You're KILLING Me, Death!

The Book Thief

by Markus Zusak 
p. 2006
  

I found this hardcover laying on a shelf amongst some youth fantasy novels left behind by the college-aged son of a family I was pet-sitting for last month. Though I had brought my own reading material with me, I gave it a pass for Zusak’s premiere novel, which was too alluring to ignore. I’d had it recommended to me before—by more than one source—and the opportunity to read it would run out with the end of my pet-sitting gig, so I gave it a go. I’m sure the title and the subject of stealing probably added to the compulsion to bump this book up a few places on my list; I loved it so much I’m a little surprised I didn’t steal it myself...

Though it was nearly 600 pages and I am a notoriously slow reader, I zipped through The Book Thief in just three days, unable to put the thing down, even with a slobbering, codependent Bernese Mountain Dog depositing a gooey mixture of drool and fur on my lap 24/7. The choppy, almost stream-of-consciousness style made this quick read possible. The Book Thief isn’t just well-crafted prose; it is routinely broken up with little vignettes, well-placed side stories, and revealing lists that tell a story that is much bigger than its young protagonist.

Though the story revolves around our preteen German heroine, Liesel Meminger, and her predilection towards reading and thievery in World War II-era Molching, it is narrated, in fact, by Death himself, whose interactions with Liesel are limited to a couple stray incidents until he discovers her autobiography revealing the full story. Death, matter of fact and omniscient though strangely compassionate and sympathetic, claims to not understand the art of storytelling (though if you ask me, he did a pretty good job this time around), and often indulges in deviations. This is non-linear storytelling at its finest, as Death unabashedly tells us the endings to many threads, yet still manages to hold your attention enough to see how it all turns out.

For much of the novel, Liesel is a frightened young girl, confused by the world around her, yet, in that way only children can be, strangely wise and observant. Abandoned by her mother (who is largely hinted to be a Communist sympathizer), and bereft of her younger brother by a tragedy, Liesel is sent to live with foster parents, Hans Hubermann, a sympathetic and kindly accordion player, and his strict, no-nonsense wife Rosa, with whom Liesel clashes initially. Other characters revolve in and out of Liesel’s life on the poverty-stricken Himmel Street—Rudy Steiner, the boy next door, Frau Holtzapfel, the severe old maid down the street with two sons in the war, Ilsa Hermann, the sad, timid mayor’s wife who allows Liesel access to her vast library, and Max Vandenburg, the Jewish ex-fist-fighter, secreted away in the Hubermann’s basement at the height of Nazi terror. Everyone has a story and everyone’s story is told, though not always in a straightforward manner. Each one is touched by Liesel and vice versa.

I don’t want to spoil the ending because this book is worth every minute a reader would spend on it. But I will say that Death is nothing if not upfront about the way things are, and even knowing that you may still be surprised. All I can tell you is that when I reached the final fifty pages of this book I was a complete and utter wreck. I had to stop every few sentences to wipe my eyes I was bawling so hard. I often let myself be carried away by the emotion in stories, but books get me far less often than film or television and yet I cried harder at this book than I have in a long time. It is easy to label this book as a young adult book and overlook it, but don’t be fooled by the age of the protagonist or the denomination this book may be aimed at; it is an appropriate and moving story for anyone over the age of 12 who can emotionally stomach such heavy material.

And really, what more should you expect from a book narrated by Death?

The Line Between Science Fiction and Fantasy

The Wall Around the World

by Theodore Cogswell 
p. 1962

Published in 1962, this collection of ten short stories by Theodore Cogswell begins with a pair of introductions by two of his contemporaries. Both introductions seem to focus in particular on the blurry line separating science fiction from fantasy. I wondered why until I read a couple of the stories and realized that was a line Cogswell loved to hover over throughout his line of work. Containing spaceships to vampires to alien planets to flying broomsticks, almost all of his stories could fall into either category and invoke the struggle to define the two. Cogswell probably loved that old maxim, “magic is just unexplained science.”

The lack of distinction between magic and realism is not what made this book unique to me; indeed, I’ve read plenty of ‘science fiction’ stories that could alternatively be labeled as ‘fantasy.’ What stood out most was actually Cogswell’s playful sense of humor. All of his stories have a comical edge and a lighthearted tone that I don’t generally find in his contemporaries. Reading all these fifties and sixties science fiction books I often find myself shaking my head and laughing at some ludicrous plot point or an occasional melodramatic piece of dialogue; with Cogswell, I chuckled because it was a legitimately funny situation or line.

My favorite was probably “The Specter General,” a ‘novelette’ about a long-forgotten unit of the Imperial Space Marines and an ambitious young tech engineer fond of getting into trouble. The story—told in a handful of short chapters alternating between Kurt’s mini-adventure and a Commander in charge of their enemy, the Galactic Protectorate—was a little hard to follow at first, but even before the plot fell in line, I found myself laughing at the military mens’ interactions.

Some of Cogswell’s stories fell flat to me, or evoked an ‘Oh, so that’s where he was going’ when some sort of ‘twist’ developed, not unlike the eye-roll-inducing reaction to the types of jokes your uncle makes. But, for the most part, I found myself entertained by this quick read. The last story in the collection, the titular “Wall Around the World,” was about a boy named Porgie who lived in the city within the Wall but longed to find out what was beyond it. Weirdly, nobody else seemed curious and berated poor Porgie for his eagerness but the world within the Wall was one where magic and flying on broomsticks was commonplace so I guess I can forgive them for thinking things were well enough not to mess with status quo. After all, Harry Potter didn’t go to Hogwarts then graduate and think to himself, “Yes, I think I’ll become an investment broker instead.”

Speaking of Harry Potter, one can’t help but make the connections in their brain between the wizard and Porgie. Both were nice boys who grew up with their aunt and uncle and a quarrelsome bully of a cousin then learned how to fly a broomstick... I’m not saying J.K. Rowling plagiarized because the similarities really end there, but if Cogswell’s short story was any sort of inspiration for the epic series that unfolded more than three decades later, I wouldn’t be surprised.

But Why Are They So Mean to the Puppy?!

The Stuff of Legend

By Mike Raicht and Brian Smith

Illustrated by Charles Paul Wilson III
p. 2009-present
 

I generally don’t read a lot of comic books or graphic novels, and there is a litany of reasons why, none of which have anything to do with their literary value. For whatever reason—whether it was their unavailability or some early cause for disinterest—a love of comics was not fostered in me as a child. The most I ever got out of the genre were the Sunday strips and those aren’t really meant for lengthy story-telling. My childhood wasn’t very long ago; nonetheless, graphic novels were not even remotely considered ‘academic,’ and there certainly weren’t very many of them in circulation. Even today, you’d have a hard time fighting for the medium to be taught in schools, but at least it’s starting to be accepted more as regular reading material.

That said, though I have respect for the potential that exists in the graphic novel medium, I still don’t seek too many of them out. For starters, it’s not a medium I find myself invested in, generally. I prefer the words—lengthy prose and detailed chapters that really show you what words can do—and have no sense whatsoever of artistic talent. For that reason, I tend to skim over the illustrations in comics, and the entire story ends up being devoured in one sitting. It all goes by too quickly. Because of this, I think plenty of comic book series tend to go on forever without ever coming to an end, our favorite superheroes that have graced the pages for decades being perfect examples of that. I have no interest in stories that never end, so I hope that Th3rd World Studio’s ongoing series, The Stuff of Legend, wisely chooses to wrap things up soon.

The series, by writers Mike Raicht and Brian Smith, boasts three in-depth volumes so far, the fourth expected this fall. Foisted on me by my roommate, who knew I would love it, this is the first comic I’ve reviewed for this blog and thus, the first unfinished story. Perhaps I will post more updates with each subsequent volume that is released, assuming they don’t go on forever—and the damndest thing is that it really could go on forever. In what little has already been told, I am already of the opinion that Raicht and Smith have created a world that has a rich and involved history, one which thousands of unique stories could be molded from easily. Originally conceived of as a children’s bedtime story upon the birth of Raicht’s son, The Stuff of Legend evolved to a dark adventure story that is probably inappropriate for young children. It tells of a boy in World War II-era Brooklyn, dragged into his closet one night by the Boogeyman, who then has to be rescued by the ragtag group of toys (and one adorable puppy) that storm in after him. Once in The Dark—the Boogeyman’s fantastical, shadowy realm—the toys are transformed into powerful warriors, complete with weapons, size, strength and teeth. They’ll need all this equipment at their disposal if they hope to rescue the boy from the Boogeyman and his horde—an army of lost or forgotten toys, left discarded in the dark and rallied by the master they all fear.

At first glance the concept reminds you of Toy Story but while I do believe some of the lessons of boyhood may echo the Pixar franchise, the mood both stories project is not even remotely similar. There is definitely a dark tone to The Stuff of Legend, and the illustrations—inked entirely in muted sepia tones—evoke a lot of moody imagery. I know I already downplayed my authority on artistic accomplishment but for what it’s worth, Charles Paul Wilson III’s artwork is beautiful and highly engaging. His characters’ expressions leap off the page in a story where a lot is left unsaid and expressions must indeed be judged.

As I understand it, there are rumors that a movie adaptation of this novel is in the pre-pre-pre production stages. The idea is that it will mix together live action and CGI. On the one hand, I love this idea, as the epic story begs to be made into this highly visual format. Done right, this movie could be perfect, and easily the next big thing. On the other hand, it could just as easily fall flat, and I don’t really like the idea of starting a movie franchise before the series has been completed. Perhaps this is a sign that the story does have an ending that it is working towards? I guess we’ll just have to wait and see. In any case, I have the worst patience when it comes to hearing the end of a story that hasn’t been told yet, so I’m glad my wait until volume four is short.

The Creepiest Carnival Ever... And There Aren't Even Clowns

Something Wicked This Way Comes

by Ray Bradbury
p. 1962 

In honor of his passing some weeks ago, I decided to pay my respects to the paragon of science fiction and horror writers by picking up one of his novels. Prior to this undertaking, I’d only read short fiction by Bradbury, of which I am utterly enamored. The first one to catch my eye is the spooky, quite literal coming-of-age story centering on two young boys and the creepy carnival that comes to their quaint small town one blustery fall day and changes everything.

In reading Something Wicked..., I learned a few things I did not know before. For starters, the book is dedicated to Gene Kelly, with whom Bradbury shared a respectful acquaintanceship, and was originally intended to be a film collaboration with the actor/director. That never came to pass, but it’s interesting to note the connection, to see how one artist inspires another and vice versa. It’s also rather amusing to be told of a time when no one wanted to touch a script by Ray Bradbury (Oh, the fools!).

I also learned that Something Wicked is a sort of companion piece, or more on the nose, parallel, to Bradbury’s earlier collection of stories, Dandelion Wine, also about two young boys growing up in the same fictional small town, but where Dandelion Wine was more of a ‘summer’ story—youthful and positive in tone—Something Wicked is described as an ‘autumn’ tale, sketching some of the darker edges of growing older.

Perhaps most interesting to note is that—though it is what he is notorious for—Bradbury did not consider himself a science fiction writer primarily. And it’s sort of true; while Something Wicked does boast supernatural elements, that is not meant to be the focus. At the heart of things, this book is about the ascension into adulthood, the pain it can bring, and the fear of accepting it in its due time. It just so happens that a creepy carnival owner and a carousel that defies the laws of time brought this revelation about.

With short chapters and a timeline consisting of just a day or two, Something Wicked is a quick read, made all the more convenient by way of Bradbury’s rich, flowing prose. Reading this novel is like reading a 300-page poem, except I didn’t tire of it like I would with poetry. There were times near the start when I felt like Bradbury was being a little heavy-handed with his relentless imagery drawing the protagonists, Will Halloway and Jim Nightshade, out as polar opposites—Will the sunny-disposition, freckled light of youth, directly oppositional to Jim’s dark, mysterious melancholy—but it worked to the novel’s advantage, creating these two characters who were foils to each other, each helping shape the other in their transition. I do feel, though, that the novel was perhaps a bit too dismissive of Jim and his ways, when it appears that in reality, Jim and Will are just two opposite sides of the same coin.

The two young friends both find the carnival and its proprietors, Cooger and Dark, alluring and fascinating at first, the former far more than the latter. Their schism arrives when they discover the mystical carousel that—when ridden in the appropriate direction—will age you prematurely or turn back the clock, making a boy where once stood a man, each rotation of the carousel equaling one year not earned the natural way. Jim wants to be older, an adult; he already feels like one ahead of his time. Will, though slightly older, is more naive, childish, but unwittingly wise enough to want to stay right where he’s at. Will’s father, Charles, wishes to be young again, as he, more than anyone, feels the sadness and bittersweet reality of getting old. Meanwhile, the carnival’s tattooed man and co-owner, Mr. Dark (on whom the title of Bradbury’s short story collection, The Illustrated Man, is based), is after the boys for knowing too much of his dark secret, but knows he has piqued their interests. Bradbury’s prose is effective at drawing out the tension in the boys’ interaction with the carnival’s inhabitants, but that is really the only element qualifying this story as ‘horror.’ Apart from the terror of the unknown that Mr. Dark and the carousel implicate, this is really a rather innocuous story. I never found myself unsettled, just curious at how things would all turn out.

The reason I’ve enjoyed Bradbury thus far is that, no matter how removed from youth he is, he has never fully lost that connection to it, he can still remember what it was like and how painful it was to lose it. That is something every person who has made that transition can relate to. For younger readers, this story is probably exciting and eerie, but for those of us who’ve ‘ridden the carousel’ around a few more times, this story is more somber and pensive and a reminder that aging is more a state of mind than a resolute fact. You are, in fact, as young as you think you are.