boox vs moofees

i try pretty hard to make it a point to read the book before seeing the movie that kills it. people who "aren't readers" have to listen to us rant about this every time a new "based on" movie comes out. and i'm sorry for that. i'm also sorry that you're missing out on so much because you're too lazy to spend more than 2 hours taking in a story, punk. but perhaps you just dont care and get everything you need from a movie that might be ok in its own right. and perhaps now that you've seen the movie, you feel the book would be a bust because you already know the story and you know what happens next and that ruins it for you or something. i dont know, we've all done it.

sometimes, every once in a while, a movie based on a book does a pretty honest job. interview with a vampire, for example, kicked butt at this. granted, anne rice was intimately involved in the screenplay process, but no matter the reason, this was a rare win. the movie was not only AWESOME, but it was nearly identical to the book - in terms of character development, plot, even dialogue. then queen of the damned totally failed. awesome movie, but made no sense, and the book was a jillion times different. i suppose the question is, does it matter if the movie "isn't as good as the book?"




the immediate example that comes to mind is Sophie's Choice, by William Styron. (what?! i thought for sure she'd complain about lord of the rings! nope, it's been done to death.) i knew it would make me cry and i knew what the choice was, but that's pretty much all i knew when i read it. i also knew there was a movie that "people" were generally pretty stoked about, overall. so i flew through the book knowing the whole time that i would later be pointing out every variation in the movie, like in one of those games in Highlights magazine where you have to circle all the things that are different in the two pictures of the same scene. 

little did i know that the book and the movie were two COMPLETELY different creatures. the way i've explained it before is that the book is over 500 pages long, and the movie covers about 100 pages, and does so quite selectively. it would be easier to try to figure out what's the same.


basically, this made me very angry. here's a book with sensitive subject matter, and tons of complexity and depth, and honestly, it's more about the narrator than stupid sophie, and i was so excited to see how a lot of it would translate, and the whole time i'm thinking 'this would be a really long movie,' and then BAM, it's a movie about the holocaust that doesnt make any sense. like we needed another one of those.


another example is everything is illuminated. that book was AWESOME. and nothing like i expected. and super fun to read. and the movie made absolutely NO sense. i dont know how these things happen. i guess that's why they make a point to say things like "based on the novel" or "based on a true story." then the creative license exists to do whatever you feel like to it!


ok, enough whining. i'm not even going to get into the books based on movies, fan fiction, and all that jazz (*cough* star wars books *cough*).


media is so much fun because of stuff like this. different media reach different audiences, and with each translation, a new version is created, and exists independently from the "original." i love reading a book and then watching the movie based on it, because it's a whole new experience (plus i like to make those comparisons and try to figure out if the screenplay writer, director, producer, etc. had a different interpretation of what was important to the story as a whole, blah blah blah).

and new things are happening with this. ok, not super new, but pretty cool nonetheless. we've had batman movies and superman movies for quite some time, but since warner brothers bought the rights to certain dc comics, we've been inundated with some pretty badass-hollywood-movie versions of comic books. movies meant for adults, with depth and sex and yes, violence, at a level that was only alluded to in the comics meant for kids. 


AND THEN! introduce video games into the mix. Prince of Persia: a brand spakin new movie that looks like it will be pretty sweet, based on a video game that's been around for quite some time. in a video game, you certainly have plot and character development, but a movie is pretty much just one story. so it's almost more of a spinoff... kind of like comics.. SAFE GROUND! lemme 'splain.

with a novel, you have a solid story with a clear beginning and end, specific characters, meanings, points, nuances, and so forth. you can't really mess with much without being a ruiner. with comics, you have your main character(s) and some recurring villains, and a bunch of episodic plots where all that has to happen is the hero defeats a bad guy. video games are similar - you keep the back story, the hero, and within those parameters you could insert almost any plot you'd like. which makes movies based on comics and games "safe" from jerks like me.

hey. avatar is fern gully. and hook.

lacey just saw avatar and was text-complaining at me the whole time about how every inch of it is ripped off. doi. but haha, fooled you, i'm not going to talk about something that obvious except for right now when imma go 

RU-FI-OOOOO!!

ok, but i love lacey and she's right. and that's it. it's just that she reminded me of (anyone starting to think my blog should be called 'that reminded me of'? im so predictable. hey, that's perfect for this post!) not only one of the books i'm currently reading, The Enchantress of Florence, but upon further reflection, a book i read in college (surprise!) called The Manuscript Found in Saragossa. 


now don't get me wrong. i do not recommend reading 'Saragossa,' for it is a pernicious beast and will slay you in 100 pages or less, have no DOUBT. plus, if you make it 100 pages, you won't even feel very accomplished because it's about a bajillion pages long. i mean it's good, just takes a looong time to get through. crazy old timey polish guy. i'll expound, don't worry.


i do, however, so far, recommend the 'Enchantress.' now i bet you're thinking 

what the bleep are you talking about, lady; how are avatar, fern gully, rufio, a polish tome, and a super pomo rushdie novel AT ALL similar?

well i'm glad you (i) asked! 'member carl jung? (noooo, she introduced another character! shut up.) WELL, he blathered (like so many of us do, but he was way smarter n cooler) about how there are no actually new stories. in fact, vonnegut brought up the same point in A Man without a Country, in his pretty little graph proving that hamlet and cinderella were the same story (man, i love that guy. and hamlet). ok, here comes the quintessence. 


though i'm only halfway through Rushdie's Enchantress (that's what he said?), i've begun to notice a golden thread. would it be contradictory to call it blatant nuance? anywho. the narrative lazes back n forth in time/history and here n there across continents, catching you up on all the "pertinent" information to current circumstances. a dangerous little game, i might add. but here's where the anvil hit me (i know it's long, but this book is so beautifully choreographed that i hafta give you this much):

'The question of kingship,' the emperor said after a time, 'concerns us less and less. Our kingdom has laws in place to guide it, and officials worthy of trust, and a system of taxation that raises enough money without making people unhappier than is prudent. When there are enemies to defeat we will defeat them. In short, in that field we have the answers we require. The question of Man, however, continues to vex us, and the problem of Woman, almost as much.'

'It is in my city, sire, that the question of Man has been answered for all time,' Mogor said. 'And as to Woman, well, that is the very sum and matter of my story. For, many years after the death of Simonette the first enchantress of Florence, the foretold second enchantress did indeed arrive.'

 some things i noticed in that excerpt (end of chapter, btw, so i could do this) that gave me pause:

1. not particularly relevant to my point today but... Man is a question, Woman is a problem (can't say i disagree, but still, HEEEEY!!)
2. this bit is already within a story being told in the novel - summing up a previously told story but preparing the listener/character/reader for the new story.
3. aside from the biblical undertones of resurrection (one of these things is not like the other), it's clearly pointed out in this cliffhanger that something important that happened before is happening/happened/will happen again. not like a week ago, a year ago, or a decade ago, but within history (hey, not fair, define history! no.). 

don't worry, i wont address all of those individually. just wanted to throw those thoughts at you right after you'd read the bit. #s 2 and 3 basically pummel you with my point. ready for further punches? no one cares, here they come.


Saragossa would break your foot if you dropped it. Jan Potocki (po-tot-skee. that's right.) wasn't sure his reader would get it within the first 15 iterations or so, so he just RAN WITH IT. apparently people were pretty bored in the 18th century. naw, i'm bein mean, there is a reason he has so many stories, but man, it's like when i read catcher in the rye and i was yelling at the book in my lap,

It's not symbolism if you saturate me with it and then explain it!

dont get me started on that book. anywho. the reason i've thrown this book at you is because its point is the reiteration of the tale in a new way/the lack of any new story, and the method is the whole story within a story action. it's really pretty cool. main character is on a journey, meets some dude, dude tells him a story - within dude's story is another dude who tells a story, and so on. at one point it gets something like 18 levels "deep." i kept notes to keep track at one point and then just gave up n said 'I GET IT.' 

kicker: all of the stories and substories ended with the same scene (a troubling one). this spiraling labyrinth of storytelling begins to make the reader feel a bit insignificant in the grand scheme of things. like everything has happened before and history teaches us nothing and you are not a beautiful unique snowflake. 


same point i'm beginning to get from Enchantress. though certainly not the only one. and, granted, it's possible that i read existentialism into urrrvrything. but hear me out. in Enchantress we have the setting of mid-1500s Florence and Persia, but we also have characters recanting their histories (because decent was a pretty big deal), along with branching plot lines (i go here, you go there, ready, GO!), AND historical figures (*cough* Machiavelli *cough*). 


this is not a historical fiction novel, though - unless you'd call Kill Bill historical fiction because you learned something about Hattori Hanzo. the point is the repetition, the existence of archetypes, and the unfortunate fact that, no, there is nothing new in stories. it's also important to note that i use the term stories to refer to everything that happens. your life is a story. we add plot to everything. 'guy walks into a bar.' get it?

also, more important to note, there are infinite ways to tell a story. just because there will inevitably be a hero doesn't mean your story has been done before. in Enchantress, it's sometimes hard to tell who is even narrating at any given point: it could be a character in the 'present' of the novel, or maybe is a character within his story, or he's retelling a story someone told him so the lines are blurred, or maybe its just your good old omniscient narrator who's benevolent enough to give you everyone's perspective in the scene (a little jarring, but awesome).


it doesn't have to be alienating, distancing, and minuscule-feeling-making (i'll hyphenate what i please to make a point). this existence of the same plot, characters, and outcomes in so many stories from so many time periods across so many continents can be exhilaratingly unifying. alas, my point. humanity. narrative is human nature. it is universal. history, fiction, even nonfiction, follows a curve the reader can follow - aka, relate to. without verging on the collective unconscious, let me just say...


there are no universal truths. except stories.

if everything is ruined then nothing is ruined!

the discovery channel just told me that dark matter is the master of the universe. i always used to wonder what all the space between stuff was. because it's really hard to conceive of 'nothingness.' in fact, that's why i dig leibniz even though he's super hard to get and difficult enough to read (translation probably has something to do with that, but i dont speak german, and even if i did, my brain doesnt work/understand concepts like a german brain anyway so it wouldn't be much easier - but now i'm tangent-ing about the sapir-whorf hypothesis which is SO COOL but not what i'm trying to blather about this time so shut your mouth when you're talkin to me).


anywho. leibniz postulated that in the infinity of possibility, the world that exists must be the best of all possible worlds, and that's why it exists (basically because things that are possible are just competing to become actual - actual = existing), and for something to exist, it must be something and not nothing. has your brain 'sploded yet? 


so when the discovery channel was tellin me how the universe works n started talking about dark matter and explaining it a way i understood (for once), i was just grinning. i finally had an answer to what's all that space between the STUFF. it's not AIR. there's no AIR in space. plus i can name "air" - it's made of molecules just like i am. you know, oxygen and pollution and.. some gases.

that's the beginning of the movie Contact (great movie), the end of which (the clip, not the movie. ..well actually kind of the movie too, now that i think about it) reminds me of 2001: A Space Odyssey - but alas, i digress again.


what i love is that, as nebulous as it is (oh snap, unintentional science pun!), i GET dark matter now because it's the stuff between the stuff! everything isn't floating about all disconnected with not enough gravity to hold it together but it stays together anyway cuz i said so. it's thick out there. and here. now, i'm not a sciencey, mathy, physicsy person. so all the dark matter in my brain started making a whole galaxy of totally not-scientific connections. 

it's not magic, it's just the way things are, tommy, you and me and the air are actually tiny particles that're swirling around together. look right here, you 

k, but lookit the cracks between these particles, and the cracks we fall through, the holes of nothingness!

but look closer - there are tiny particles connecting the larger cubes

yeah, and then tinier cracks between the connections

and even tinier connections

and even tinier cracks

yeah but if ya look close enough, you cant tell where my nose ends and space begins because they're unified. see?

don't fall through the holes of nothingness - the space between the particles - because there's just more STUFF ! thanks, i <3 huckabees. 


as if quantum physics could get any nerdier. because dark matter is the stuff between the stuff, holding the stuff together, but it's made of we don't have a clue what, it is flirting with (dun dun dun) METAPHYSICS!! which is what i've been blathering about. oh man, it's so much fun. 


ok, one more thing, and it's really pretty. synchronicity. i'm sure i've mentioned Jung before (because he's made so many points that make me go DUDE TOTALLY) about archetypes and how no story is new, or about language (that whole sapir-whorf thing creeping back, oh how my brain works) or .. well he was a smart crazy dude. ever had to take a personality test thinger in a job interview or for a career counselor? he started it. anyway, he had a lil theory about synchronicity. this is just that one can experience events that offer meaning, even if there's no causal relation. coincidences with meaning. not everything has a cause and effect. starting to sound like chaos theory? weeeee so many connections.


i give you FRACTALS. i give you the mandelbrot set!

SO COOL. here's a video that will make it make more sense in the scheme of my ramblings if you dont know what it is. that right there is infinity, patterns, meaning in chaos, and stuff in the spaces between stuff. 

some awesome

Christie is super and she sent me this poem that rocked my socks off, so now i shall share the wealth. i really like the imagery (among other things). and that made me remindery of Billy's art! Billy is also super and an amazing artist and one of my favoritest pieces of his is also displayed proudly below. (tell him how awesome he is.)

this poem also kind of reminded me of another book by richard brautigan - you may enjoy An Unfortunate Woman. that's a book, i'm not saying you like sad ladies. that's all for now. enjoy :)

Elizabeth Bishop - Questions of Travel

There are too many waterfalls here; the crowded streams

hurry too rapidly down to the sea,

and the pressure of so many clouds on the mountaintops

makes them spill over the sides in soft slow-motion,

turning to waterfalls under our very eyes.

--For if those streaks, those mile-long, shiny, tearstains,

aren't waterfalls yet,

in a quick age or so, as ages go here,

they probably will be.

But if the streams and clouds keep travelling, travelling,

the mountains look like the hulls of capsized ships,

slime-hung and barnacled.

Think of the long trip home.

Should we have stayed at home and thought of here?

Where should we be today?

Is it right to be watching strangers in a play

in this strangest of theatres?

What childishness is it that while there's a breath of life

in our bodies, we are determined to rush

to see the sun the other way around?

The tiniest green hummingbird in the world?

To stare at some inexplicable old stonework,

inexplicable and impenetrable,

at any view,

instantly seen and always, always delightful?

Oh, must we dream our dreams

and have them, too?

And have we room

for one more folded sunset, still quite warm?

But surely it would have been a pity

not to have seen the trees along this road,

really exaggerated in their beauty,

not to have seen them gesturing

like noble pantomimists, robed in pink.

--Not to have had to stop for gas and heard

the sad, two-noted, wooden tune

of disparate wooden clogs

carelessly clacking over

a grease-stained filling-station floor.

(In another country the clogs would all be tested.

Each pair there would have identical pitch.)

--A pity not to have heard

the other, less primitive music of the fat brown bird

who sings above the broken gasoline pump

in a bamboo church of Jesuit baroque:

three towers, five silver crosses.

--Yes, a pity not to have pondered,

blurr'dly and inconclusively,

on what connection can exist for centuries

between the crudest wooden footwear

and, careful and finicky,

the whittled fantasies of wooden footwear

and, careful and finicky,

the whittled fantasies of wooden cages.

--Never to have studied history in

the weak calligraphy of songbirds' cages.

--And never to have had to listen to rain

so much like politicians' speeches:

two hours of unrelenting oratory

and then a sudden golden silence

in which the traveller takes a notebook, writes:

"Is it lack of imagination that makes us come

to imagined places, not just stay at home?

Or could Pascal have been not entirely right

about just sitting quietly in one's room?

Continent, city, country, society:

the choice is never wide and never free.

And here, or there . . . No. Should we have stayed at home,

wherever that may be?"

doppleganger is a fun word

usually when i rave about Simone de Beauvoir, it's regarding all men are mortal, one of my favoritest books of all time. sometimes it's after pedantically quoting the second sex. but this time 'round, it's about she came to stay. i had no clue what i was getting myself into with this book - i had only read the previously mentioned works by this crazy awesome lady (pictured left) and just wanted MORE. suffice to say this was just over a year ago, and i bought the mandarins at the same time, and was so devastated by she came to stay that i this is how far i got before needing something lighter.


this book is nothing like all men are mortal, style-wise. it is, however, about existential crises (oh how i love those). you know that the time. what you don't know is where the hell it's going. i must say, beautifully written, entertaining, but for piles of pages you just plain can't figure out what the overarching plot is. that's ok though. upon completion, all is revealed. our main character, francoise, is a rather narcissistic, artsy, intellectual snob. i absolutely loved her.


the story takes place in paris, right at the beginning of WWII - but that's all in the background. it's really about figuring out who you are, what you like, what you want, and just plain old what it all means and who &#*@ing cares. our main character finds herself a project in a young friend (xaviere) who's rather mopey and apathetic about everything. in every way, she is the opposite of francoise, who often butts heads to get xaviere to do something francoise thinks would be good for her - like leave her room, see a play, or have a conversation. starting to sound a little like bartleby? she's not so much an 'i'd prefer not to'-type as an petulant child. she feels greatly entitled to any and every concession, but hasnt the slightest idea what she actually wants.

No one could care less about her future than Xaviere.

now you know that francoise implored xaviere to come to paris and partake of life as francoise lives it (shamelessly, full force, giving and taking everything). but it doesnt take long for francoise to feel more than a little uncomfortable with this new creature in her life:

Francoise tried with all her strength to thrust into the background this precious and encumbering Xaviere who was gradually taking shape; she felt something close to hostility. But there was nothing to be done, no way of going back. Xaviere was a reality.

up until this admission, xaviere had been francoise's toy, a project - not a real person. now she becomes a threat. as the novel progresses, all the characters (this tight-knit quirky group of artsy smartsy friends) have character- (but not plot) building moments. but what creeps out, ooooozing it's way through the quotidian features of day after day in paris, is that xaviere's existence threatens francoise's existence. francoise is altered by xaviere's existence. she constantly questions everything, has internal struggles over everything because of this fluffity, needy, child. here's some more francoise-thoughts:

If only it were possible to prefer oneself to all others.

She did know with reasonable certainty what she was not; it was agonizing to know herself only in a series of negatives.

constant comparison to others is how francoise defined herself. and now she can't figure someone out. she has to examine herself and determine who she is first in order to understand this other. i don't want to give anything (further) away about the book, but the ending will make you sit still and stare for about an hour while your brain and soul go "       ."

un rapporto instabile

you knew it was coming. i warned you. guess you've figured out by now that i dig reading. i dig books. i dig ideas. and this book is about reading, books, and ideas. surprisingly enough (to me), many people who enjoy reading DO NOT dig this book. again, warned.

italo calvino's if on a winter's night a traveler is one of my more recent favorites. have you ever noticed something you tend to do while reading? i don't just mean sitting in a comfy chair, but that too. i also mean things like notice that the author certainly used the word 'void' a lot. or that if this character says this one thing, someone's gunna die soon. now what if those patterns you notice or participate in were violated? what if they were pointed out to you in the very thing you're dissecting? would it make you uncomfortable? what if the plot wasn't resolved? would you put the book in the freezer? 


this pile of words is so much stinking fun i have to bifurcate again. it's becoming habit, i know, but at least then you can pretend this is like a choose your own adventure or something where you don't actually have to read the whole thing, just the piece you want, but then you'll actually end up reading the whole thing anyway because what could have happened?! ok, you don't have to read the whole thing. but you do. you can't help it. just be glad i'm not.. trifurcating!! because i totally could.


so remember when i said that someday i would compare this book with brautigan's watermelony goodness? apparently 'someday' is today. so i guess you have to call that one guy you told 'maybe someday' and stave him off with the 'maybe' part. here are the things about which i will now expound:

1. the reader!

is she talking about me? she can't be talking about me! yes, i am.

2. comparisons!
watermelons and feedings and travelers, oh my!


aaaaand they're off!


1. reader vs author vs character vs story vs ... verses. 

ha. see what i did there? anywho. this tome of awesome makes a very sharp point about the act of reading. it dives deep into the reader's psyche and pokes and prods it, teasing it. 

i suggested this book to my dear, angelic moms (right), and she assigned it to her book group at the library (you can decide later if that was awesome or mean). parentheticals aside, my moms has a blog too, go read it, she's a pro. and she gives away free books! 


which brings me closer to my punto numero uno. calvino doesn't just pick the scab off your plot and character wounds. you know, all those times you were really into a book but the plot left you with all kinds of dangling chads, or a character you fell madly in love with died or turned out to be an a-hole or whatever. he also plays with the roles we assume and interact with and assign as we read. i am the reader, this dude wrote this book, some people on the east coast published it, a nice lady like my moms will help you find it in the library, your friends will see it on your shelf and give you a funny look like you're a crazy person... and these roles are all mutually exclusive. JUST KIDDING.


seriousface, first paragraph of the book. calvino begins his experiment (on you) thusly:

You are about to begin reading Italo Calvino's new novel, If on a winter's night a traveler. Relax. Concentrate. Dispel every other thought. Let the world around you fade. Best to close the door; the TV is always on in the next room. Tell the others right away, 'No, I don't want to watch TV!' Raise your voice - they won't hear you otherwise - 'I'm reading! I don't want to be disturbed!' Maybe they haven't heard you, with all that racket; speak louder, yell: 'I'm beginning to read Italo Calvino's new novel!' Or if you prefer, don't say anything; just hope they'll leave you alone. 

oh, that's right. he went there. the whole first chapter is in the second person. who does that?! YOU. you have been cast as the reader and you are taking directions about how to go about reading this book you're reading. tasty treat: when i started reading this book for the first time i was on my exercise bike, so it really made me giggle a few paragraphs later when he begins to talk about the most comfortable position, chair, etc. for reading.


the first question we asked the book group was,

was this book hard to read?

and the answer was a resounding yes. ok, so this is half of the reason the book group was a little irked: every other (like 1, 3, 5, not every single other) chapter is directed at you, the reader. but the reader evolves. no spoilers. the other other chapters (you know, 2, 4, 6) are stories. like the kind you're actually familiar with. with plots n recognizable tannins. the second half of the reason the book group was a little irked is that none of these little short stories has an end. that's right, and it's not a spoiler, i promise. 


you read the first chapter, get into it, don't really know what's going on because you've just been talked at by a chapter about the act of you reading, but you go with it, thinking ok, that was weird, but i guess this book is about this dude at a train station NOPE. and it is not a choose your own adventure, so don't try skipping the next chapter to see what happens next in that story. you'll just find another beginning. there is purpose and reason, mind you. just no minor resolution to these minor tales. this is a book about your relationship with it, with reading, with words, with stories, with.. your expectations.


moving right along...


2. comparisons are odious.

Meaning: Comparison (especially of people) is not productive and can have unpleasant consequences. People should be judged on their own merits.

Note: comparison (noun) = the act of comparing | compare (verb) = measure or note the similarity or dissimilarity between people or things | odious (adj) = extremely unpleasant; distasteful.


thank you, english club, but i am inclined to respectfully disagree. one can make all sorts of synaptic connections and find more relevant meaning when comparing. and comparing people is just fun. and part of our culture. but i digress.


while this book should be judged on its own merit (and i judge it fan-freaking-tasticulous), i also noticed that picking on the reader, speaking to the reader, and fiddling with the reader's expectations are not totally unique concepts. particularly, i am referring to a reference to which i have already referred: in watermelon sugar. 


in in watermelon sugar, our main character doesn't have a name, and he's speaking directly to you, reader, and so much of what he tells you depends on your interpretation of it. he won't just tell you what you expect, or how you expect to be told; he tells you whatever his crazypants brain feels like, and places the responsibility on you, reader, to make sense of it. this can frustrate some people. 


i also mentioned Feed, and implied this book warrants comparisons there as well. seem far-fetched? ha! ok, it's a bit of a stretch. what made me feel these two are distant cousins is twofold (oh, not again with the forking): the relationship to words - if on a winter's night is all about the reader's relationship to words and to books and the whole world of reading, right? you don't know, i know, so yeah, i'm right; AND the way the author toys with the reader by using different .. angles. in the case of feed, those angles are different media (i mean, still words, but advertisements and song lyrics - not just plot).


well, in feed, books don't exist anymore really. they're not commonplace, anyway. no one reads. there's no reason to, in their new blink-of-an-eye entertainment and knowledge future. and the consequences there are quite fun. at one point our protagonist (or is he?) makes fun of his smartypants girl friend for using a pen and paper. they're totally foreign objects to him. 


then Anderson throws song lyrics at you, Reader, from popular songs in this not-so-distant future. i'd give you a side-by-side comparison of some of the lyrics included in the novel with some of today's pop song lyrics, but instead, let me just give you another awesome chart to make my point.