Category Archives: Books

Book Review – Politically Correct Bedtime Stories (By: James Finn Garner)

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I’m slightly surprised that Politically Correct Bedtime Stories was published in 1994, but I guess the politically correct joke bit has been going around for quite some time. The book is a humorous re-imagining of 13 “fairy-tales” by James Garner, of whose other work I have no familiarity with, but he seems to be riding this one pretty well and perhaps for good reason. The joke, of course, being that he has rewritten these classic tales for a more “enlightened” modern audience with higher standards of… something. But is it successful?

The book is fairly short; 80 pages for 13 stories, including several blank pages. The average story is about 5 pages and Snow White takes up most of the rest. Going over the stories wouldn’t be very helpful because you and I probably already know them. And even ones like Rumplestiltskin and The Pied Piper that I’ve never actually read or watched have been absorbed through a kind of cultural osmosis. The cultural awareness of these stories also helps with the brevity of their retelling, which is a strength of the book. Garner has it down which parts of the stories to overrun with political correctness for maximum effect, but had he continued at the length of the original stories it would quickly have grown stale (Snow White was almost too long for me). And, of course, the humor comes from seeing these culturally-engrained stories changed by modern cultural preferences dialed up to the extreme. In some cases the moral is lost and in some it is retained; in some cases the plot is as predictable as the story we know, and in others it jumps off the tracks and heads spiraling down a cliff of ridiculousness, but in all cases they are recognizable.

The vast array of areas from which we get our folklore means that the only common thread between these stories is Garner’s extremely “politically correct” veneer and as such the book isn’t really a cohesive experience. Again its brevity helps here, making it easy to pick up and put down, reading a story at a time; or to make the massive changes in pace fly by. It knows what it wants to be, and that is an overblown parody of political correctness juxtaposed with stories never meant to fit that mold. And it is quite funny, not outrageously my-favorite-humor-book-ever funny, but more than funny enough to justify its reading time (and probably its price too). Exaggerated political correctness is just funny when applied well and not overdone. So is the idea that when using language that supposedly offends no one to tell a story, so many people will become “offended”. Most fairy tales are based on common sense (if perhaps containing outdated moral practices simplified for ease of retelling) and as one reads on they get the feeling that their common sense is being assaulted. And that, as so often it is, is funny. Still, I was consistently (and pleasantly) surprised by the directions the stories took (the 3 little pigs setting up a “porkinista” government after violently retaking their homeland is my favorite). It seems so easy to simply replace the language with “politically correct” alternatives, but continuous story variations keep one guessing and the book interesting.

I liked the book, and if you read the title and thought “that sounds funny”, you probably would, too. It’s well-written satire that is just offensive enough to both parties to be a bestseller while not alienating its audience. If the sequels are about as good I might have to pick them up as well, but until then, this one was a short, fun read that should appeal to anyone looking for its type of humor.

Book Review – Every Writer Has a Thousand Faces (By: David Biespiel)

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Every Writer Has a Thousand Faces is another one of those short essay-style books based on a lecture given by the author, David Biespiel, (a name I shall never spell right the first time) in 2009. The book, published in 2010, outlines and reiterates for various forms Biespiel’s personal process of creating things that require creativity (in his case poetry). In short it is “fail” again and again (ostensibly to learn) and put off doing a “first draft” until you fail into one where you can revise. And he does a much better job (albeit in many more words) explaining that in his book than I just did. But is his method clear and really “different” or just a case of semantics and psychology?

The structure of the book is a rising set of anecdotes of Biespiel’s early(er) writing career that lead to the creation of his current writing “system” and a set of falling anecdotes about other creative people Biespiel has met who share similar creative “procedures”, sandwiched with an introduction/thesis, solidification of the theory, and a conclusion. All of this done in a rather brief amount of text but with ample explanation of the various parts of this “theory” of creating that is one of those things that is simple to understand but difficult to put into words.

Before getting quite into the explanation of the “theory” for creating presented in the book, I must reveal my bias. I’m not a poetry person. I don’t like it; I don’t get it. Biespiel is a poet, and while he does take time to showcase (with other creative persons) his system’s ability to be adapted to other creative mediums, he never quite captures it. Just like I never quite “get” the poems presented during examples of his method. I have tired many times in various ways to “get” poetry and I am just unable to. But I will try my best to examine the system in the book in the way it was intended to be used: for all creative endeavors, and not let my bias against the main examples given affect my overall reading too much, as Biespiel does when he demonstrates the similarities of his system and those used by a sculptor, a sketcher, and a novelist.

Biespiel’s method, created after years of using the more “standard” “draft-and-revise” method, is one of continuous “failure” where a creator has goals less along the lines of “create something that is good or that can at least can be fixed to be good” and more like “continue creating and exploring until something is arrived at that satisfies you (and then maybe can be fixed into something publishable)”. How this actually differs from our more standard terms of “practice” and “imagination” is more psychological than actual. Biespiel’s real goal seems more to be semantically twisting the definition of failure in such a way that it can be justified to the brain. Failure is no longer something to dread or fix-away as you move from a first draft, but a tool of learning and examining that allows one to grow in their endeavor (again: practice). I don’t know if it’s because Biespiel is mainly a writer, a form of creativity often linked to revision instead of simply throwing the “practice” out, or just that the linking of terms never occurred to him before (as I suppose it doesn’t in most people), but I can’t help but think when reading “isn’t that just what everyone does?” I mean, it’s ridiculous to expect and an artist with ink to create something store-worthy every time they lay it down. So they practice, and create tens to hundreds (maybe even thousands) of drawings that will never see the light of day in order to get good enough to create something “releasable” (or sell-able). In Biespiel’s language “they fail many times to learn more about themselves and their medium”.

As I read I couldn’t quite put my finger on why I wasn’t on board with the book. My recurring thought was essentially “doesn’t everyone already do this? At least, those serious about their creative endeavor?” I draw and write every day, and most of it doesn’t see the light of the outside world, but I need the “exercise”. It’s almost like the book is “art-ifying” the creation of art. That is, creating a layer of “complication” on top that must be “understood” in order to “get” it. You need to trick your brain in order to understand it. In reality Biespiel isn’t nearly so pretentious (in this book; I haven’t read his other work) but always seems to be teetering on the cusp, waiting to take the plunge into the vocabulary and processes that expel the outsider. I grasped what he was trying to say but it never felt solid, it almost seemed like he was making it too simple for me (someone one the outside).

That’s a bit of a trait with many books outlining a process or some from of “self-help” (as well as not getting to a real “point”) and I tried not to harp on it too much (fat lot of good that did me). But once I made the connection in my head it became impossible to ignore and consumed my thoughts about the book. The system presented is different than simply practice, but not enough that I feel it warrants the vocabulary change.

Still, with that taken into account, does the book succeed in doing what it set out to do? provide a system for the creation of works of “art” that can be applied to many different mediums and has been successful for the author (and hopefully you)? Yes, quite well, and it gets better toward the end. It is an understandable and viable method of creating that has been implemented by its creator and can be implemented fairly easily by others. The explanation of using the system and variations on it are enlightening and probably do more to actually explain what the author means better than his straight explanations. From Biespiel’s “word-pallets” to Jun Kaneko’s dangos, or Phil Sylvester’s many sketches (from which the book derives its name) you get a good sense of what is going on and how the different ideas presented can be applied differently to different media. It’s all conveyed rather smartly with some repetition to drill it into your head (which I don’t care for but I admit is necessary in many process books).

So would I recommend it? Yes, to creative people. But it isn’t essential reading. I’m personally a bit ho-hum about it. I’m glad I read it for its interesting perspective and it was quite brief. But I don’t think it adds enough to or solidifies the argument well enough to be of too much note. It isn’t a book for everyone, in fact it’s quite targeted and even to that target audience I won’t go around handing out copies. If you’re already interested in it or are a fan of the author’s other works I’d say go for it, otherwise I’d only get it second-hand.

Book Review – Squirrel Seeks Chipmunk: A Modest Bestiary (By: David Sedaris)

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Squirrel Seeks Chipmunk is a collection of “comedy” “short stories” by David Sedaris, a writer most known for his humorous essays on various “life” topics. Sedaris was recommended to me by a couple of gentlemen on the street who were purchasing some of my books (I mention this because it’s a sentence I really wanted to say) and as it turned out I already had one of his books, though it is a departure from his usual style (from what I understand, at least). So it might not be the most representative of his works, but is it a good one?

The book consists of 16 stories (Fables? Tales? Skits? Scenes? I’m having trouble coming up with the right word…) that are quite short, most being under seven pages with illustrations and the longest being only 20 pages. Every story has at least one illustration, usually at the beginning or end, though some have more (I assume where more story progression potential was presented by the images). These illustrations, by Ian Falconer, are very skillfully done, and in a very interesting style. I would say I am an overall fan of the aesthetic, but there are certainly points in this book where I think the artwork goes too far (though that is, of course, partly the fault of the story). It is very strange to see artwork that appeals to me present such repulsive images. But I do think that the “kids-book” style juxtaposed with the at-times grotesque content works well as part of the overall atmosphere the creators were going for, and Falconer, being mainly a children’s book author/illustrator (mostly the Olivia books, which I haven’t read but have knowledge of), is well suited to create that look (though I do have a fear of this book being mixed in with children’s books accidentally in second-hand shops and the like).

The stories (fables, whatever) themselves feature animals (simply named “rabbit” or “squirrel”) that are anthropomorphized, though less than in most fables, modern or traditional. The animals have the ability to understand all of the other animals (and humans, it seems) in plain English, but they can’t communicate with humans or perform many actions based on the flow of the story. When it is convenient for a rabbit to be able to heft a big stick, or a parrot wear a costume, they can, but cows and bears still prefer to walk on 4 legs, and most animals can’t escape farms, laboratories, and zoos. I have trouble nailing down what exactly these stories are (as should be obvious), Sedaris’ writing is dry, short, and distinctly modern, and most of the stories’ “morals” are not driven home or they are dunked in woe. Still, they most resemble fables with their talking animals and “morals”. While this isn’t a problem (and perhaps the world needs more works that don’t fit any one genre) it does lead to a problem I have, not necessarily with the book, but with the description of the book. From the back cover, to the genre it’s categorized under, to most of the reviews, this book is called “comedy” or “humor”, a point with which I will have to disagree. Separated from whether or not I liked the writing, all but the first few stories certainly aren’t “funny” (well, they might be in the odd sense) and while they have the “logical-illogical twist” that creates most (perhaps all) humor, this twist is not humorous, but macabre. I’m not one to say that “black humor” doesn’t have a place, or isn’t funny, or even good, but here I just don’t get the “joke” because as far as I can tell there isn’t one. I certainly wasn’t laughing, or even chuckling to myself, while reading.

That isn’t intended to say I disliked the book. While I’m not usually a fan of things in this “area”, I wasn’t having a bad time when reading this book. It was a very interesting modern (and cynical?) look at the fable formula. The morals are blunt and real, with the subjects being harsh and at times violent. Really it’s not unlike the fables of old before they were watered down in their modern retellings. And that makes for a fascinating idea and read. It’s a refreshing look at the idea and a good implementation of the elements of the fable. Most of the stories convey heavy and complex messages in very simple, down-to-earth language that sounds very real; the vernacular (or language of the common fable⸮ {irony mark}) if you will. And while the writing is simple and dry it isn’t boring. It compels the reader to continue while still providing ample logical stopping points at the end of each brief story.

It didn’t take me long to finish the book, which for something this “odd?” is a good thing. Sedaris knows when to stop, and how to correctly pace a story or book. Whether or not that quick read demands the cover price is up to the reader and whether they want a well-crafted piece of entertainment or a bang-for-their-buck piece of longer entertainment. Though if one does go in blind and ends up not liking the book at least it is relatively brief. It packs less of a punch time-wise than most books of its size but more than some graphic novels of its size, and Sedaris and Falconer are both masters of their craft in full control of exactly where they want it to go.

I have a hard time summing this one up. I’m glad I read it, I had a fairly good time reading it, and I would say it’s a good, but not great book. But I wouldn’t recommend it to anyone without extensive knowledge of what they have enjoyed previously, and even then it’s unlikely since the tone isn’t reflected in much other writing. It isn’t a work that makes the world, either whole or in part, better for its existence. It’s strange, visceral, cynical, and at times unpleasant to read. If its own strangeness, or the “challenge” it presents to the beliefs or thoughts floating around in your head warrant its existence in your mind then it is a book that should be out there. But even with that and the undeniable skill of its creators I wouldn’t be handing it off, or giving it as a recommendation or present to anyone. Indeed I’d struggle to find where its audience is.

Book Review – The Role-Playing Game Primer an Old School Playbook (By: Chris Gonnerman)

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The Role-Playing Game Primer is a book by Chris Gonnerman intended to be used as an introduction to RPGs in general and “old-school” RPGs in particular. “Old-school” here being mainly “retroclones” of older RPGs (as opposed to those games themselves) such as Gonnerman’s own “Basic Fantasy RPG” (Based on the Dungeons & Dragons 3rd edition rules using the Open Game License {That gets complicated}) and “Iron Falcon” (Based on older D&D {Also under the OGL}) games, and several others that are mentioned by name (but those names don’t really mean much to a person who isn’t in the culture yet). But just how good is it at being the “primer” it set out to be?

I’m not exactly the best one to evaluate this book, as I don’t really need “priming” on the whole RPG thing. I am far from an “old-school” gamer, but I generally know the differences in play styles between them and the “new-school” (or whatever they’re called) gamers. So this book was more of a curious read and not me actually looking for an introduction. And it was a nice, short read. The 62 pages have slightly larger than average text and a good amount of illustrations. These illustrations are either: stock images, those sent in by contributors for Gonnerman’s “Basic Fantasy” game, or maps of areas designed as examples. At least that’s my assumption, since, while the art is good, it varies wildly in style and has almost nothing to do with what is written on the page (a common theme in most “OD&D*” books I’ve seen). But it’s still nice to look at and gets the job done. (*Original Dungeons & Dragons)

The text is divided into chapters, but can be further divided in my mind into the first part, where Gonnerman describes new players starting up a game with the Game Master (GM) (using his own system as an example), and the second part, where he talks directly to the reader and gives them advice. I really like the first part. It does a good job of giving an explanation and examples for how to play a Role-Playing Game (even if the dialog is a bit unrealistic at times). It’s one of those reaffirming sections where one can go “whoo… I’m not doing this thing wrong” in reference to starting up and playing an RPG. And it’s short enough to not overstay its welcome. The second part needs to be taken with a grain of salt as it’s written with an obvious bias against newer RPGs (but maybe the title gave that away) that’s never really given adequate justification. One might, through some unlikely circumstance, come out of this book thinking that “old-school” role playing is simply “better” or “the way to play” rather than there being different sets of people who enjoy either. With that aside, however, it does do a very good job of explaining how “old-school” games work for both players and GMs while providing some nice tips along the way.

The brevity of this book is another plus. The language is nice and concise while being informative and not particularly confusing (as far as something being about an RPG can not be confusing). It moves along fast enough that it can be easily recommended as a read before diving into, or while beginning to read, one’s first role-playing game (it does help if it’s one in the older vein, though). The advice, information, and explanations are informative and well laid out (probably from years of experience) while being simply but not dumbly written. Aside from one humorous example where an “old school building” is referenced and in the text hard to differentiate from the many other times “old school” is used in reference to RPGs I was never confused when reading (though as I say I did know about the subject going in). Gonnerman’s experience in the area and writing skill show through when reading.

It’s far from and essential book, but it’s inexpensive (being print-on-demand), short, and well written. I would recommend looking into it as a beginner, but I have to question whether or not it’s really worthwhile with so many good forums, blogs, and videos on the subject out there. If one doesn’t want to sift through that content or wants a more focused experience, this book would work great (and I also can’t imagine you ever finding this review). Otherwise it’s more of a curiosity so that one may, like me, make sure they aren’t “doing it wrong” and maybe get a few helpful tips along the way (except for the part where he calls the traditional way to draw {dungeon} maps into question, but maybe the reason is only obvious to me).

Book Review – I Sing the Body Electric (By: Ray Bradbury)

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I Sing the Body Electric is a collection of short stories by one of the greats: Ray Bradbury. These are from the (early) middle of his career, after most of the books you’d recognize, but (long) before it ended. There are 13 stories in the book, all of varying types and lengths, enough that I think it might be tedious (and spoilerific) if I were to go through each one, so I’ll try and hit the highs and the lows while giving my overall impression of the book.

How do I always get these obscure editions where the cover is impossible to find in good quality?

I am a Bradbury fan. The Illustrated Man is one of my favorite short story collections, and I’ve enjoyed many other stories he’s written. This one starts by hitting it out of the park with The Kilimanjaro Device which filled me with enough emotion to make it difficult to sleep that night. I would say it’s probably the best story in the book, but it fits my taste better and I could easily see how someone else would like one of the other stories more. From there, it maintains its classic Bradbury feel, with all sorts of weird twists, contextual literal meanings, waves of emotions, and extensive flowery language.

Some of it’s typical Bradbury stuff (there is not one, but two android-based stories {One of them, Downwind at Gettysburg, is mentioned on the back cover as “humanoid Abe Lincoln”. When was he not humanoid?}), but typical Bradbury isn’t very typical. They range from the strange and water-based The Women, to the raw but humorous depression era The Inspired Chicken Motel, to the terrifying Mars loneliness of Night Call, Collect. There are a few themes: androids, as previously mentioned, Mars, and Ireland; (specifically Dublin) are each in two or more stories. As with most short story collections, they all run in strange channels and sometimes ooze strangeness with every word. Loneliness and just basic emotion are also frequent themes, again, like many short stories. But some are simply amazing; Heavy Set is one of the most moving stories I’ve read in a long time (and it has that strange spelling of Hallowe’en).

Still, while the subjects and stories are fantastic I must complain a moment about Bradbury’s writing. There’s nothing technically wrong with it (the only errors I noticed are in The Tombling Day, and that’s likely an editor’s or typesetter’s fault), but he seems constantly overcome with the desire to let one know exactly how many words he has in his repertoire. I think his stories are fantastic, and the language used is essential to pull off some of the emotional moments, but in many cases Bradbury has the uncanny ability to make the most interesting story in the world boring to read, and it’s a testament to his imagination that I continued on. It’s not bad, it’s just boring sometimes. And boring in the strangest way, as I want to get through it quicker, but not stop reading. This is most apparent in his novels and in dialogue. He doesn’t have the time in these short stories to launch into a one-page description using every word tangentially related to (and sometimes not related to at all) the subject, to convey a “feeling” you’ll forget, about a thing that is inconsequential to the story (at least that often). He does, however, have the time to use a bunch of dialogue that no human would ever speak. I have a bit of a pet peeve about unrealistic dialogue and some of the worst examples of that are in these stories. That flaw is made up for upon occasion with how interestingly it is assembled. It reads like poetry at times, but it can also be a garbled mess. There is a point in the final story The Lost City of Mars, where a character is obviously meant to sound pompous or “too-wordy” and he ends up sounding just like quite a few other characters not meant to share that personality trait.

The Lost City of Mars has another problem by itself that is, thankfully, only present in it (I actually get to talk about the end of a book here without spoiling it). I’m not sure if it’s meant to have anything to do with the other “Martian” stories but it feels like it’s trying to create a world, and in that world a great many story possibilities are brought up (in just a few pages) that would be as or more interesting to me than this particular story, though it is a good one.

But for all my griping about the flowery language, or a slow story (such as The Cold Wind and the Warm which tries to take something mundane and spin it as miraculous), or missed opportunities, or the bit of sexism thrown in to remind you when the book was written, for all that, Bradbury still writes a good fantasy. Often the overdone bits fade into the background to form a foundation on which you can read and really feel, or think, or be absorbed into a fantastic world where the mind can go anywhere. Often you don’t want to stop reading because you want to see where it goes next. You want to hear everything about The Man in the Rorschach Shirt or Tomorrow’s Child. You want to enter the fantasy and enjoy.

And I did enjoy this book; even at the slow pace I read it. I might not have enjoyed every minute of it, but I would read it again. I might even have to considering how bad my memory apparently is, as its huge variety of story types and lengths doesn’t make it easier to remember the shorter ones or the start when one gets to the end. It does mean that there’s probably a story in there for everyone, and not a lot of “wading” to do to get to it. It’s not my favorite Bradbury, but it did far better than to make me lose hope. If you’re a fan of that 60’s sci-fi and fantasy scene, short stories, or of Bradbury at all, I would give this one a look. It’s a great read with all its ups and downs and twists and turns.