A Round of Applause for David Tennant

First off: this post has nothing to do with books (although I will mention a library later, see above). I'm bending the rules a bit for the sheer pleasure of writing about something I really enjoy: Doctor Who.

A little background, since I'm well aware that Doctor Who appears to be just about the geekiest thing out there, being not just a sci-fi show, but a cult sci-fi show. The Doctor is a Time Lord, who travels through time and space with a companion, has lots of adventures, and battles loads of dread beasties. He is also able to regenerate when he is dying, which is a convenient way to let a series of actors play the role. Doctor Who has been on since the 1960s, but the modern era began in 2005, when Christopher Eccleston took on the role of The Doctor*. Eccleston played The Doctor for one year, then David Tennant took over.

Tennant, who plays the 10th incarnation of the Doctor, is ending his run on Saturday. Doctor Who can be an uneven show, I'll admit**, but Tennant has been pretty uniformly brilliant, and I'm going to miss his Doctor terribly. So, as a bit of a salute to him, I'm going to do a spoiler-free rundown of my top five favorite episodes, in chronological order. So, without further ado:

The Christmas Invasion (Season 2): Tennant's first episode proper, and he spends almost the entire time in his jammies while London is under attack.

Why? In this episode, The Doctor is figuring out what sort of man (well, Time Lord, I suppose) he is. It turns out he's brave, righteously angry, manic, funny, and, to a point, merciful. In short, he's (to borrow Eccleston's favorite word) fantastic.

Human Nature/Family of Blood (Season 3): The Doctor and Martha are at an English boys' school in 1913 in this two-parter which slowly unfolds into one of the show's most heartbreaking stories.

Why? I just rewatched these two episodes (yes, I'm cheating a bit) last night, and they're every bit as great as I remembered. It also reminded me that you really want to know as little as possible about these episodes before watching. So why are they great? The end. And Baines's fairly terrifying scarecrow demonstration. Oblique enough?

Blink (Season 3): Resourceful Sally Sparrow (Carey Mulligan) must solve the mystery of her friend's disappearance by piecing together clues The Doctor has left for her.

Why? Definitely one of the scariest episodes - you'll never look at statues the same way. Plus, Carey Mulligan is the Next Big Thing, and you can say you knew her when.

Silence in the Library/Forest of the Dead (Season 4): The Doctor and Donna (my favorite of the companions!) stumble upon a mysteriously deserted library, and discover the secret that lies in the shadows.

Why? "Hey...who turned out the lights?" is about the scariest thing I've ever heard. Also, I love the relationship between The Doctor and River Song (played by Alex Kingston, pictured above).

Midnight (Season 4): The Doctor hops on a bus tour that quickly takes an alarming turn.

Why? [Edited months later because I just rewatched this episode and I'm able to offer some more specific thoughts.] Knock knock. This one is so simple in its essentials that it could be an episode of The Twilight Zone. The monster is very effective - chilling, really - and Tennant gives a very vulnerable performance.

Honorable Mentions: The Girl in the Fireplace (Season 2), Army of Ghosts/Doomsday (Season 2), The Runaway Bride (Season 3), Utopia/The Sound of Drums/Last of the Time Lords (Season 3), and pretty much all of Season 4 (minus The Doctor's Daughter, which I didn't care for) and the subsequent specials.

All that writing, and I didn't even tell you how every season finale is somehow devastating, or how John Simm rocks my socks off as The Master (that platinum dye job!). Anyway, next season Matt Smith will take over the role of The Doctor (though odds are he will actually show up in Saturday night's finale, The End of Time: Part Two). Fingers crossed that he's as good as his predecessor, who is going to be a tough act to follow. Tennant is filming an American pilot, Rex is Not Your Lawyer, and I'm optimistic that it makes it to air (though I wish he could use his natural Scottish accent, as I assume he will not).

Links for your enjoyment:

Alan Sepinwall on Doctor Wh0: Alan Sepinwall is one of the finest tv columnists out there, and it is always worthwhile to get his take.

Television Without Pity Doctor Who Recaps: Jacob's recaps are long and philosophical and frequently over my head, but really, really good.


*I'll fully admit I know next to nothing about any pre-Eccleston stories.
**Though when it's good, boy, is it good; when it's bad, it's campy - which can be fun, too.

Flannery by Brad Gooch

The first official gathering of the entering freshman class, in September 1942, was a formal tea at the Old Executive Mansion, the residence of President Wells. Once home to Confederate Governor Joseph E. Brown, as well as to General Sherman during his March to the Sea, the Palladian high Greek Revival governor's mansion, with its soaring fifty-foot rotunda and gilded dome, was located on the same block as the Cline Mansion. Mary Flannery could spy its massive rose-colored masonry walls from her bedroom window, just beyond the backyard where, according to Betty Boyd Love, she still "kept ducks." Yet her family had to force her to walk around the block to the social event. "Flannery did not want to go but was pressured into it," remembers their classmate Harriet Thorp Hendricks. "She donned the required long dress - but wore her tennis shoes." When asked why she was sitting alone in a corner, she replied, "Well, I'm anti-social."

-Flannery: A Life of Flannery O'Connor

His black hat sat on his head with a careful, placed expression and his face had a fragile look as if it might have been broken and stuck together again, or like a gun no one knows is loaded.

-Wise Blood

What can I say about Flannery O'Connor? She's one of my very favorite authors, to start. Her dark, surprisingly funny stories won my heart in college. (The line I quoted above from Wise Blood, which has stuck in my head for years, would have been enough to do the trick.) I love the Southern Gothic atmosphere, the religious fervor, the misfits. All the same, a few pages into this biography by Brad Gooch, I was unsure as to whether or not I would continue. I'm at home right now, surrounded by a bevy of unread books, and as much as I like O'Connor's stories, I wasn't sure if her life had been interesting enough to support a biography.* I decided to push through for a chapter or so, and I'm glad I did.

Going into this book, I didn't know much about the particulars of O'Connor's life. I knew she'd lived at least part of her life in Savannah (somewhere I have a photo of myself outside of her home there) and that she died young from a degenerative illness. Other than that, the picture was pretty blank.

Although her life was not packed with drama, O'Connor herself was enough of a character to keep the reader absorbed. She grew up living a charmed life in Savannah, marred only when her father was diagnosed with lupus, the same disease that would later kill both him and his daughter. Her early work was considered weird but promising, and she managed to parlay her college writing and cartooning into a place at graduate school at the University of Iowa. From there, she worked patiently and persistently, spending six years developing Wise Blood, her first novel. It was not a huge success, and critical reception was mixed. She kept going.

Even when lupus began to ravage her health, she kept going, her barbed wit always intact. I felt like Gooch rendered this all quite vividly. My picture of O'Connor is certainly much clearer than it was before I read the book. In addition, Gooch does a nice job of showing where incidents from her life were worked into her stories - I reread "Revelation" last night and enjoyed recognizing the influences that Gooch had pointed out. Plus "Revelation" is just flat-out great.

If, by chance, you haven't read any O'Connor: Wise Blood is as good a place to start as any. She didn't write that much, so you're on pretty solid footing no matter what you choose. Also she had the best titles ever, no? (Wise Blood, The Violent Bear It Away, A Good Man is Hard to Find, Everything that Rises Must Converge). Incidentally, at least two of those titles have religious origins - I was aware of the amount of religion in O'Connor's works but never, oddly enough, realized how religious she actually was (Answer: plenty religious). Gooch treats O'Connor's religious and social views pretty evenhandedly, though I think these aspects of her character are what could make her, as a person, less relatable to a modern reader. (Otherwise, I could see myself hanging out on the front porch with her, eating vanilla wafers and watching her peacocks.)

Up next: I haven't picked up anything yet, but I'm thinking American Gods by Neil Gaiman. That may change, though. Choices - exciting!

*Compare, example, with those recent biographies of John Cheever and Patricia Highsmith, both of which I want to read.

One Step Behind by Henning Mankell

Wallander stopped in his tracks on the narrow footpath. In his mind he went back to the moment when he had stood in the doorway of the living room and first witnessed the devastation. Martinsson had been right behind him. He had seen a dead man and a shotgun. But almost at once he was struck by the feeling that something wasn't quite right. Could he make out what it was? He tried again without success.

Patience, he thought. I'm tired. It's been a long night and it's not over yet.

He started walking again, wondering when he would have time to sleep and think about his diet. Then he stopped again. A question suddenly came to him.

What if I die as suddenly as Svedberg? Who will miss me? What will people say? That I was a good policeman? But who will miss me as a person? Ann-Britt? Maybe even Martinsson?

A pigeon flew by close to his head. We don't know anything about each other, he thought. What did I really think of Svedberg? Do I actually miss him? Can you miss a person you didn't know?

-One Step Behind

Poor Wallander. At the start of One Step Behind, he's battling constant fatigue; he goes to the doctor only to be diagnosed as diabetic. He's ashamed by this diagnosis, disgusted by his own bad habits. He vows to make a change, only to have his plans for healthy living derailed by his discovery of a colleague's murder. Suddenly he's heading up the investigation, fantasizing about those little clumps of sugar floating in his blood and struggling to keep moving forward despite his ever-deteriorating health and subsequent gloominess. Of course, this is Wallander - gloominess seems to suit him.

Wallander realizes that his colleague's murder is tied to the disappearance of three young people, and from there things get complex. Mankell invents quite the intricate tale of murder and mayhem, and I enjoyed seeing Wallander having to suss the tiniest of details as he doggedly pursues answers in a case that presents question upon question. I think this story worked even better as a book rather than in televised form, and not only for the usual reason that the book presents a more detailed story. The plot of One Step Behind hinges on an important photograph, and I think things are much more mysterious if one can't actually see this photograph - otherwise it's much easier to solve the mystery, which in turn makes Wallander & co. look a bit thick.

Although One Step Behind was less ambitious in scope than the globe-spanning adventures of The White Lioness, I enjoyed it just as much. I am quite looking forward to reading more Wallander mysteries - not too much more to say as I hesitate to spoil any more of a mystery's plot than I have to. Also, I'm on my second day of winter break and I feel a bit too scattered to write up anything properly. Apologies for the brief and less-than-elegant post.

Up next: Flannery, by Brad Gooch, a biography of one of my hands-down favorite writers, Flannery O'Connor.

When Will There Be Good News?

Louise was an urbanite, she preferred the gut-thrilling sound of an emergency siren slicing through the night to the noise of country birds at dawn. Pub brawls, rackety roadworks, mugged tourists, the badlands on a Saturday night - they all made sense, they were all part of the huge, dirty, torn social fabric. There was a war raging out there in the city and she was part of the fight, but the countryside unsettled her because she didn't know who the enemy was. She had always preferred North and South to Wuthering Heights. All that demented running around the moors, identifying yourself with the scenery, not a good role model for a woman.

-When Will There Be Good News?

When was the last time you read the word "rackety," excepting the paragraph above? I'm not sure if I ever have. Such a delicious word, too - one of the many, many things on the long, long list of things I love about Kate Atkinson's writing. (The praise of North and South at the expense of Wuthering Heights also makes the list, naturally.)

When Will There Be Good News? picks up some time after the events of Atkinson's previous novel, One Good Turn, and also features former private detective Jackson Brodie and Detective Chief Inspector Louise Monroe. Like Atkinson's two prior mysteries (Case Histories was the first in which Jackson figured), When Will There Be Good News? is set in Edinburgh and told through the use of intertwining narratives: in this case, those of Jackson and Louise, as well as that of newcomer Reggie Chase. Reggie is a 16-year-old girl who could have easily slipped through the cracks. Instead, she's found work as a "mother's help" for a high-powered doctor and looks upon the doctor and her baby as a surrogate family. Perhaps that's why Reggie can't rest when the doctor vanishes and no one, not even the doctor's husband, seems to be worried. Of course, Reggie doesn't know that the doctor survived a brutal childhood tragedy that shattered her family, and that the man responsible has just been released from prison...

Reggie's hunt for the missing (...or is she?) doctor leads her to Louise, who's preoccupied with a domestic violence case as well as her misgivings about her own marriage; Reggie finds Jackson after a horrific train crash*. Atkinson manages to weave all of the stories together quite expertly. It's just a brilliantly constructed book, and I'm awed by the way Atkinson created three characters so well realized and orchestrated their interactions so beautifully. Jackson, Louise, and Reggie are all extremely tough - they'd have to be, to deal with the events of this book as well as to survive what we know of their lives before this point. They also seem so vulnerable, though, because Atkinson allows us to know them so intimately. It's very impressive. I basically want to be her when I grow up.

Also, I just love love love Reggie Chase, in case that wasn't clear. She's a wonderful heroine, scrappy and tenacious, and I was in her corner from the get-go. That reminds me: I need to see an adaptation of this on PBS's Mystery!, like, yesterday. They can start with Case Histories, but I think this is actually my favorite of the series so far - that's pretty exciting, when you think about it.

Up next: One Step Behind by Henning Mankell. It's part of the Wallander series, which I do not seem to be reading in any particular order (this book is set several years after the last one I read, but there were several in between). I actually did see an adaptation of this on Mystery!, but I seem to have done a good enough job of forgetting the particulars so as to be quite puzzled by the case - which is good, I guess, for entertainment purposes, though it doesn't speak too well of my memory.

*I find it strange how patterns can crop up in books one reads. For example, this is the second book I've read recently to deal with the aftermath of a train crash (Drood also had one). When I read American Wife and Admission back to back, I noticed that both mentioned the Princeton P-rade, something I had been entirely ignorant of before. Funny.

Dead to the World by Charlaine Harris

The vampires have a public face and a public explanation for their condition - they claim an allergy to sunlight and garlic causes severe metabolic changes - but I've seen the other side of the vampire world. My eyes now see a lot of things most human beings don't ever see. Ask me if this knowledge has made me happy.

No.

-Dead to the World

So feels Sookie Stackhouse, our heroine and telepathic waitress extraordinaire. At the beginning of Dead to the World, Sookie is on the outs with former boyfriend Vampire Bill (again), thanks to his behavior in the previous book. Coming home from work late one night, she is astonished to see a nude man running along the side of the road. She is even more astonished to discover that it's Eric, the vampire sheriff (!) of her part of Louisiana. She quickly ascertains that Eric has lost his memory, rendering the vampire best known for his power almost helpless. What sort of mischief is afoot? Why, it's the work of witches, of course! Sookie takes Eric in, and then must help the vampires and werewolves who have banded together in an attempt to fight off the evil, power-hungry coven. All this, and Sookie's roguish brother Jason has gone missing....

The addition of witchcraft to the mix once again widens the universe of Sookie Stackhouse. It's not quite as fun as the werewolf storyline from Club Dead, but there is certainly potential. Just to clarify, by the way, not all of the witches involved in the goings on of Dead to the World are evil. Only the V-addicted, were-vampires. Naturally.

I actually don't have a ton to say, I'm realizing. This book is very much in line with the previous books I've read in the Sookie Stackhouse series, and it hits all of the points that have made the previous books entertaining: Sookie's spunk, supernatural hijinks (as well as some mayhem), Southern Gothic atmosphere, and sexy vampires. I mean, it's a pretty good combination. It was rather contrived to have an amnesiac Eric shacking up with Sookie, of course, but it doesn't mean the results weren't enjoyable.

Up next: When Will There Be Good News? by Kate Atkinson - I've been waiting for this one for awhile, so I'm quite ready to start reading (After Glee, of course. Or perhaps during the commercial breaks.)

Drood by Dan Simmons

In this manuscript (which, I have explained - for legal reasons as well as for reasons of honour - I intend to seal away from all eyes after his death and my own), I shall answer the question which perhaps no one else alive in our time knew to ask - "Did the famous and loveable and honourable Charles Dickens plot to murder an innocent person and dissolve away his flesh in a pit of caustic lime and secretly inter what was left of him, mere bones and skull, in the crypt of an ancient cathedral that was an important part of Dickens's own childhood? And did Dickens then scheme to scatter the poor victim's spectacles, rings, stickpins, shirt studs, and pocket watch in the River Thames? And if so, or even if Dickens only dreamed he did these things, what part did a very real phantom named Drood have in the onset of such madness?"

-Drood

When I read the excerpt above, which is in the first few pages of Drood, I was left gaping - then smiling. A novel in which Charles Dickens is a potential murderer? Certainly a promising premise for a Dickens fan such as myself. The manuscript that is mentioned, which forms the substance of the novel Drood, is framed as the work of real-life author Wilkie Collins, a contemporary of Dickens. In his day, magazines containing serialized versions of Collins's books, such as The Moonstone*, actually outsold issues that featured Dickens, although it is my impression that Dickens was both more critically acclaimed and more popularly beloved. Collins, though, could tell a ripping good tale.

In Drood, Collins is not doing so well. In terms of his stories, yes, he's on the top of his game. But he's consuming more and more laudanum to deal with bouts of rheumatic gout, and his domestic situation is growing ever more fraught with tension. Plus, there's the pesky side-effect of all that laudanum: paranoid delusions (or are they?), such as his doppelgänger (whom he calls the Other Wilkie), which make him a decidedly unreliable narrator.

Collins is also increasingly unhappy with his relationship with the man who is publicly considered to be his mentor, Dickens. I'm surprised that I was almost all the way through the novel before I thought to compare their relationship to that of Salieri and Mozart in Amadeus, a film I love. Like Mozart, Dickens basks in praise while his fellow artist (Salieri/Collins) stews, becoming increasingly agitated by his perceived lack of respect. It does make me a bit uncomfortable to see a real person portrayed in this way - in Amadeus, Salieri is painted as a would-be murderer, which is unsubstantiated by history; similarly, Collins...well, I won't give that away, but needless to say, if this is how Wilkie Collins ends up being remembered, it's far from flattering (to put it mildly). All the same, I was actually quite sympathetic to Collins, despite some of his more egregious behavior (and it is pretty egregious) and his attacks on Bleak House (the nerve!).

One probably could have written a novel about Collins and Dickens that didn't involve the supernatural, but Dan Simmons invented the monster called Drood. I hesitate to say too much about the devilish Drood, because a novel of suspense is naturally weakened by an early revelation of too many details. I will say that Drood involves mesmerism, a creepy section of London known as Undertown, an enormous detective named Hibbert Hatchery**, and scarab beetles. My God, the scarab beetles. There was a certain point when I realized that my internal monologue while reading some scenes was along the lines of Ohmygodohmygodohmygod. One of the opening scenes in particular, which describes the aftermath of a train disaster Dickens survived at Staplehurst, is incredibly vivid and intense. Simmons certainly does know how to ratchet up the tension - if I hadn't been simultaneously working on NaNoWriMo, I certainly would have been flipping Drood's pages far more quickly.

There is the matter of length, by the way: Drood is nearly 800 pages long. I must say, I can't imagine keeping a novel of such length and complexity together, not to mention actually pulling off a satisfactory ending, as I think Simmons did. I also admire the way that things were resolved with sufficient ambiguity, which leaves one with a fair amount to mull over after finishing the story (although there's at least one bit I wish were a little tidier). There was a certain point, though, about 200 pages from the end of the book, when I rather wished I was done with it. Not that I wanted to put it down, just that I would have been satisfied had the novel reached a conclusion by that point. That having been said, this feeling may have been influenced by the dream team of books that I have acquired recently***, which are just calling out to be read.

Speaking of...Up next: It was difficult to decide, but I went with the 4th Sookie Stackhouse, which has quite the juicy premise - Eric has amnesia! You've gotta love it - or, actually, I suppose you don't have to, but I for one appreciate a good amnesiac vampire yarn.

*Unlike many people, I suspect, I actually have read The Moonstone. Sadly, I really don't remember any of it. (Sorry, Wilkie!)

**One does imagine that Dickens would be proud of that one - it actually is a spin on his own Dick Datchery from The Mystery of Edwin Drood.

***The 4th Sookie Stackhouse, a Wallander mystery, and the latest Jackson Brodie novel from Kate Atkinson. Terrifically exciting lineup for me.

From NPR: Neil Gaiman Asks: Heard Any Good Books Lately?

First off: I wrote 50,000 words in 30 days. How 'bout them apples?

Due to this semi-crazed November pastime and Thanksgiving, however, I've been pretty remiss about posting. I am about midway through Drood, which I adore, and presumably will be reading faster with my new-found spare time.

I didn't want to wait any longer to post, though, so luckily my mom came through with this link:

Neil Gaiman Asks: Heard Any Good Books Lately? (from NPR)

It's a story by Gaiman about audiobooks, including an interview audiobook reader extraordinaire David Sedaris. Speaking as an owner of the David Sedaris audio box set, I say: nifty. Also, just for the record, Gaiman wrote one of my absolute favorite books of last year, The Graveyard Book. I'm not sure if I've mentioned it before, but it's brilliant. When it was awarded the Newbery Medal, I was all kinds of psyched.

So, there you go. Now back to Drood!

Reading the OED by Ammon Shea

Lectory (n.) A place for reading.

Although I am firmly of the opinion that a book can, and should, be brought along and read anywhere, there can be something almost infinitely pleasing about having a specific place that is designed solely for reading. If you agree with this sentiment you very likely have your own lectory somewhere. If you disagree with this sentiment, you are probably not reading this book.

-Reading the OED: One Man, One Year, 21,730 Pages

I have never read a dictionary - okay, a few years ago I attempted to read James Garner's Dictionary of Modern American Usage*, but I lost steam quite early into A. (I still have the page marked.) All the same, when I stumbled upon a review of Ammon Shea's Reading the OED: One Man, One Year, 21,730 Pages, I knew I would love it. The review was sprinkled with a few of the words Shea collected in the course of reading the entirety of the Oxford English Dictionary in one year. Words like vicambulist (one who walks about in the street) won my heart.

I had a feeling I had found a literary kindred spirit, which is always a wonderful experience. I remember when I first read Sarah Vowell, and how delighted I was every time I discovered something we had in common: She majored in art history? She can't drive? She loves Lincoln? She knows a song about German prepositions?** There is something so marvelous about that sort of connection with an author, I think.

Reading the OED was similar in a lot of ways. Despite the fact that Shea and I are diametrically opposed on summer and television (I am staunchly pro, he is con), anyone who has such a keen love of words is someone with whom I feel a kinship. Plus, he wrote things like this:

Coffee has long since transcended its role as "the thing that wakes me up" and now has comfortably settled into the role of "the thing that brings me joy."

I was thinking the same thing recently, but with considerably less eloquence. Love coffee.

But I digress. It would be tempting to fill the remainder of this review with words that Shea included - the book is divided A-Z, with each section containing some thoughts on his experience as well as definitions of and commentaries on selected words. I am itching to use a word like all-overish (feeling an undefined sense of unwell that extends to the whole body), for example. But I'll spare you that, and instead try to get back to my NaNoWriMo work. Another brief review, I'm afraid, but I hope I've conveyed my love for this book.

Further reading:

The Professor and the Madman by Simon Winchester: About the writing of the OED. And if that description doesn't sound totally intriguing, don't dismiss the titular madman. It's been a little while since I read it, but I remember liking it a lot.

The Know-It-All by A.J. Jacobs: One man sets out to read the Encyclopaedia Brittanica. Said reading encourages Jacobs to do everything from attend a Mensa convention to audition for Who Wants To Be A Millionaire? Pretty much a must for the voraciously curious and otherwise nerdy. It's also a go-to book for me when I'm stressed.

Up next: Drood by Dan Simmons. I'm about 45 pages in and I'm totally engrossed. It weighs a ton, though. Reading the OED was scarcely over 200 pages; Drood is more than 3 times that long. It's still coming with me on the subway every day, though.



*Is reading a grammar dictionary nerdier than reading a regular dictionary? Discuss. Also, it was totally interesting, you guys! Maybe I should dig it back out.

**You can sing the dative prepositions to the tune of "The Blue Danube." Fun fact - and probably why I still know my dative prepositions five years after having taken German.

Admission by Jean Hanff Korelitz

This is how depressed people behave, she suddenly thought, taking a mental step back to scrutinize the cross-legged person in the center of her slovenly nest. But the thought of being depressed made her smile again. She had never thought of herself as a depressive person. Depressive people rent their garments and howled in grief and took to their beds...well, like this. But had she ever felt, actually, depressed? She was a contained person, that was all. Even-keeled. Perhaps a little judgmental, but who could fault her for that? She judged for a living, didn't she, and it was ingrained, and she was a responsible representative of whatever it was she represented.

-Admission

Another short review coming up, seeing as I should get to the NaNoWriMo halfway mark (25,000 words) today, but I have about 2,500 words to go to get there - I inevitably fall behind midweek and have to spend the weekend catching up. Still, I'm kind of amazed that I've gotten so far.

Anyway: Admission. The story centers on Portia Nathan, an employee in the Office of Admission at Princeton University. Portia's job requires her to travel all over New England and meet with up-and-coming potential Princetonians, then to hunker back down in New Jersey to read application after application. During this particular academic season, she also copes with the end of her sixteen-year relationship and tries to come to terms with an event from her past.

Does that sound rather boring? It's not, really, and it's well written, but I'm having trouble mustering up a lot of enthusiasm. To put it simply, I just didn't like Portia. I can't think of one thing I liked about her. She mopes her way through the story - it's understandable, considering her circumstances, but still rather tiring for the reader slogging through nearly 500 pages with her. When she gets energetic, she just gets strident.

Then there's that mystery from her past. To author Korelitz's credit, I didn't figure it out exactly. However, when the entire story was laid bare, I thought it strained credulity a bit.

I was also disappointed (if I may nitpick, and I think I may) with some sloppiness I noticed. On page 399, Portia is meeting with her colleagues to discuss candidates. It is mentioned that a minor character named Jordan is out of town due to a family emergency; a character specifically mentions something he will tell her "when she gets back tomorrow." Two paragraphs later, on page 400, the characters are still in the same meeting - yet one reads the line "Jordan shook his head and laughed." Buh? So either there are two tertiary characters named Jordan, which is not implausible, but certainly confusing, or someone made a fairly glaring error. Unfortunate, either way.

Up next: I'm enjoying the delightfully nerdy Reading the OED: One Man, One Year, 21,730 Pages by Ammon Shea. True story: Shea owns 7 different editions of the OED. I love it.

Can't Get Enough Hamlet?

Apparently I cannot tire of Hamlet. Thus, I was quite excited to see this new preview of David Tennant's production, airing in the UK on Christmas Day (those lucky Brits!) and here in the spring.

David Tennant in Hamlet (via Blogtor Who)

Thoughts:

a) I am quite unused to seeing Tennant without his trademark brainy specs and wild hair.

b) Brilliant!

I've realized already that it's going to be quite tricky to compare Law and Tennant. The nature of a television production allows the viewer to see so much detail; every flicker of emotion is going to be visible on an actor's face. This is nothing new, of course, but I hadn't fully considered it before. I was imagining the BBC production as a more bare-bones filming of the version performed on the West End, but clearly it's more ambitious than I'd anticipated. Exciting times for literature nerds, Doctor Who nerds, and Anglophiles! (I am pretty sure it goes without saying that I am all three.)

From McSweeney's: "Famous Authors Narrate the Funny Pages"

I am a total sucker for jokes that apply a well-known author's style to something wholly different from what he or she ever wrote.

Here's a recent example: "Famous Authors Narrate the Funny Pages"

I'm more familiar with the concept as it applies to the improv game "Authors," as seen on the British Whose Line Is It Anyway?, which I watched religiously as a senior in high school.* Here's an example of that (probably not safe for work), and there are plenty of clips on YouTube if you're so inclined. Tony Slattery was pretty much my favorite in any game, but I must admit that John Sessions is rather impressive in "Authors" (though he does come off as a bit of a showoff).

Still plugging away at NaNoWriMo. I've just reached the 10,000-word mark - which actually means I'm about 1600 words behind, but never mind that. Still longer than anything I've ever written before.

*The show used to come on every day at 3:00 on Comedy Central. Since I never got home form school earlier than 3:20ish, I used to set my VCR to record episodes whenever I had a blank videotape. I was pretty hardcore.

American Wife by Curtis Sittenfeld

As for those who hate me because they hate Charlie, hate me by extension, I am curious of this: At what point, in their opinion, should I have done something, and what should that something have been? Should I not have married him? Should I not have discouraged his drinking ("Jim Beam and me, have us both" - is that what I ought to have said?) When he told me he wanted to run for governor and I told him I'd prefer he didn't (though I foolishly thought at least it was better than congressman or senator, at least it would keep us in Wisconsin) - when he decided that in spite of my stated preference, he was indeed going to run, should I have left him? Should I have stayed with him but not campaigned for him? Should I have stated explicitly to the public when my views differed from his? Should I have left him when he decided, also against my wishes, to run for president? Anyone who has been married, and especially anyone married for several decades, knows the union is a series of compromises; to judge the compromises I have made is, I take it, easy to do from far away.

-American Wife

I'm going to try to keep this fairly brief, because NaNoWriMo has commenced, and I've already done a fair amount of writing today (haven't fallen behind yet, hurrah). This is perhaps unfair to Curtis Sittenfeld's American Wife, which is an excellent novel deserving of more attention than I have time to offer it.

American Wife is a fictionalization of the life of Laura Bush. I've never regarded Mrs. Bush as a kindred spirit, but reading American Wife has made me, perhaps, a bit more understanding of her situation. Her fictional stand-in, Alice Blackwell, is very much like her in many publicly verifiable ways: both studied education in college and became librarians, both were involved in tragic car accidents, both married privileged men who, against all odds, became president. It's very easy to move from those similarities to think that Alice's interior life, which Sittenfeld creates with seeming ease, is representative of Laura's. Maybe that's not true - Sittenfeld's no psychic, after all, just a writer who did a fair amount of research and is skilled at creating a sympathetic, believable narrator. I quite liked Alice, though, so I rather hope that Sittenfeld is right. It certainly makes the world more interesting when people aren't exactly what you would expect.

I'm not a political buff by any means, but I found American Wife quite absorbing. It's a fairly long read - a bit over 500 pages - but as I kept going I found that I only read faster, which is certainly one of the hallmarks of a good book. One element I particularly liked was Sittenfeld's talent for giving the reader little nuggets of information that pay off much later in the story - for example, mentioning that Alice won't see a character again until 30 years have passed. It's a great device, because, even as other parts of the plot progress, there's a certain part of the reader's brain that is left waiting for that now-anticipated reunion and wondering what its circumstances will be. Quite enjoyable for the reader, I think.

Up next: I picked up Admission by Jean Hanff Korelitz at the library earlier. I remember reading a good review awhile back; let's hope it holds true. I dig the ivy on the cover, if nothing else.

Bright Young People by D.J. Taylor

[Son] Matthew furious said if we invited people of this sort to the house we must behave decently & give them their drink (bought by Babe [Plunkett Greene]). He said he had thought of not coming down - & it was our faults for having such people & that we must have known perfectly well they would drink unceasingly. [Husband] A. & I protested, that we had known that they would have sherry before dinner - but had no conception that the drinking of Sherry - Brandy & Whisky would never cease. He appeared to think that we ought never to have consented to have [daughter] E.'s friends & that it was all our own fault. A. got very angry about E. & I tried to explain to M. that having seen nothing like it - & it was impossible to realise what these sort of people were & how they would behave - after all E. Gathorne-Hardy - wretched creature is a gentleman.

-Excerpt from the diary of Dorothea Ponsonby (mother of Bright Young Person Elizabeth Ponsonby), as printed in Bright Young People

In my first year of college, I went through an Evelyn Waugh phase. I discovered Brideshead Revisited*in the stacks and subsequently went back to that section of the library so frequently that I daresay I could lead you to it today (assuming they haven't shuffled things around). Later on, I fell in love with Wodehouse, and somewhere in between I read a magazine article (presumably in Vanity Fair, as it's right up their alley) on the Mitford sisters. From those three sources, I had learned everything I knew about London's Jazz Age.

And who would expect you to know much, really? It's not World War II (not yet) or one of those other eras where at least a handful of facts are fairly common knowledge. In America, common knowledge about the English Jazz Age is...nothing, at least as far as I know.

I'd never had any particular interest in the period, either - yet, for whatever reason, when I stumbled upon Bright Young People at the library, I was intrigued. I guess there's just something about the beautiful and the damned, if I may steal phrasing from our own Jazz Age.

It is quite a cast of beautiful people. The women are fiery and the men dandyish. Everyone drinks to excess and speaks in an over-the-top fashion that, frankly, I love. They throw wild themed parties and absolutely flummox their parents (see the excerpt above). They fritter away money and sleep through the afternoon.

They are floating along in the wake of World War I, which killed and wounded so many of their slightly older countrymen. They can only float for so long, as it turns out - both the economy and the entry of England into World War II hasten the demise of the Bright Young People. By that time, some have become successful - Waugh, perhaps most notably, along with fellow novelist Henry Green and photographer Cecil Beaton. Others - like Elizabeth Ponsonby and Brenda Dean Paul - met tragic ends. And one - Unity Mitford - became a member of Hitler's inner circle. Really.

D.J. Taylor does an excellent job making sense of an abundance of material. He's quite an erudite writer - he sent me scrambling for the dictionary to look up suzerainty and echt. He tells the stories - or at least parts thereof - of quite a number of Bright Young People, which has left me curious to know more - if not more nonfiction, then perhaps some of the novels I've overlooked, like Green's Loving or Waugh's Vile Bodies. If nothing else, I have the 2003 film Bright Young Things (based on Vile Bodies) heading to me via Netflix. No better time for it, I reckon.

I think it is worthwhile to note that, while I found this book quite interesting, I have very little interest in today's pseudo-celebrity culture. That is to say, I admit to being a bit starstruck, but I am perfectly happy knowing nothing of those people who are famous for no discernible reason. It makes me wonder if I would have found the Bright Young People quite so glamorous if I had been their contemporary. Or perhaps it just reveals that the Z-list of today need to be a bit more ambitious and interesting - why no mock weddings? That was a sure-fire headline for Elizabeth Ponsonby.

Up next: I'm reading contemporary non-genre, non-YA fiction for the first time in a while, if my memory serves - American Wife by Curtis Sittenfeld. So far, so good.


*I loved the 2008 film adaptation, by the way. Perhaps not as faithful as the the 80s miniseries, but Ben Whishaw was quite devastating as Sebastian Flyte.

NaNoWriMo

I'm nearly finished with Bright Young People, and I'm enjoying it pretty thoroughly. One section I found particularly striking was entitled "The Books Brian Never Wrote," concerning the literary non-career of Bright Young Person Brian Howard. Brian planned to write a novel. Then, a German diary. That was scrapped for a philosophical meditation, which in turn was replaced with an idea for another novel. He did manage to produce a book of poetry, which was followed by...nothing. Brian, who at first explained away his lack of productivity (his genius needed to "mature slowly," he reasoned), became concerned. As author D.J. Taylor explains:

By this time, ominously enough, the neurosis about not writing anything had reached such a pitch that it began to produce pieces of writing about not writing. "About Writing," a sketch from this period, finds a nonwriter called "Russell" explaining to a friend that he has just downed a glass of brandy "because of the terror of trying to write." Everything, Russell gravely explains, from money, the consciousness of not keeping up one's position as a clever young man and the necessity of not disappointing one's father, is driving him to write a book. [...] "A novel! Heavens. A novel is a story. I can't make up a story. I can't live other people's lives. I can't live my own." And so incriminatingly on.

I suspect many of us, like Brian, have ideas for books in our heads that we would write if only the stars would properly align. Lucky for us, next month is National Novel Writing Month (link goes to the official website), commonly known as NaNoWriMo. Here's how it works: Sign up to participate at the website. Then, write 50,000 words in the month of November (about 1,666 words a day). If you can do that, you "win."

Easier said than done is a bit of an understatement here. I am a terribly slow writer, and I've never written any fiction longer than about 7,000 words. Nevertheless, I signed up. I'm hoping that a deadline imposed by someone other than myself will encourage me to buckle down and write. Not necessarily write anything good, mind you (apparently if you try to edit, you'll never make it). I think it will be fun. Good, old-fashioned, potentially crazy-making fun.

So if you have an idea for the Great American Novel in your head - or even the Great American YA Fantasy Novel - why not sign up? Remember Brian Howard: the book is never going to write itself. Might as well give it a try.

Hamlet Follow-up II: A Critics' Roundup

I meant to do this earlier - in the interest of completeness, here are links to several more reviews of the current production of Hamlet on Broadway.

From The New Yorker: The production is "barn-burning;" Jude Law is "a sensation, if not a revelation."

From New York: The production "practically wills itself into a state of torpor;" Law's Hamlet "may be the first in danger of blowing away in a stiff wind."

From Time Out New York: The production "has plenty to thrill and hold your attention;" Law is called "Yoga Hamlet," based apparently on both his wardrobe and flexibility. (Okay, also: "he holds court at the center of his scenes with an intensity, intelligence and awestruck wonder that puts most Hamlets [the reviewer has] seen to shame.")

From Entertainment Weekly: The production is "refreshingly straightforward" and "understated;" Law "gives a strong, confident performance."

I find it really interesting to see the different perspectives. Although most of the reviews are pretty mixed, I think the Times one was the harshest.

The Lost City of Z by David Grann

In 1911, the cohort of South American explorers, along with the rest of the world, was astounded by the announcement that Hiram Bingham, Dr. Rice's old traveling companion, had, with the aid of a Peruvian guide, uncovered the Incan ruins of Machu Picchu, nearly eight thousand feet above sea level, in the Andes. Although Bingham had not discovered an unknown civilization - the Incan empire and its monumental architecture were well documented - he had helped to illumination this ancient world in remarkable fashion. National Geographic, which devoted an entire issue to Bingham's find, noted that Machu Picchu's stone temples and palaces and fountains - most likely a fifteenth-century retreat for Incan nobility - may "prove to be the most important group of ruins discovered in South America." The explorer Hugh Thomson subsequently called it "the pin-up of twentieth-century archeology." Bingham was catapulted into the stratosphere of fame; he was even elected to the U.S. Senate.

The discovery fired Fawcett's imagination. It undoubtedly stung, too. But Fawcett believed that the evidence he had gathered suggested something potentially more momentous: remnants of a yet unknown civilization in the heart of the Amazon, where for centuries the conquistadores had searched for an ancient kingdom - a place they called El Dorado.

-The Lost City of Z

Percy Fawcett disappeared in 1925. Accompanied by his son, Jack, and Jack's childhood friend, Raleigh Rimmel, he had ventured into the Amazon to look for the ruins of an ancient city - a place he called Z. Fawcett was a veteran Amazon explorer, well known for his seeming invulnerability to the many dangers of the area. His final journey and disappearance were covered extensively by newspapers all over the world, and subsequently innumerable, often ill-fated expeditions were launched to find him.

And yet, until The Lost City of Z was published earlier this year, Fawcett's story had faded into to history. I always find it fascinating how something that at one point would have been common knowledge can gradually become a bit of trivia. More fascinating still, of course, is the idea of living in an age where there were blank spots on the map. There are still uncontacted tribes in the Amazon, but those pockets that are isolated from the outside world have certainly grown fewer in number since Fawcett's time. Fawcett lived in an age when more was unknown, and thus the possibilities were limited only by one's imagination. It's worth noting that Arthur Conan Doyle's The Lost World, in which an adventurer discovers dinosaurs living in a remote part of South America, was said to be based partially on Fawcett's expeditions.

In 2009, I think we've left very few stones unturned (not a lot of places left to hide living dinosaurs, in other words). The world, more accessible than ever, grows smaller. For instance, author David Grann, following in Fawcett's footsteps in an attempt to ascertain his fate and/or to discover if Z actually existed, spends time with a tribe who, although they maintain many of their traditions, also have a television powered by a generator. Things have changed a lot since 1925.

Grann intersperses the story of his own journey with the story of Fawcett's life: his early travels, his experience in World War I, his family life, and that last expedition. Both narratives are compelling. Fawcett lived a remarkable life; each of his journeys is harrowing as well as utterly absorbing. (Fair note to those with weak stomachs: there are a great number of maggots & other creepy crawlies involved.) Grann's story also grabs one's attention, because he is the man who may solve the mystery, and because one quickly realizes that, despite the modernization of some areas, the Amazon is still a very dangerous place.

In the end, no matter what Grann found (which, of course, I'll leave to you to discover), Fawcett's story is a sad one. Sure, no one put him or his party in danger against their will, but they went into the Amazon with good intentions and sufficient preparation - if anyone could have succeeded at the time, it was them. Jack and Raleigh were quite young - in their early 20s - when they disappeared. Jack wanted to be a movie star (and in the photo Grann provides, he looks a bit like Cary Elwes in The Princess Bride, though it could just be the little mustache). One can't help but think about the hole their disappearance left in the lives of those they left behind - Nina Fawcett, for one, never gave up hope that her husband and son were alive, and consulted with mediums to bolster her spirits. (Fawcett himself also believed in otherworldly phenomena, and some today believe that Z was more of a metaphysical state of being. Cults have been started based on this idea. Seriously.)

Even though the story is tragic, I nonetheless enjoyed The Lost City of Z wholeheartedly. I looked forward to cracking it open every day during my morning and afternoon subway commute. There's just something about great non-fiction* - to read something so extraordinary and know that it really happened. I find that it is a great reminder of the complexity of people, and the breadth of our world.

Up next: I've abandoned Brief Interviews with Hideous Men. Sorry, DFW fans - The Lost City of Z was a reminder that I don't want reading to be a herculean task for me. So, while browsing at the library, I found Bright Young People by D.J. Taylor, a non-fiction account of London's Jazz Age. It's an era I know little to nothing about, so I imagine I'll learn something!

*Some of my favorite non-fiction mysteries/crime stories: These books are very well-known, and deservedly so. If you haven't read one, I would get to a library or bookstore posthaste.

In Cold Blood by Truman Capote: The granddaddy of them all. A terrible tragedy, beautifully told.

Midnight in the Garden of Good and Evil by John Berendt: I remember this book being quite the craze when I was a child, but at the time I was too young to read it. I finally got to it in the last couple of years, and I can say its popularity is well deserved.

The Devil in the White City by Erik Larson: The terrifying story of one of America's most prolific serial killers, set against the magical atmosphere of the 1893 World's Fair.

I'm always looking for more books like these, incidentally. If anyone knows of a good one, let me know.

In Medias Res: The Lost City of Z

Explorer John Hanning Speke

I don't normally post about books until I've finished them, but I decided to make an exception for The Lost City of Z by David Grann. I'm enjoying it so much, and so many passages are standing out to me, that I know I won't be able to get to all of them when I write it up. So, I decided to share one now.

Perhaps the most vicious feud was over the source of the Nile. After [John Hanning] Speke claimed in 1858 that he had discovered the river's origin, at a lake he christened Victoria, many of the [Royal Geographic] Society's members, led by his former traveling companion [Richard] Burton, refused to believe him. Speke said of Burton, "B is one of those men who can never be wrong, and will never acknowledge an error." In September of 1864, the two men, who had once nursed each other back from death on an expedition, were supposed to square off in a public meeting. The London Times called it a "gladiatorial exhibition." But, as the meeting was about to begin, the gatherers were informed that Speke would not be coming: he had gone hunting the previous day, and was found dead of a self-inflicted gunshot wound. "By God, he's killed himself!" Burton reportedly exclaimed, staggering on the stage; later, Burton was seen in tears, reciting his onetime companion's name over and over. Although it was never known for certain if the shooting was intentional, many suspected, like Burton, that the protracted feud had caused the man who had conquered the desert to take his own life. A decade later, Speke's claim to having discovered the Nile's source would be proved correct.


I was going to ask if anyone else wanted a Burton & Speke movie, but it turns out there already is one. And a novel! Brilliant. That story just blows my mind.

PS - This book is totally making me want to become an explorer. Just an FYI.

Roger Ebert: "Books do furnish a life"

Roger Ebert is one of my favorite film critics. I remember being 10 or 11, coming home from my early Saturday morning horseback riding lesson and flipping on Siskel and Ebert. A few years later, I got an a 1987 edition of his movie yearbook from Goodwill. I used to skim through the reviews, mostly of movies I'd never seen or sometimes even heard of, particularly looking for the no-star reviews. Ebert really excels in his skewering of the worst: his review of North is a great example. I often disagree with him, but I love the way he writes.

Ebert is also a lover of books. His recent blog post on his book collection is great. He has 3000 or 4000 books, he estimates. Amazing. Suddenly, even with the boxes of books I have at my parents' house, I feel like a minimalist.

Club Dead by Charlaine Harris

"You never told me all this before," I said, by way of explanation. "You all have divided America into kingdoms, is that right?"

Pam and Chow looked at Eric with some surprise, but he didn't regard them. "Yes," he said simply. "It has been so since vampires came to America. Of course, over the years the system's changed with the population. There were far fewer vampires in America for the first two hundred years, because the trip was so perilous. It was hard to work out the length of the voyage with the available blood supply." Which would have been the crew, of course. "And the Louisiana Purchase made a great difference."

Well, of course it would. I stifled another bout of giggles.

-Club Dead

Let's see, where did we leave off in the adventures of Sookie Stackhouse? She'd just survived a massacre in Dallas, and she was not psyched about Bill revealing his more animalistic, bloodthirsty side there. Also, some craziness went down with a maenad. Club Dead picks up only a few weeks later.* Bill is acting secretive and spending a lot of time on the computer (...), and Sookie is feeling a little put out. Then Bill leaves on a mysterious assignment...and disappears.

Bill is gone for pretty much the whole book, which worked out better than I might have expected when I started the series. I've grown a bit disenchanted with Bill.** Instead, we get the always awesome Eric, who comes to Bon Temps to lay out the situation with Sookie once he realizes Bill's disappearance is serious. This results in Sookie heading up to Jackson, Mississippi, where she plans to use her telepathic abilities to pick up leads on Bill's whereabouts. Sookie, accompanied by capable werewolf Alcide Herveaux*** heads to Club Dead, a local vampire/shapeshifter/werewolf haunt. Naturally, events unfold in a way that leave Sookie triumphant but in pretty rough shape. Again. Poor thing.

I found Club Dead a lot more enjoyable than Living Dead in Dallas. The plot was more engaging, even if Bill's computer project ended up being a bit of a McGuffin. I liked the new characters - particularly Alcide, but I was also intrigued by Russell Edgington, the king of Mississippi. I liked the ambiguity of the ending, which leaves me ready to read the next book.

Up next: I've made it a bit farther in Brief Interviews with Hideous Men, but I have to confess I'm finding it a bit of a slog. When I read a sentence like, "Kundera here would say 'dancing,' and actually he's a perfect example of a belletrist whose intermural honesty is both formally unimpeachable and wholly self-serving: a classic postmodern rhetorician," I feel like I'm being poked in the brain. Repeatedly. I'm not calling it quits (yet), but it's slow going.

So, to spell myself from DFW, I got The Lost City of Z by David Grann from the library. In case you've missed the press on this one, it's about a journalist's quest to uncover the fate of a long-lost team of Amazonian explorers and learn about the ancient city they set out to find. Only a few pages in and I'm already finding it pretty riveting.

*I actually wish Charlaine Harris would space out the books in time a bit more, as when you realize that prior events have happened so recently, you feel as though you should still be hearing more about their ramifications. This was better handled here than in Living Dead in Dallas, though.

**Particularly given some of the stuff he gets up to in Club Dead. Bill is getting pretty sketchy, you guys.

***Although it is never stated, you have to imagine that Sookie is loving that moniker, considering she laughed herself silly over the ordinariness of Bill's name.

Hamlet Follow-up

A disappointing review from the New York Times today. I totally agree that Jude Law's Hamlet was energetic, but I guess I did not see it as such a negative. To me, he seemed like someone who had lost interest in controlling his impulses. Someone filled with anger and disgust and accordingly starting to spin out of control. Although I have no doubt that the reviewer is much more knowledgeable about theater than I am, I confess I don't understand his feeling that "It is hard to understand the distress of Hamlet’s friends and family when he feigns madness, since the prince, in this case, appears to be as he always was: sarcastic, contemptuous, quick-witted and mad only in the sense of being really, really angry." Really? I didn't get that at all. While watching the play, I distinctly remember thinking that he must have been so different prior to his father's death/mother's remarriage. He seemed pretty far gone to me*. Again, though, at this point Jude Law is my definitive Hamlet, so perhaps I will gain more insight after seeing another actor's interpretation.

Also, what is up with the snide comments about the "Pradaesque" wardrobe? I liked the simplicity of the costumes and, as I mentioned in my previous post, the cool tones. Alas.

On a more positive note, here's a story from NPR with lots of video clips. Not a review proper, but right now I'm a bit Hamlet-obsessed, and I like to have something to balance the rain on my parade that is the Times review. Still curious to see what The New Yorker says.

*And isn't the idea that the madness is feigned, as the review suggests, pretty ambiguous? I thought one could lean either way: this page from the RSC gives some input on how various actors have interpreted it (note the distinction between the decision of this particular company - feigned madness - and the critiques of different Hamlets). My impression is that just because Hamlet has lucid moments and at times is playing up the madness, it doesn't mean he has it together. However, it's safe to say that I'm probably a bit out of my depth.

Adaptation: Jude Law in Hamlet

O, what a rogue and peasant slave am I!
Is it not monstrous that this player here,
But in a fiction, in a dream of passion,
Could force his soul so to his own conceit
That from her working all his visage wanned,
Tears in his eyes, distraction in his aspect,
A broken voice, and his whole function suiting
With forms to his conceit? And all for nothing,
For Hecuba!
What's Hecuba to him, or he to her,
That he should weep for her? What would he do
Had he the motive and the cue for passion
That I have?

-Hamlet, Act II scene 2

I am a lucky girl indeed. On Saturday I was fortunate enough to score a ticket to the latest Broadway production of Hamlet, starring Jude Law. Before I get down to the particulars of my impressions, a little background.

On Hamlet: I read Hamlet my junior year of high school, for fun (I think we've established that that's how I roll). I remember it quite specifically because I tried to base an essay on it before having finished reading. Needless to say, my interpretation was slightly...off. The only film adaptation I'm sure I've seen in its entirety is the Ethan Hawke one, though I've seen substantial parts of both the Kenneth Branagh and Mel Gibson versions. I also thoroughly enjoyed the Canadian tv show Slings & Arrows*, the first season of which revolves around a production of Hamlet. I'd never seen Hamlet, or indeed any other Shakespearean play, on stage prior to Saturday. It is my favorite of his plays.

On Jude Law: I discovered Jude Law about the same time I discovered Hamlet, to the best of my recollection. It may not surprise you that the same girl who was reading Hamlet for fun would also come away from Blockbuster having rented Wilde, a biopic of author and legendary wit Oscar Wilde. Jude Law costarred as Wilde's petulant young lover, Bosie. He made enough of an impression that I remembered him when renting Gattaca, in which he most ably broke my heart. By the time The Talented Mr. Ripley was released, my admiration of him was well known among my friends. My affections cooled as his tabloid image overtook his work, although I continued to see many of his films. Yes, I saw Sky Captain and the World of Tomorrow. In the theater. What of it?

To make a long story short, I am far from being unbiased.

I loved it.

Where to begin? At the beginning, perhaps, when, prior to the start proper of the play, Hamlet emerges for a moment, broods, and retreats back into the wings. I was already drawn in by the time the soldiers emerged and hunkered down to wait for the ghost. How can you resist a play with a ghost? I mean, really.

Ghost aside, it's really amazing how alive this play feels. It was written over 400 years ago, and has been adapted innumerable times. How many Hamlets have there been? I think in watching it, I was keenly aware of how many choices had been made, from direction to acting to scenery, costume, and lighting. Shakespeare gives one a lot of leeway, in terms of stage directions.

The lighting, to pick one of many options. Amazing. I mean, I'm going to be honest, lighting isn't usually the first thing I notice. I couldn't help but observe, though, the way the light streamed across the stage sometimes, like sunlight. Or how a cooler light made Hamlet look quite pale as he drew his last breaths in the final act. I also loved the wintry gray and blue palette of the wardrobe. And the set - wow. Majestic. The space was used in very inventive ways - particularly the one large door upstage, which could be opened to reveal greater depth - allowing, among other things, the beautiful, snowy (yes, snowy) "To be or not to be" soliloquy (You can see the snow in the photo above, in which Hamlet is trying to educate Ophelia on nunneries, and especially on the virtues of getting to them). I also thought the reversal of expectations during the closet scene (putting the eavesdropping Polonius downstage, thus having the audience share his view of Gertrude and Hamlet behind a gauzy curtain) was inspired.

Onto the actors! Aside from Jude (yes, we're on a first name basis), the cast is largely unknown to an American audience. However, cross-referencing my Playbill and IMDb, I discovered that I'd seen quite a few of them before on British tv: the cast features of alums of Doctor Who, Life on Mars, Ashes to Ashes, and even Lost in Austen (Gugu Mbatha-Raw, who plays Ophelia, was Amanda Price's roommate). I thought the cast was solid overall, with Ron Cook (Polonius) as a particular standout. Reading a few British reviews, I noticed there was some criticism that Claudius (Kevin R. McNally) was not menacing enough - and indeed I didn't find him particularly menacing, but I thought his choices were valid. I think I would need to see another adaptation to make a better assessment.

Last, but not least, the melancholy Dane himself. What a task an actor tackling Hamlet faces. I can't even imagine memorizing the lines, much less imbuing them with emotion - especially given the rigorous demands of this play. Jude Law does an amazing job. He's really quite dazzling. He provoked the audience to laughter many times - scuttling like a crab, to name one memorable example. I wouldn't have thought that I would laugh so many times during one of the great tragedies.

Then there are those other moments, when he is overcome with grief and flirting with self-slaughter, as he calls it in the first act. I chose the quotation from Act II, in which Hamlet is reflecting on the speech of one of the players, quite purposefully - Jude does that "broken voice" beautifully. His voice is often thick with emotion, perhaps at no point more notably than when the ghost appears in the closet scene (shortly after he has killed Polonius). There is a moment in which his mother, who cannot see the ghost, stands shoulder-to-shoulder with him. This vision of his parents reunited, one living and one dead, completely overwhelms Hamlet. It's really quite stunning.

An additional note: I swear that, during the "To be or not to be" speech, I couldn't hear the second "to be." I have to assume I misheard, although I thought I was listening quite keenly. None of the (British) reviews have mentioned a revision, and surely someone would make note of a revision like that (American reviews will be out later this week, I assume, as the play officially opens on the 6th). It made an impression, though, however erroneously formed on my part. There is a fantastic video that shows quite a few snippets of the play as well as interviews with Jude and director Michael Grandage. His phrasing in the "To be or not to be" there is totally different from how I recall it. (I heard "To be...or...not.") Bizarre, I know.

I'm not going to lie, I'd love to go again, and to hear that speech another time is just a small part of it. The applause when the curtain fell was thunderous and the ovation was immediate, so clearly I was not alone in my appreciation. On my way out, I heard a couple of women complain about the blocking - not in my wheelhouse at all, but if that's something you're aware of, I suppose there could be objections of some sort? It didn't mar my experience, to be sure. I am terribly curious to read the New York reviews. Amazingly, this is perhaps the most timely post I have ever written; to actually review something at the same time it is being professionally reviewed. I assume the professionals will have a slightly more balanced ratio of erudite criticism to gushing about Jude Law. I hope there's a little gushing, though. If the man hasn't earned a Tony nomination, then clearly I lack all capacity to evaluate theater. Which may be. Ha.

One last thought: David Tennant (of Doctor Who fame) also played Hamlet quite recently, in a production that featured Patrick Stewart as Claudius. Thankfully someone at the BBC had the presence of mind to film it, and it will be aired on PBS this coming spring. I think David Tennant is just as talented as Jude, but they are very different actors, and I'm keen to see his interpretation.

*I would be terribly remiss if my post did not contain a link to the first season's theme song, "Cheer Up, Hamlet."

Land of Lincoln by Andrew Ferguson

For a century or more, generations of Americans were taught to be like Lincoln - forbearing, kind, principled, resolute - but what we've really wanted is for Lincoln to be like us, and this has never been truer than the present day. Lincoln hasn't been forgotten, but he's shrunk. From the enormous figure of the past he's been reduced to a hobbyist's eccentricity, a charming obsession shared by a self-selected subculture, like quilting or Irish step dancing. He has been detached from the national patrimony, if we can be said to have a national patrimony any longer. He is no longer our common possession. That earlier Lincoln, that large Lincoln, seems to be slipping away, a misty figure, incapable of rousing a reaction from anyone but buffs.

Or that's what I had assumed, anyway. Then one wintry morning a while back I fetched the local paper from the front stoop and saw a headline: "Lincoln Statue Stirs Outrage in Richmond."

-Land of Lincoln

On an April evening 144 years ago, Abraham Lincoln was shot by John Wilkes Booth at Ford's Theatre. He had been enjoying a comedy called Our American Cousin. Booth, an accomplished actor who knew the play well, purposely timed his shot to a laugh line. The wound was not immediately fatal. As Booth jumped down to the stage (allegedly shouting Sic semper tyrannis - Thus always to tyrants) and made his escape, people gathered to tend to their fallen leader. He was eventually moved to the boardinghouse across the street, where the bed in which he lay was far too small for him, as most beds of that time would have been. The doctors in attendance knew there was no hope, but nevertheless continued to try to relieve his pain (particularly the swelling). Lincoln died the next morning.

It was a climatic moment in history, seemingly more appropriate to Shakespearean drama than American politics (no accident, given Booth's career). And yet, along with the Civil War itself, it happened quite a long time ago. People generally seem to remember Lincoln fondly, which is undoubtedly tied to his martyrdom in death. Many people don't think of Lincoln at all, I would imagine. So it may come as a surprise that he has the ability to rile some up.

Andrew Ferguson discovered as much when he picked up the newspaper mentioned above, and later traveled to Richmond to talk to the people protesting the placement of a Lincoln statue in their city. People had placards ("Jefferson Davis Was Our President"). They sang "Dixie" - a song that Lincoln enjoyed very much, actually. No mention as to whether or not they knew that. Lincoln may have died well over 100 years ago, but the memory of his actions as president was still fresh to these protestors.

I could spend an entire review just on that first chapter of the book. Like Ferguson himself, I'm a bit of a Lincoln buff. I'm far from an expert, but he's someone I generally enjoy reading about*. I wrote the paragraph on Lincoln's death from memory (though I did have to double-check that it was Ford's Theatre and not Ford's Theater). In college, I took an entire class on the Civil War and it was hands-down my favorite class. A book on Lincoln in modern life is right up my alley, but I daresay it's an entertaining read for anyone who enjoys learning about different parts of American society.

Ferguson discovers that Lincoln means many things to many people. Even the buffs express their love differently - the collectors, the scholars, the impersonators (they call themselves presenters). He travels through the Midwest, visiting many sites that were meaningful in Lincoln's early life, and tries to understand Lincoln in how he is interpreted at each place. He tries to rediscover the Lincoln he loved as a boy, and who is more unknowable than ever.

Although I admire Lincoln greatly, I do feel in some way for the skeptics, who are chagrined at what they perceive as hero-worship of a man who was undoubtedly controversial while in office. I feel like it's common knowledge at this point that it's incredibly oversimplified to say that anyone was fighting for or against slavery exclusively during the Civil War. Perhaps I'm wrong, and everyone thinks that The Great Emancipator had just been looking for an opportunity to free the slaves. That every Union man was an abolitionist and every Confederate was a slave owner. I hope that we as a country know that things were not nearly so clear cut. Books like Ferguson's remind me of that famous quotation by William Faulkner: "The past is not dead. In fact, it's not even past."

Up next: I've started Brief Interviews with Hideous Men by David Foster Wallace, but as it's bit dense, I wouldn't be surprised if I took a break to read the 3rd Sookie Stackhouse book.

*Further reading:

Confederates in the Attic by Tony Horwitz. Similar to Ferguson's book, but broader in scope. Horwitz examines the way the Civil War is still being fought today, from Confederate flag controversies to reenactments. I loved this book when I read it a few years ago.

Manhunt by James Swanson. The definitive book that charts the immediate aftermath of the Lincoln assassination. I felt like it really pulled me into the period - like an old-time episode of 24.

The March by E.L. Doctorow. A beautifully imagined fictionalization of Sherman's march through Georgia.

March by Geraldine Brooks. Not to be confused with Doctorow's book, March tells the story of the patriarch from Louisa May Alcott's Little Women and what he endures before coming home to his family. It won the 2006 Pulitzer Prize.

Adaptation: Lost in Austen

Jane Austen's Pride and Prejudice was published in 1813 and, almost 200 years later, readers are still invested in the story of Elizabeth Bennet and Fitzwilliam Darcy. Earlier this summer, I read Pride and Prejudice and Zombies, a bloody but amusing spin on the classic story. Now the Brits bring us the miniseries Lost in Austen, in which a modern woman walks through a portal straight into Elizabeth Bennet's home of Longbourne.

The woman is Londoner Amanda Price (Jemima Rooper), who loves nothing more than curl up at the end of the day with her copy of Pride and Prejudice. She has a boyfriend...but he's no Darcy. Then, one day, she finds Elizabeth Bennet (Gemma Arterton) in her bathroom. As you do.

Elizabeth, intrepid gal that she is, has discovered the portal between her home and Amanda's (the story doesn't try to explain how this could be, so don't worry too much about it). Lizzie is curious to explore the modern world, so she manages to trick Amanda into switching places. Despite Amanda's love for Pride and Prejudice, she quickly realizes that Lizzie needs to return in order to meet Mr. Darcy. In the meantime, Amanda tries to muddle through the best she can, but the story as we know it derails quite early.

I am quite the fan of Pride and Prejudice, and even I was rolling my eyes a bit at the beginning of the miniseries. I was wondering if the show was going to be able to rise above the level of mediocre fan fiction. Then, something interesting started to happen. I realized that Amanda's presence in the story wasn't going to result in a simple substitution of her for Elizabeth. Instead, despite her best efforts, she manages to upset all of the novel's storylines, most notably the courtship of Bingley and Jane Bennet. The characters start doing things they are not supposed to do, to Amanda's increasing frustration.

It was almost as though the characters suddenly had free will. Now, bear with me here, because obviously I realize that they're just being imagined by another author. But because they began to make choices that I, who knows the story backwards and forwards, could not anticipate, it was as though they became more realistic. For example: for the first time in recent memory, I was angry with Darcy when he firmly guided Bingley away from his pursuit of Jane. Why? Because it seemed like he had a choice this time, and yet he still held fast to the same pigheaded idea. (By the way, fans who think that Bingley never held Darcy accountable for his prejudiced advice should watch the miniseries just for the opportunity to see that redressed.)

In case I haven't made it clear, I imagine that Lost in Austen will really only be enjoyable to confirmed Pride and Prejudice fans, and even they might find it a bit silly. However, it does let you see some of the characters in a new light, particularly Bingley and Wickham. Plus there's this:

I'm reminded of the old trope that a picture is worth a thousand words, and perhaps I only needed to post this image of Elliot Cowan* as Mr. Darcy. Incidentally, gentle reader, this serves a reminder that, if you should ever find yourself in the company of both Mr. Darcy and a pond, it is perfectly fine to suggest that it seems like a jolly good time for him to take a swim.

Darcy has become a bit of an iconic role, hasn't it? Interestingly, there are plans to make Lost in Austen into an American feature-length film, which would entail casting yet another Darcy. Quite a career boost for some lucky young actor. (Cowan is currently playing Stanley Kowalski opposite Rachel Weisz in a West End production of A Streetcar Named Desire. Talk about iconic.)

*I have to note that, although it may not be readily apparent in the pictures I've posted, Cowan bears an often uncanny resemblance to Heath Ledger. I actually found it distracting while watching.