I think that that's an accurate portrayal of something that real people do. However when Kundera does a similar thing it doesn't quite work, perhaps because he does seem to be dealing with philosophical absolutes, and also because he mocks his characters a little too much.

I think I ought to finish up for now because I've just realised that I've scratched a mosquito bite on the back of knee so much that the floor is now bloody. Ew. However nothing can ruin my good mood or stop me mentally doing The Dance of Joy (whilst searching for an appropriate clip of Numfar dancing I found this appalling clip of a bunch of foul SOASians doing a rubbish dance, do you know these people? Can you track them down and smack them?) because I have a camera, the Empyror mission was apparently a success and I have a fridge full of food!

Com, Com my lady

I am an avid Whedon fan, I could totally write a lengthy essay about Buffy (oh wait I already did). So don't be surprised if this goes over the word limit. Just pat me on the head and steadfastly ignore my ramblings if you wish.

I'm a little blown away by how much I'm loving the Buffy comic, and so glad that I gave it a try. I'm now completely up to date (finished episode 16 the other day) and whilst I would obviously prefer to be watching the stories play out in a TV show I think that the comics are an excellent substitute. The tone and dialogue of the show translate better than I could have expected, and the comic medium also has some important advantages- there's no issues with casting and there's no budgetary constraints which frees the story possibilities up considerably.

I like the artwork, especially the brilliant covers. The artists haven't aimed for photorealism but nonetheless they've managed to make the comic book versions of the characters look an awful lot like their live action counterparts. I think that comic-Buffy resembles SMG less than (most of) the other characters look like their respective actors, but then again I think she has a relatively difficult face to draw. The women's bodies are great, I hadn't really thought of it until I read someone's praise on one of the letters pages, but it certainly would have annoyed me if they were drawn as unrealistic giant-breasted caricatures. I like that they made Buffy a little bustier though (back to the old days!), although canonically she hasn't been stuffing herself on pasta in Italy as many people assumed (reviving a storyline more than 5 years later is a cruel way to Joss fanon). The only character whose representations I'd consistently quibble with are Faith's, I just don't think that she's been drawn that well, although by no means awfully. Having said that, some of the Faith-centric cover art is amazing, I especially loved the Buffy Faith the Vampire Slayer cover for episode 6 (even though she didn't really look like Eliza Dushku there), and the cover for episode 9 was simply gorgeous.

It also means that Xander's lost weight, and he looks hot! (I loved that they had him make a reference to getting fat as well.) Him and Renee were incredibly cute together too. Xander is one of those characters who I think ought to get a bit more love, and so I really liked the way that Renee became all geeky when she was crushing on him (although I think that developing an interest in drywalling was taking it a little too far). This exchange was especially cute and I could completely imagine it being uttered on the show:

Renee: You could take me out.
Xander: You want me to assassinate you?

I like that Xander gets to be (relatively) cool now. I also always love it when language is played with (something that Buffy has always done well). There's an especially brilliant visual pun at one point, involving Buffy literally getting attacked by the church!

The "Great Muppety Odin, I miss the sex" line made me laugh, and I'm sure that I'll be quoting it far too much in the future. Although I can understand why some people felt that it sounded like more of a Xander (or possibly even Andrew or Anya?) line than something that Buffy would say, I didn't think it was incredibly out of character, especially for someone equally comfortable making references to Molly Ringwald and Samuel Beckett. I suppose it was also conceived as a potential hint towards a Buffy/Xander relationship (especially with Buffy's Xander-centric dreamscene) but if so, boy, was than an excellent piece of misdirection! I have always liked the fact that Buffy is such an incredibly human and relatable (super)hero, yes she has all these epic battles and massive issues to deal with- but she's also dealing with her loneliness, and the simple pain of a lack of human (not only sexual) contact.

I feel a little weird about Warren being back. Of course it's nice to have references to (and appearances from) various old characters and plots from the show to keep the continuity alive, and as I said there's no worries about whether an actor is available or concerns about how to depict a skinless villain convincingly. Willow's season six storyline involving her addiction to magic and eventual spiralling into evil triggered by Tara's death at the hands of Warren (just after their reconciliation) was unpopular with some fans but I liked it (in the sense that it makes me sniffley). Many people (including Amber Benson) took issue with the idea of killing off Tara, and felt that it was perhaps a "punishment" (or at least could be interpreted as one) for their lesbian relationship. I think that an examination of Buffy, and indeed basically any of Whedon's work, shows that he likes his characters as miserable as possible most of the time- they're hardly ever allowed to be happy for long. I don't believe that the Buffy writers intended for Tara's death to be read as a punishment in any way, and yes the character was sacrificed for the sake of the story and that is difficult for people who are big fans of the character, but that doesn't make the writers bad people. The character of Tara was treated just the same as any other character on the show essentially, and I don't see why that ought to be a cause for outcry. (I really liked a letter written along these lines that was published in the 'Slaying the Critics' section, which cheekily referred to Tara as 'whatsherface'.)

Having Warren come back seems to cheapen Willow's journey, and gives her an easy redemption. It doesn't undo all the suffering she underwent and the fact that she attempted to take a human life, but it makes her not really a killer. (Whedon has attempted to backtrack with this issue for a different reason, in season seven The First can take on the appearance of anyone who has died, and appears in the guise of Warren. In response to this being pointed out Whedon has said that Warren was technically dead for a moment before Amy revived him. Even if this story is stuck to, and it's one that has only been invented to fill a plot hole which accompanies several other similar ones involving The First who could/couldn't/could touch people and things, it still makes Willow's murder seem attempted rather than actual. Since within the Buffy universe it's relatively easy for people to come back from the dead if the storyline demands it I would have preferred it if Warren had been killed by Willow as he had seemed to be on the show, and come back in some other nefarious way (with or without Amy's help).

Also I think that the idea of vengeance is an important one. Obviously the way in which Willow attempted to exact justice was wrong, it was still emotionally satisfying for the viewer to see her flay Warren alive; he attempted to shoot Buffy (and indeed almost killed her) and did kill Tara. In Carnivale there was a moment when Dora May's killer was spared being shot by Sampson (due to mere luck), and Sampson (and Jonesy) argue against betraying their code and killing this man outright since according to their traditions he has to be given a chance. One can understand both this viewpoint and that expressed coldly by Dora May's mother, she just wants to watch this man die. When Sampson goes to the bar and chats relatively pleasantly with this man (although mostly just pumping him for information) I didn't feel shock or sympathy for the guy when Sampson pulled out his gun and shot him point blank. Sometimes you just feel like a character deserves to die.

I don't support the death penalty, but within a work of fiction something like that is a satisfying resolution. There's a wonderful moment in a West Wing episode called Take This Sabbath Day in which the President is trying to decide whether or not to commute the sentence of a man who has been sentenced to death in slightly questionable circumstances, where he doesn't really have any grounds on which to commute other than the fact that he doesn't like the death penalty. There's this brilliant exchange between President Bartlet and Charlie which I just love- Bartlet asks him what he'd want to happen if and when the guy who shot Charlie's mother (leaving him to raise his little sister alone) is caught, since she was a police officer , and killing a police officer is a capital crime. Charlie calmly starts by saying "I wouldn't want to see him executed Mr President-", and Bartlet nods, seemingly accepting that this is the "normal" response of someone with their lefty politics to the situation, and then Charlie continues "I'd wanna do it myself". Bartlet just gives him this look and quietly agrees, because hell yes it doesn't matter what your political or philosophical bent is, if someone killed somebody you love, you wouldn't shrink from the opportunity to, for example, flay them alive.

As Toby says, several seasons later in Game On, albeit about a different situation:

"Yes you'd want to see him put to death. You'd want to be cruel and unusual, which is why it's probably a good idea fathers of murder victims don't have legal rights in these situations."

(I do personally think that Take This Sabbath Day isn't the most amazing episode, and it gets rather farcical when Father Cavanaugh points out that Bartlet had a priest, a rabbi and a Quaker sent to him, but I love that little exchange between Charlie and the President. And also any part of the episode with Stockard Channing in.)

I believe that I may have been talking about Buffy at some point before that little digression? Let me try to get back on track...

Although it's a bit silly, I loved that Dawn became a giant. It's assumed that it's because she had sex with her college boyfriend who is a thricewise (Great Muppety Odin, what is that?), but it eventually transpires that he's cursed her for cheating on him with his roommate. I liked the fact that Dawn losing her virginity was this teenage-y, melodramtic big deal, but without the truly melodramtic saga of something like Buffy losing her virginity to Angel. I think a nice balance is struck between the fact that Dawn's just a normal teenage girl and has to deal with typical problems, but that she also has a totally weird existence and these problems don't necessarily manifest in the expected way. She's currently actually a centaur, which I thought was also awesome (although I'm not sure that she would be craving hay, I suppose it depends on where the internal organs are exactly). Poor Dawn probably has an excessive amount of problems, but I couldn't help laughing at Willow's (good-natured) mocking of her small breasts.

I feel a little bit weird about the extent of the still very existent Buffy/Dawn issues. I don't expect them to get on perfectly and have a trouble-free relationship, but I felt that they had been dealt with to some extent in the season six finale and in season seven. I know that Dawn couldn't help but feel abandoned when Buffy was focusing much more on the potential slayers (and I'm sure that would have continued with Buffy's focus on the new slayers), but I think that Dawn did understand the situation, and now that she's off at university I would think that it would be less of an issue. Dawn did have an excellent relationship with Willow (and Tara) in the past, but I think it's a little far for her to tell Buffy that she thinks of Willow as more of a mother to her than Buffy. Buffy certainly wasn't a perfect guardian, but she was dealing with extreme mitigating circumstances (being yanked out of heaven by her well-intentioned friends, for one) and Willow certainly wasn't the best surrogate mother- she endangered Dawn's life due to her addiction to magic, and Buffy had to actually order Willow to stay away from Dawn at one point.

I just didn't think that the issues between Buffy and Dawn would have remained quite so prominent. Neither did I think that the issues that Buffy and Faith have about each other were so entirely unresolved. Buffy is quick to assume that Faith has gone evil again, and Faith is so consumed by jealously towards Buffy that she's driven to violence. I suppose that I partly expect all these problems to be resolved because they kind of felt that they were, the show finished airing five years ago so I'm used to the idea that everything is done and dusted. It's a little weird to climb back in, and see them in action again. I suppose essentially what I'm saying is that these characters and their stories could have been left alone, I'm glad that they weren't and there's definitely still more to be done with them, but it isn't like with Firefly being cancelled, the story isn't half-told. It already did come to a satisfactory conclusion. Also I suppose that I expect them to have moved on with their issues at least five years, whereas for the characters less time may have passed (although I expect not much less since Dawn is a university student, then again Joss is notoriously bad at maths). I can understand Buffy and Faith being suspicious of each other, but I do feel that the comic pushed that a little far, after their easy camaraderie in season seven, but I suppose it is plausible given that they haven't necessarily spent much time together since then, Faith's probably been getting very bitter in Cleveland and they had to put their differences aside and attempt to get on during season seven for the sake of the world.

I'm really glad that there was a Faith-centric mini-arc, she's one of my favourite Buffy characters, even when not portrayed by the luscious Eliza Dushku. The interaction between Faith and Giles was brilliant, I'm eager for more! Giles asking Faith to kill a rogue Slayer, given his knowledge of her troubled history, was incredibly cold. However, I think that it was definitely in character, and I'm glad that he was honest with her about his own dark past, and the fact that he's killed a human (or humans?) before. Faith having to do an English accent was priceless, even though I was only reading it. That's something that I would have loved to have seen (and more importantly heard) on screen, maybe Eliza doing an English accent isn't out of the realm of possibility on Dollhouse? She will be basically playing a new character every week after all! I loved Faith's initial confusion over the phrase 'bum a fag' especially because I spend a lot of time translating my British English into understandable words for Americans and Canadians. (In a surprise move the representatives of North America have declared that their favourite Bringlish slang is in fact 'get proper fucked' not 'bum a fag'. I'm shocked and intrigued.) All of the Anglicisms and references to British pop culture were delightful, I liked the mentions of Amy Winehouse and The Clash! I liked the way that Genevieve felt that she'd developed a friendship with Faith based on a short conversation and the gifting of a cigarette, it's so typical of drunken British girls in reality! I certainly don't buy that Faith would like either The Stone Roses or The Arctic Monkeys (cos, ew), but I can console myself with the fact that she was acting. There were so many adorable little moments within this storyline in fact, I loved Faith's (probably intentional) momentary misunderstanding of 'cunning' and Giles' Yellow Submarine jumper, for example. I also liked the fact that Faith chose 'Hope' as her pseudonym, it seemed like a subtle reference to Faith, Hope & Trick, the episode which introduced her.

Genevieve was a fucking insane and terrifying villain. Her obsession with Buffy was disturbing (and a little reminiscent of Spike's). She definitely seems like the kind of girl who might be obsessed with a Tampax model. Just sayin'. I loved the way that she petulantly screeched about the fact that she let Faith share her tub (as if this was the worst part about Faith's 'betrayal'), and it just sounded dirty (as well as reminded me of Sugar Rush). I'm glad that Buffy was angry at Giles for pulling this crap with Faith without telling her what was going on, although Buffy shutting Giles out does feel like a rehashing of their old issues I think in this case (as opposed to her problems with Dawn and Faith) it completely makes sense. Buffy would find it hard to trust Giles anyway, and using Faith without telling her would definitely make these flare up (especially because of the competitive nature of Buffy and Faith's relationship). Nonetheless I can also understand Giles' wish to not let Buffy know about all of this, he hasn't lost his desire to protect her.

It was during episode 9 (in which the Faith mini-arc reached it's conclusion) and episode 10 that I started screeching "AWESOME!" at the screen. Although I had been enjoying it before it was at this point, for me, that everything really came together. I couldn't stop hitting the 'next' button until the end of episode 16 from then on out, even though I really should have been going to sleep! Episode 10 began brilliantly, it had this awesome Daniel Craig fake out, which turned out to be part of a game of 'anywhere but here', a great reference to season two. It was even better when it turned out that Buffy was playing in an attempt to distract her from flying magically with Willow. I liked that the fantasies continued to crop out throughout the episode too.

As I've said, I did really like Tara as a character and thought that her death was sad. I don't subscribe to the view that that ruined Buffy however. That being said, I am glad that there was at least a little animosity between Buffy and Kennedy, and that Willow felt awkward discussing the Kennedy situation with Buffy. I didn't hate Kennedy and do think that Willow ought to be happy, however I did think that Kennedy could be incredibly annoying at times and was definitely a little young for Willow. I don't think that their relationship ought to be painted as perfect.

There's been some awesome character development for Willow so far already. The way that she breaks down and admits that she feels that she betrayed Tara by 'choosing' Buffy over Tara was incredibly sad. It's one of those illogical things that you can really empathise with- because Willow pushed for the option of bringing Buffy back from the dead (believing Buffy to be in a hell dimension when in actuality she was at peace) inadvertently started a chain of events in which Warren attempted to shoot Buffy but instead ended up killing Tara. Willow didn't consciously choose Buffy over Tara of course, but you can understand her thinking, and it isn't inconceivable to think that she was in part being punished for bringing Buffy back when she shouldn't have.

I loved that Buffy is now an international jewel thief! It was hilarious, but in a way that's actually a little disturbing when you actually think about it (like the ease with which Dagny kills towards the end of Atlas Shrugged). I really liked Willow's little summation that the government has gotten angry at the Slayers for going after their possessions, it was insightful. The image of Communist Buffy isn't a new one, there's a brilliant shot of her equipped with a hammer and sickle leading a worker's revolt in Anne, but it remains a fun one.

Willow trying to explain to Buffy that Slayers aren't above the law is eerily similar to a lecture that Buffy once gave Faith. I like that the comic is dabbling with moral ambiguity, and the (moral) implications of creating a load of preternaturally strong women (the idea of the Slayer support group was brilliant and pricelessly funny). It's nice to see the character development of Buffy, she's had to become a lot harder and stronger- she's retained a lot of her General characteristics, and doesn't seem to have too many qualms about the loss of human life anymore (just like how she said that if she had to do it again, she would sacrifice Dawn to save the world). It's sad, but believable, that she would have lost her idealism. Some of the other Slayers go obviously too far, utilising their power for personal gain- and the fact that they're using guns is a nice call back to Andrew's earlier lecture about Slayers never using guns (and definitely fits with the entirety of the show).

Reading the letters for the competition to be immortalised in the comics were alternately heartwarming and heartbreaking. The winning letter was written by a woman called Robin's husband, he wrote about her battle with schizophrenia and how Buffy had provided something solid and allowed her to grasp onto reality for a long time. Instead of just creating a minor character, the plot of the comic was directly influenced by the idea of schizophrenia and a wonderful, composite character was created. The idea of being in a position to do that kind of blows my mind, to be so touched by somebody's life and be able to do something so wonderful and so unique for them. It was strange for me to read some of those letters, to hear about people who have a so much more tangible connection with the series that I adore than I do.

Some of the other letters have also seemed deeply significant to me, I especially loved one which argued that in Buffy heroism was mostly about choice, as this was part of the thrust of an essay I wrote last year. Theorising isn't restricted to the letters section, Buffy herself makes some excellent points. She argues that saving the world amounts to saving the status quo, and that apocalypses (if that is indeed the correct plural form) are an attempt at change. What she did, to empower hundreds of women by unlocking their Slayer potentiality, was a sort of synthesis, a way for the world to change and move forward. I think that's a brilliant description of the conclusion of the show.

I loved the sneaky little 'jokes' about both Buffy and Xander being gay, although I'm still deeply annoyed by the "gay me up" scene in First Date which I felt was in incredibly poor taste. Buffy's little speech about the fact that Satsu's in love with her was great, and I especially loved, "The fact that knowing that someone you know, someone really cool, feels that way about me, it makes me less...a little bit less lonely". Satsu, Renee and Aiko are all great characters, the Slayers in the comics are all much, much more likable than the potentials in the TV series (and Vi is certainly less annoying now), it's helped that I don't have to hear any appalling attempts at accents. I like that they tend to geek out about Buffy though, she is a legend after all. I thought that the relationship between Satsu and Buffy was really sweet and a little sad, and then suddenly there was sex! And that was too awesome! Buffy has sex with another woman, in cannon. How is it possible that I missed this until now? Although apparently Sarah Michelle Gellar also missed the memo... I enjoyed it even more when I remembered everyone freaking out about the apparent Buffy/Xander turn the comics seemed to be taking. This is also a way better twist than The Immortal storyline! I don't feel that this was a marketing ploy at all, it's just an excellent story.

The relationship between Dracula and Xander however, although it had some excellent subtext, was a bit too ridiculous for me. Apparently it references another Dracula-centric comic also penned by Drew Goddard (by the by I probably could have been convinced to go see Cloverfield if I'd known that he was invovled) so perhaps I'd appreciate it more if I'd actually read that. Season eight is actually making me consider purchasing the Buffy Omnibus, so perhaps I will. The idea that Xander and Dracula were penpals is hilarious, but I also felt that it was a bit too unbelievable. I adored Andrew's recap of the situation however, but then again I adore pretty much anything Andrew does. Primo examples here include taking dramamine before letting Willow fly him, and letting slip that in his fantasies he'd be called 'Miss'.

Possibly Andrew's best line was "My giant-sized teammate is fighting a mechanized version of herself on the streets of Downtown Tokyo...I've been preparing for this moment my whole life!". The Giant-Dawn-as-Godzilla parody was done really well, I found it funny and I've never even seen a Godzilla movie. It was pretty much impossible not to laugh! (As was the earlier moment involving Dawn sleeping in a barn. Swift isn't the only one who can make giants funny.) I loved the deadpan reaction to Giant Dawn battling the Giant Dawn Robot too, "Well, there's something you don't see every day."

The comics also make explicit visual references to Dark Phoenix with Willow, just as the show did.

Aiko's death was sad, and Buffy having to remain calm and demand that someone help her to cut down Aiko's body was reminiscent of the last hanged girl she had to cut down. Buffy's not exactly had an easy life. Way more emotional though was Renee's death. I cannot belive that Joss would do that! (Although I so can of course.) I feel so bad for Xander, he's had to deal with Anya dying already, and now this? Dracula being supportive was nice, but also rather weird. I can accept that Dracula might grant Xander (and perhaps even all the Scoobies amnesty) but I think that whole storyline was a little jarring.

But back to the sexin'. I simply adored Buffy's slightly lame girl crushes on Judi Dench and Eleanor Roosevelt. However, I didn't really like the slight awkwardness between Buffy and Willow (especially Willow demanding details from Satsu, she claims that she's always wanted to know what Buffy was like in bed). It would be one thing if the awkwardness was one sided, perhaps like when Willow first came out to Buffy, but they're both being weird. The worst thing is that Willow doesn't seem to acknowledge that she's being weird, she seems to think that it's normal to be overly bright and assume that Buffy would now want to try it on with Willow. Buffy never made any such assumption about Willow. It's not as if Buffy has simply declared "I think I'm kind of gay" and looked expectantly at Willow, she's had an experience with Satsu, it doesn't have anything much to do with Willow.

Willow is in fact rather disparaging, calling it Buffy's "little experiment". Willow was very annoyed with Tara's similar suggestion, and with good reason. Fair enough at the point that Tara was saying such a thing they were in a much more serious relationship, but still I consider it to be incredibly rude. Even if Buffy was merely 'experimenting' with her sexuality there's no need to be snide about it, there's nothing wrong with an individual enjoying casual sex with whoever they want. I also don't understand why Kennedy would make a similar suggestion, telling Buffy to back off of Willow. I could understand it if she was getting a little worried about it (and there's been plenty of reasonable jealousy in Buffy: Cordelia telling Willow to back off of Xander for example, or Angel and Spike's jealousy directed at each other), but she seems to think that it's normal and acceptable to assume that now that Buffy's expressed an interest in women she's going to jump on anyone within reach. There's no basis for this assumption, unless we're about to find out that Willow's actually been in love with Buffy all this time (but just really good at hiding it) which I really hope isn't about to happen.

I liked the fact that it doesn't seem as if Buffy and Satsu are going to have a long term relationship (and I idly wonder if Spuffy shippers are finding solace in the B/S initials?). I think that Buffy deserves to have a positive experience like that, normally she has sex with someone and the world unravels a little. She didn't even actually get to have that with The Immortal, although one of her decoys probably did. Buffy deserves some fun! (At least she gets to enjoy New York, I liked that.)

Episode 16 began an arc which involves a crossover with Fray, a comic series penned by Whedon which is set in a futuristic world following the adventures of the eponymous Slayer. I haven't read Fray, although thinking about it maybe I ought to now, but I didn't have any problems with understanding the plot thus far. I liked that she speaks in a type of futuristic English, I suppose it's a fairly commonly used device, but it had me happily thinking of both Firefly and Cloud Atlas. I'm intruiged to find out who Buffy was getting all dressed up for... is it too much to hope for some Angel and/or Spike drama?

So. Wow that was incredibly long and rambly, quelle surprise. Since I'm on the topic of Monsieur Whedon I might as well allow this snowball effect to continue a little further. I finally watched the unaired pilot for the Animated Buffy series. It was fun enough in its own way but I can understand why it didn't go into production, it wasn't particularly brilliant (I prefer the comics so much to it), and it seems a little redundant to go back to season one-style storylines, especially in the face of the brilliant comics! All in all I think I would have enjoyed it if it had been made (despite having a different voice actress for Buffy, and the fact that she's randomly gone a bit goth) but I'm not particularly irritated that it wasn't successful, and am glad that the creative energy was instead poured into season eight.

I loved this great article which presents 'an oral history of Dr Horrible', it gives a lot of background information, and the anthropologist in me can't help being delighted with a title like that. Then there was this wonderful Dollhouse interview which has totally inflamed my voicecrushes on Joss (just close your eyes and imagine him as someone who doesn't have a ginger beard) and Eliza. She sings! I didn't know that she could sing. There needs to be singing and English accents in Dollhouse, for the love of all things un/holy (delete as appropriate). On the subject of Dr Horrible and Whedon-related voicecrushes, I adored this little Nathan Fillion interview (the man has a wonderful voice) where he pontificates on Captain Hammer's abilities.

I kind of love the internet. This thing that we now accept as such a big part of our lives is actually mind-boggling. Someone googled Ayn Rand and Aaron Sorkin and found my waffling! The idea of an unknowable audience is both terrifying and fabulous. Mostly terrifiying, with a side of fabulous. Personally YouTube isn't something that I'm overly-obsessed with (although I do link to it a fair bit), but I absolutely loved this Digital Ethnography lecture about YouTube. It's about an hour long, but if you have some time I'd definitely recommend it as it's really fascinating (although some of the most popular videos make me despair for humanity a bit). I'd be really interested in taking a Digital Ethnography-style course, I think that the anthropology of the internet is an incredibly thought-provoking field. My interest would primarily be in areas such as fanfiction, but it's so hard to maintain tight boundaries when looking at such topics and with anthropology it's always hard to demarcate what is and isn't relevant. I really must look into masters courses when I return, preferably finding something which allows me to write long essays on things which I'm already happy to write about.

Atlast!

So I finally finished Atlas Shrugged. (Although I'm not sure that 'finally' is the word I ought to be using, it only took about a week and a half and I had to fit it in around life, it just feels as if I've been reading it for ages...)

Of course now that I've already babbled about it considerably I'm not sure that I'm going to end up with anything coherent to say about it as a whole. It isn't as if I'm under any obligation to write in any kind of structured way I suppose. It's weird, because when I started university I kind of hated the way that we had to write essays. I especially hated the fact that we had to consider other people's theories in depth, long rants which only considered my thoughts on a topic (with a few throwaway nods to broad schools of thoughts perhaps) that one could get away with at A Level were so much more preferable. Now, however, I seem to have been entirely retrained. Damn degree. I feel as if I should have been annotating my copy of the book, and as if I should now be reading obscure articles about it (although that might not be too easy since my Athens account expired a long time ago).

In all honesty that 'retraining' is probably a good thing in the long run. It pushes me to at least attempt to make relatively informed statements and arguments, in addition to loudly proclaiming my own opinions. Thankfully Spam (with all of the wisdom of his sixteen years) can't reach me all the way in Seoul to earnestly inform me that my opinions are just that, and I shouldn't state them as if they were universal facts since he's off sweltering in the Namibian heat building a school. I am thankful to various teachers, lecturers, writers and friends that I have at least a basic knowledge of political ideology, some philosophy and a fair bit of social science. Most of all I think that I'm indebted to Ian Adams the author of Political Ideology Today, which is honestly one of my favourite books and I could happily read it cover to cover repeatedly. I'm probably going to miss my highlighted copy before this year is through.

I still haven't worked out who the hell Francisco reminded me of, and it's bugging the hell out of me. It was especially strong earlier in the novel when he was in the position of a tempter, luring people to go on strike. Knowing me it'll probably turn out to be a Whedon or Sorkin character, and the cogs of my brain will probably finally find the answer for me to scream out at an utterly inappropriate moment. C'est la vie. I remember that after watching Dune (which I also still haven't read) I had an incredibly strong sense that the Fremen's blue eyes reminded me of... something which I just couldn't quite grasp. I drove our poor lecturer somewhere round the bend as she listed off lots of possibilities, most of which were obscure references to science fiction films or television shows that I have no knowledge of. When I finally worked out that it was Groo (a fairly minor character from Angel), I don't think she considered it to have been worth all of that effort.

John's radio broadcast (apparently around three hours long, which I can well believe- but I didn't mind the length here since it was conceived of as a speech, and so didn't feel false) slightly reminded me of a much shorter speech. Wes Mendell's in the Studio 60 pilot. The first couple of episodes of Studio 60 had me bubbling with excitement, I'm still kind of annoyed at the way it ended up. Here is a link to the clip from the pilot which culminates with said speech (and I'd completely forgotten that Felicity Huffman had a guest spot in the pilot, please she so is Dagny, enough with this Angelina nonsense). I'll also include this link to the cold open from, uh, The Cold Open for no reason other than it makes me laugh.

On the subject of Francisco, which I'm sure that I was discussing at some point, I was immediately convinced that Frank Adams was him as soon as I read the name 'Frank'. I didn't have to wait long for that reveal, but Hank's surprise at something that was so obvious was typical of a lot of the book. Again and again the reader becomes aware of something that a character desperately wants to know or should know, the identity of Eddie Willer's confidante for example. This had the effect of making me a bit exasperated with Hank, Dagny and Eddie time and time again for being so dense (and for their inevitable gasping when they discover the truth) even when, based on the knowledge available to them, they weren't actually being intensely stupid. It reminded me of Harry Potter a little, although I don't think anyone could be quite as dim witted as Harry (or gasp as much as Hermione). Luckily I love the word phrase hyphenate 'self-immolation' (and I'd like to point out that I'm the one who came up with the 'molating Marx thing, and probably plenty of the others even if I can't remember them... firing Foucault possibly?) otherwise I'd definitely be complaining loudly about its overuse.

I very much loved, in a pretty much unqualified way, Rand's attacks on Cartesian duality; the split between mind and body. I'm a bit confused by one aspect of her philosophy though, she seems to like Aristotle (whilst certainly not refraining from criticising him), but I'm sure at some point there was an incredibly disparaging remark about Plato's student and successor. (This is why I should have annotated, I'm never going to be able to find the quote again!) I assume that she meant Aristotle by that, although I suppose she could have just meant that she preferred Plato's philosophy, although I didn't see any evidence to support that.

Personally I feel that there's never been a proper free-market Capitalism experiment, just as there's never been a proper Communist one. Maybe it's because they only really exist as ideal types, and life is a lot more messy, but its certainly (also?) because they haven't been allowed. Dagny (and the others) look towards an idealised past (where Nat Taggart roamed around) of perfect laissez-faire capitalism. I'm pretty sure that that didn't exist. The free market has never truly been free, I'll come back to Benjamin Tucker for example: he argued that the four main monopolies (money, land, tariffs and patents) would need to be broken down first before a truly free market could be set up. We see examples of it all the time, the US government cries that the market ought to be free! Except for pharmaceuticals. Importing cheap Canadian drugs would hurt American producers, and that would be wrong. Repeat ad infinitum with whatever it is this week.

I'm sorry, but I'm coming back to Marx again. I just feel that Rand (and she's certainly not alone) misinterprets his views on Capitalism. He didn't hate it. He didn't want to destroy it. He thought that it was excellent, in a limited way. It unleashed enormous productive power, and allowed for innovation in a way that previous epochs had not. He didn't provide a moral criticism of Capitalism in his work, and he in fact explicitly argues against trying to bring about the untimely end of Capitalism. He simply believed that Capitalism was beset by inherent contradictions (just like the previous socio-economic systems), and as a result would eventually collapse and give way to a new social system.

Needless to say, he wasn't exactly right about how it played out. I'd definitely be interested in finding out if Rand ever explicitly discussed her attitude to Marx's writing. In Atlas Shrugged she doesn't, but I feel (perhaps wrongly) that some of her criticisms are directed that-a-way. There's a lot of stuff in Marx's writing that I think Rand must have agreed with, not least his emphasis on rationality and of course that famous sentence from Theses on Feuerbach, " The philosophers have only interpreted the world, in various ways; the point is to change it".

Of course I suppose that her criticisms were actually directed more at the Russian governement then at their (claimed) ideological underpinnings. It's hard to work out when the novel's supposed to be set, since it's futuristic in some senses but also rapidly retreating into the past. Combined with that is the fact that the characters are often looking to an idealised industrial past, which often permeates their world and time, especially as the setting of the railroad (and to a lesser extent the mines) has a distinctly nineteenth century quality to it. In my head I kind of split the difference and seem to be imagining something vaguely 1930s-esque (I suppose I can partly blame this on Carnivale too). I get the impression that Rand was explicitly critiquing Roosevelt's policies, and I can understand why her ideas would clash with his "make work" philosophy. However, at the same time I can see similarities between his New Deal and the great minds of Atlas Shrugged trying to rebuild the world after its destruction... (Of course it also makes me think of Toby's revulsion at the idea of including "the era of big government is over" in the speech in He Shall From Time to Time in which I don't think the name "Roosevelt" is ever spoken, but I swear that you can actually see what Toby's thinking. I love Richard Schiff a little too much.)

Well maybe the real problem with a university education is it creates the desire to identify fleeting similarities and synthesise ideas?

I also felt that the arguments against the 'mystics of muscle' seemed to be more of an argument against the Functionalist school of thought than anything else (especially with the organic analogy). I suppose Rand wouldn't particularly like them, but it felt a little weird in a rant that seemed mostly against altruism and collectivism. I also wondered if the fact that both John and Ragnar raise the issue of income tax as important was construed as an explicit reference to Thoreau. I'm glad that there was a reference to the fact that paper money is assumed to be worth the same as gold, I think people should pay more attention to the fact that the world's economy is basically held together by a mass delusion. No one's on the gold standard anymore, and there might very well come a time when you don't really care how many flimsy pieces of paper you're holding or how many zeroes are at the the end of the number on the computer screen. Hopefully by then I'll be back in London with my pumpkin patch and fruit trees though, so I won't really care.

I would have liked to see religion addressed more. Rand dismisses religion (and I personally don't have a problem with that), but it wasn't really dealt with much within the novel, there weren't really any religious characters. After reading the introduction I'm a tad annoyed that the Father Amadeus character was cut, but I might have had to spend some time trying to work out where his name fits on the awful/awesome axis if he hadn't been.

Rand belittles the sociological/interpretivist-style criticisms of science. I will freely admit that sometimes these criticisms can be take way too far. I love Bruno Latour, he has an immense and respectful appreciation of science and he acknowledges that there are such things as objective facts. However, he points out that science in the process of occurring isn't a series of objective facts, and argues that stating this isn't a rejection of science. I'd also like to add that Rand actually endorses one of those criticisms of science without acknowledging it, she's disgusted by the idea of state funded science, and that's something which many of the sociological criticisms of science have highlighted, as well as investigating other ways in which the production of scientific knowledge is effected by other (subtler) factors.

The book definitely contained far too much of an Orientalist attitude, an extreme overuse of the word 'savage' and an apparent damning of everything 'non-American'. I don't have a problem with the novel's pro-American sentiment (nor do I have a problem with it in anything penned by Aaron Sorkin), even if I don't endorse it. I do appreciate passionate feeling like that, and basically anyone who subscribes to the Granny Weatherwax school of philosophy:

"...well, you wouldn't catch me sayin' things like "There are two sides to every question," and "We must respect other people's beliefs." You wouldn't find me just being gen'rally nice in the hope that it'd all turn out right in the end, not if that flame was burning in me like an unforgivin' sword."

I know that Rand's views on race and gender (and other things too of course) are a product of her time. I expect some things to crop up that I dislike but can understand as a result of this. I think it's just a bit too much though. I have to contend that in some areas she was just a bit of an idiot, and I'd be interested in reading Feminist Interpretations of Ayn Rand, especially Brownmiller's 'Ayn Rand: A Traitor to her Own Sex'. I assume that that title is there for shock value, at least to some extent, and that there is some appreciation of Dagny's character (and indeed Cherryl's, although it would have been nice to see her develop a bit more before her death). I assume that there's plenty of criticism of the (relatively?) sexually submissive role that Dagny randomly gets cast in, which I'd definitely be interested to read.

I've never understood why someone would think that I would want my cake if I wasn't going to eat it too. Claiming that one can't eat one's cake and have it too at least makes sense.

It's a good thing that John was the one who started the movement, if people were wandering about asking who Francisco D'Anconia or Ragnar Danneskjold were all the time the book might have been a lot shorter. Certainly it might have taken the government a lot less time to track John down at the end if he didn't have such a common name. I felt worried that things were going to take a tragic turn when Dagny led them to John, and I'm glad that instead there was a happy, hopeful ending. (And that Dagny wasn't punished for being a silly, emotional woman.) I felt kind of sad for poor Eddie though. I liked the idea of the torture machine- it was really gruesome (and the idiots torturing Galt almost to the point of death because they were adamant that he had to help them were captivating), the machine itself kind of reminded me of the torture device in The Princess Bride. The idea of trying to torture someone with the sound of their own heartbeat was effective, and it reminded me of the horror that one of Doc Benton's victims in the Supernatural episode Time is on my Side who has a heart rate monitor still attached to him from when he was jogging suffered.

The idea that it's impossible for the nasty bad guy politicians to step aside at the right time idly made me think of F.W. de Clerk.

I know that it's silly, but I think I would have liked a bit more science. I know that Ayn Rand wasn't a scientist. Partly it's just because the refractor rays made me roll my eyes and laugh out loud. It felt like an episode of Johnny Quest, especially with the whole Shambhala feel to Galt's Gulch! I would have loved some science geekery (even if it was complete and utter nonsense) to provide a bit more of an explanation to Galt's super awesome motor, rather than the constant solemn assurance that it was something amazing that would have made the world better, without details to flesh it out and make it sound more realistic.

I think I've come round to the idea of Rand the novelist more. When I first started reading I thought that I was reading a novel designed as propaganda of, or at least promotion of, a specific view point. On completion I can say that it does (mostly) feel like a novel. I've also become convinced that she wasn't engaging with philosophical or political theory (other than her own anyway) as much as I thought she would.

Sadly there was no orgy finale. There was a mention of orgies towards the end, but they're discussed in a very disparaging way. I can at least console myself with the not stated (but clearly implicit assumption) that Hank and Francisco were walking off into the world together. Obviously.

I didn't clock that Ayn Rand was Russian until I read the biographical information in the reader's guide. I guess that explains some of her anger a little bit. It makes sense that Rand wasn't her real name, I think it would be too much of a coincidence if her surname actually was a currency! I'd kind of had her pegged as a Catholic what with all the emphasis on guilt. I should have paid more attention to The First Wives Club where Brenda explains that she's half-Catholic, but that its the Jews that really own guilt. Unless that was actually in another book, which is possible. My brain is addled. Maybe that's why I think that there should be a cartoon of Atlas' shrug (as in the item of clothing). That logically seems like one of those things that only sleep-deprivation makes funny.