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Book Review – From Earth to the Moon (By: Jules Verne)

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I didn’t have the experience of many kids in the US of reading Jules Verne when I was growing up. Indeed this is the first novel of his I’ve read, despite knowing the plot of a few rather well. I was afraid that since From Earth to the Moon was written in the 1860’s it would be a clunky read like many other older pieces of literature and was very pleasantly surprised when it was not. Then I remembered that Verne was French, and that any of his works in English are translated. This slightly changed my view on what I was reading. I became aware that I wasn’t necessarily reading Verne’s work, but someone’s (particularly whoever translated the 19XX Scholastic printing’s) retelling of Verne’s work. That shouldn’t impact my reading too much (if the translating is better than the German that guy in Crime and Punishment wrote {I think I’m remembering that right}) but it is a necessary note as I examine the text, though one I can’t follow up on since I don’t read French. In any case, how well does it work?

There’s my standard “rare”, hard-to-find-a-good-image-of-reliably cover.

From Earth to the Moon follows the fictitious Baltimore Gun Club of artillerists in their journey from inception to firing of a humongous cannon that will send a projectile to the planet’s satellite (or from earth to the moon as it were). Despite seeming sci-fi-esque from the cover, and my knowledge of other Verne works (like Journey to the Center of the Earth or 20,000 Leagues under the Sea) it is surprisingly grounded and does indeed really only have to do with the firing of a cannon at the moon, and not travel back and forth or some other potential absurdity for the time. The basic plot is a bunch of Americans who made better and better cannons are bored after the Civil War ends and they don’t get to make cannons anymore, so they decide to make a cannon that can fire to the moon and “establish contact”. Everyone is surprisingly on board and people from all around the world (but mostly the USA) donate a lot of money. The rest of the book details the construction of the cannon and the actions of those who do not want it built along with a larger-than-expected amount of more-accurate-than-expected numbers and math about velocities, gravity, friction, metal weight, costs, casting procedures, etc. Though that makes it sound a lot more boring than it was. Because while very little happens in the technical sense, and there are a surprising number of numbers, it is all conveyed with a motion that keeps the reader advancing and interested the creation of such a fantastic device and the characters behind it.

And the characters are really the soul of the book. Mostly the Gun Club’s President Barbicane, who is the one with the idea for the cannon and apparently has it all figured out to the point that I’m not sure why the other members are involved. As Barbicane’s personality becomes boring, the book adds opposition in the form of Captain Nicholl and a more wild-card character in the form of a Frenchman (of course), Michel Ardan, who is a “(thorough ‘Frenchman’ {and worse) a ‘Parisian’(} to the last moment)”. These core men, with a smattering of other characters are all well drawn up with unique and interesting aspects, aspirations, and flaws, though it does sometimes fall back on “Barbicane is great at everything, Nicholl is a sourpuss, and Ardan is very wordy”. And I found the resolution of the conflict between them a bit flimsy (mainly from Nicholl’s end).

The overall form is very solid and understandable, including the dialog, which, while it wouldn’t be spoken today, is readable and far from something no one would ever say. There are a few moments where the words get tangled up like “…they did to others that which they would not they would do to them” and my favorite thing I still can’t understand: “hook fixed in the coving of the poop…”. I’m sure those were understandable at some point in the process, and even perhaps now but it could have used some tidying up. There are also just a few things that a man living in France in the 1860s might get wrong… like when he calls southerners “Yankees” (though only vaguely, he could be referring to the Gun Club members, who certainly are) and everyone sings Yankee Doodle when the gun is about to be fired, which I get is a patriotic song, but it’s not like it’s the national anthem, I wouldn’t suspect they’d sing it a lot when at a momentous occasion. And a few little details like the “polygon at Washington” What? I don’t understand. In any case, those are only my nitpicks as an American with the advantage of internet-based communication, and the writing is easily good enough to blaze over these minor details and get one enamored with the overall story of getting to (annexing too maybe?) the moon.

I liked the book, and I’ll probably read more Verne in the future because of it. It’s a quite upbeat and fast-moving novel of a technical marvel (with a few surprisingly melancholy moments toward the end) that presents good characters, interesting settings, and well-done research in a fun and compelling way. It isn’t quite up there in classic-ness and immersive level of interesting-ness as some more famous novels by Verne, but it does hold its own. I probably wouldn’t recommend it as an introduction to his writing, but it isn’t a bad first one either. I’d say that it’s a good starting point if you’ve read some of the more famous of his works in the US and are looking for more, or are interested in some of the earliest science-fiction out there (or if you’re looking for translated works of a proto-surrealist that have had any potentially strange bits pulled out).

(And one final side note: there is a part in the story after they decide to put people in the projectile {great idea?} and they test it out on earth by putting a man in it for more than a week with nothing to even read. That was the most unrealistic part of the story for me, even with food and air you’d go crazy spending a week alone inside that thing.)

Book Review – Queenie (By: Alice Munro)

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Queenie is a short story published in book form written by the “greatest living short story writer” and Nobel laureate Alice Munro. It was first published in a magazine and then on its own as a mini-book for some reason. I picked it up because I’ve been looking into how short stories are published as stand-alone items, but reading it was fun, too, and it barely took any time at all.

I got a better version of the cover

As with many short stories, the basic plot is simple. The narrator goes to see her older stepsister “Queenie” in Toronto ostensibly because she is preparing to go there for university and is looking for a job, but more so that she can be a part of her sister’s life again. Her sister (actual name Lena) ran off with a much older man years previous and is both excited to see her, but emotionally distant. That’s about as far as I dare go, and if that beginning sounds mundane that’s because it is. The story has a few interesting turns but it’s mostly about the characters, their struggles and some interesting dynamics between them. To that point the story is effective: it makes it easy for you to become emotionally invested with the main character and brings you down a well-crafted path. The ending especially is superb and resonant to the point that I had to read something else to be able to get to sleep the night I finished it (I read the 1774 Declaration of Rights if anyone cares).

But the other characters are… “hard” to empathize with, or even understand. The title character in particular I find… a scumbag. Her methods for pursuing her desires are entirely foreign to me and there is almost no character arc: she learns nothing, our main character learns something, everyone else is surprisingly stoic about it. That isn’t to say the character doesn’t feel real, most of those in the story do, (save for a woman running the food counter in a drugstore. And the excursion that lead to meeting her seemed pointless) but (almost) everyone else in the story likes her, and that certainly didn’t mirror my feelings. It would seem that’s the way the story is supposed to be, she is liked because she is “likable” and no character has as complete a knowledge as the reader does, until you get to the end and feelings on it change slightly. Of course everything is wonderfully set up for that, the paragraphs are well crafted and everything (except the previously noted drugstore sequence) has a place in getting you to feel the emotion of the story, and going through the different phases.

Despite that seemingly glowing endorsement I merely enjoyed the story. It is a well crafted and emotionally resonating piece by a master of the art, about people just ever so slightly out of everyday life, but it’s not one I’d give as a recommendation to many people. It just isn’t “solid” enough to be “great” from my perspective, but maybe that’s the mundane topics it covers talking. To put it one way, I don’t thinks it’s the reason she won any of her awards. It is a good short story, and fairly inexpensive on its own. If your interest has been piqued, or if you’re a fan of Alice Munro and/or short stories in general it is likely worth looking into.

I always get the version where no good cover image is readily available

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.