Your Front Row Seat to the End of the World

Good Omens 

by Terry Pratchett and Neil Gaiman

p. 1990

Good Omens is a book that wants to be read.

It doesn’t want much else. It doesn’t want to be revered or lauded nor does it want to be proverbially ripped apart (though if you ask its two loving fathers, it would very much like you physically beat the crap out of it, at least enough to show some wear and tear). Good Omens wants you to be amused and entertained and to love it dearly for 300-odd pages. Then it wants you to tell all your friends. It may not be able to articulate exactly why, but it’s insistent that once you’ve read it... you’ll know.

From the history surrounding this comedic tale, it seems that this work of fiction—much like the universe and humanity itself—happened through a confluence of events that appear very much like an accident. Terry Pratchett was a somewhat established writer in the fantasy genre and Neil Gaiman was just starting out and a fortuitous interview of the former by the latter inevitably led to a plot several years in the making. Two authors just trying to pick the other’s brain and make them laugh led, quite appropriately, to the story of an angel and a demon, unlikely friends in the end times, just trying to do their jobs and maintain a sort of friendship.

Crowley and Aziraphale are the demon and angel characters respectively, and they have cultivated their unusual companionship since the beginning of time—which, contrary to scientific belief, was only about 6000 or so years ago. They, along with a cast of characters as equally charismatic as themselves, must navigate the impending apocalypse as Heaven and Hell prepare to duke it out over the soul of a young boy, the Antichrist, who doesn’t know what he is yet. Also entwined in this convoluted plot are a young woman, descendent of the author of a book of prophesies that predicted this mess, a couple of witchfinders, a fortune teller, four precocious children, a not-quite-of-this-earth dog, and the Horsemen of the Apocalypse, appropriately reincarnated for modern times in the form of bikers.

I generally liked all of the plot threads; though it skipped around quite often, I didn’t find it too hard to pick up where I left off. Everything involving Dog’s point of view was gold, as was Shadwell, the last head witchfinder, whose richly-depicted dialogue was a delight to pick apart every time he spoke. Every character in this book had a ‘voice’ that you could really hear in your head, transcending the pages on which it was written.

I found myself, at times, a little impatient with the children's plot, especially about halfway through when it took over the novel for a time. They got a bit tiresome, especially seeing as the heart of this novel is the friendship between Crowley and Aziraphale, who vanished for a time to let the others take center stage, and weren’t reunited until the end of the story.

Reading this book, I couldn’t help but feel that the TV show Supernatural took some of its cues from Gaiman and Pratchett. The Horsemen evolution was one thing—though in the Supernatural-verse, the Horseman drive fancy cars as opposed to motorcycles, and then of course there are the striking similarities between each story’s version of the demon Crowley, though I would have to say that Supernatural’s Crowley has a definite agenda that Good Omens’ Crowley explicitly lacks. That is one thing that struck me about this book as being a distinctly British quality: the characters, though often in positions of considerable power, never seem to take things too seriously and rarely seem to have any idea what is going on. It is a classic trait of farcical literature that makes this book so darkly comical. Here are characters literally deciding the fate of mankind and their thoughts are preoccupied by old books, expensive cars, and childish games. It’s hilarious in its absurdness.

It was impossible decipher which parts were Gaiman’s ideas and which parts were Pratchett’s because these two authors blend together so seamlessly. Being that this was also my first foray into Pratchett’s repertoire, I expect I wouldn’t have much say on that topic in general, but I certainly intend to seek out more of his work now. The efforts of these two authors, over the course of some years, has certainly paid off in the form of this cult favorite, and their ability to create a story that—in spite of its absurdity—makes perfect sense is what I had always hoped to accomplish writing stories with my friends growing up (and may still do one day!). They just fit together.

Gaiman and Pratchett share a common interest that many book lovers and aspiring writers can relate to; they don’t want their book to change the world. They just want people to read it and to love it and to pass it on to all their friends, and I intend to do just that.

Damned If You Do, Damned If You Don't

Catch-22
by Joseph Heller
p. 1961

Catch-22 strikes me as one of those books that you either love or you hate. Having heard glowing praise for it over the years, I had high hopes finally sitting down to conquer this 450-page beast, and I’m sorry to say my feelings gravitate more towards the latter sentiment.

I wanted to like Catch-22, I really did. It’s clever and witty and has a lot of interesting quotable bits that stick with you, but there were too many things I couldn’t get past.

There isn’t really a plot to Catch-22, per se. It’s a war novel and it’s not. While it does indeed take place entirely in a World War II setting and revolve around themes of war, it doesn’t dwell on those themes and you could almost lift those elements out and still have the same novel. It is a loosely connected, non-sequential collection of stories revolving around the random, often absurd experiences of Captain Yossarian and his friends and superiors as they navigate a war none of them really understand their part in.

Since a majority of the chapters are named after a specific character in Yossarian’s realm, I assumed early on that this would be a character-driven book, and perhaps in some people’s opinions, it is, but I had a difficult time differentiating between characters since they all generally followed one of two types: either they were naive pushovers or blustering, bombastic jerks and no matter which division they landed in, they were sure to be totally oblivious. That last commonality is at least excusable to me, since one of Catch-22’s central themes is the nonsensical side of war. Everyone, no matter how high they were in a position of power, usually had no idea what was going on and just pretended as though they did to get by. I wanted to like the characters, and by the end of the story, some had stood out enough for me to start caring about them, so of course at that point everyone was summarily killed in a nonsensical way that had little to nothing to do with actual combat. Just when I was starting to like them.

My other major gripe with Heller’s classic is the writing style he chose. It’s not the non-chronological presentation that bothers me—some times parsing out the order of things can be half the fun of discovering a new story—but rather the rambling, repetitive, stream-of-consciousness aspect of the book. Stream of consciousness is hit or miss in general, but the seeming lack of direction was concerning about 100 pages in when I realized I still had no idea what type of novel I was reading.  The repetition in the dialogue was amusing for a few pages but about the 50^th time I read the exchange between an officer and an enlisted man where neither side spoke clearly, I started to wonder if I was reading the literary equivalent of a 3 Stooges bit.

Catch-22 is the first book I’ve encountered this year that I really struggled to get through. It’s extremely frustrating and not the least bit direct. I despised most of the characters and those that amused me didn’t seem to have a point. The abrupt change in tone in the final ten chapters or so was jarring and didn’t sit well with me either. Reading this book is more like listening to an old guy with burgeoning dementia reminisce about the war; he may have some interesting things to say, but he talks about things as he remembers them and rambles for far too long about topics that have no relevance.

I will contend that I may not have fully understood this novel, impatient as I was to breeze through it about halfway in, when I realized I wasn't enjoying it. I’ve heard that some people who hated Catch-22 the first time loved it the second time around and maybe that’ll be me, but I’m giving myself a wide berth before I attempt this one again. On the other hand, perhaps Heller’s style of writing is just not for me and no amount of time will get me to look back on this one fondly. I guess I’ll just have to get back to you on this one.

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.

Mutant Sewer Sharks, Killer Robot Servants, and Walt Disney

Sewer, Gas, & Electric: The Public Works Trilogy

by Matt Ruff

p. 1997

Sewer, Gas, and Electric is exactly the kind of frenetic, insane romp that I never knew I was missing in my life, and it has made me an instant devotee of author Matt Ruff. The author was recommended to me by a friend; though I was directed to his earlier book, Fool on a Hill, I happened to find this one in at JKB first, so I tried it out and I can definitely conclude that Fool on a Hill will be bumped up a few places on my list of things to read next.

Written in the early nineties but taking place in 2023, Sewer, Gas, and Electric is... far too complex to explain in a simple review. It can be accused of being ‘convoluted’ but it is convoluted in a good way. The wide array of characters and the intersecting subplots not only move the main story along, but it creates enough distraction to surprise you with the ending. Characters and devices are introduced in the first acts and disappear just long enough to lead you to believe they were red herrings, before establishing their deus ex machina ulterior motives.

The way I understand it, it is Matt Ruff’s characters that decide whether or not you’ll be a fan of this book. For starters, there are a lot of them, so many in fact that a character guide—which I had to consult frequently in the first 50 pages—proves itself as a handy tool. Given the recent popularity of Game of Thrones, however, I would expect this to not be an insurmountable problem. Then again, I am a big fan of quirky ensemble casts and I am fairly used to keeping them straight, but not everyone is. It has been opined that all of Ruff’s characters possess a singular jaded, at times prescient, but mostly resigned sarcasm that cause them to blend together to the point that they are really just one character—surrogates of Matt Ruff himself—and to an extent, I actually agree that they do seem somewhat similar, but it was all so much fun that I hard time complaining. I guess it comes down to whether or not you enjoy and agree with Ruff’s world view. If you despise the man and his outlook, you’re less likely to enjoy the ride than if, like myself, you’re content to sit back and go with the flow.

One of the things I enjoyed most about SG&E, aside from the off the wall characters, was Ruff’s subversion of popular cliches and tropes. One of the first points of view represented to the reader is possessed by a character who is promptly devoured by a mutant sewer shark. The shocking turn serves to keep you on your toes, not so much for the mutant sewer shark part, but for the fact that the narrative is misleading and no one is safe. Near the end of the book, the good old ‘will-I-shoot-the-good-twin-or-the-evil-twin’ trope is quickly and quite literally shot down without hesitation. My favorite subversion of convention is probably that the novel’s female characters are also the strongest, physically and emotionally. Perhaps I’ve been reading too many halcyon days sci fi, but I’m used to seeing strong women underrepresented, so it was a relief, in this modern tale, to see women take the forefront and solve their own problems without needing to be saved.

It’s a bit funny reading this book as it predicts events that, to Ruff, happen in the future when for myself, it is already the distant past. Ruff combines a mess of made up effluvia with real life history and facts, with a few conspiracy theories thrown in. I found myself looking up every historical reference and was surprised to find how many of them were real. At the same time I was amused by Ruff’s predictions that did not come true as he envisioned. The best part of it all is that Ruff clearly states at the beginning of the book, his opinion on science fiction that tries to predict the future then fails... only to do the exact same thing himself. Obviously, Ruff threw caution to the wind, but at least he acknowledges his irreverence. Matt Ruff is someone whose tongue is pretty firmly embedded in his cheek with regards to a lot of issues, not the least of which is political correctness.

The best way to approach this book is not to read up on the plot; any vague description would sound far too silly and the Public Works trilogy is not a short book. It’s probably best to just turn off your critical inclinations, sit back, and enjoy the ride.