I don't know what possessed me to actually buy this book. I don't often pay attention to recommendations from my many book apps and sites (including gI don't know what possessed me to actually buy this book. I don't often pay attention to recommendations from my many book apps and sites (including goodreads), trusting, instead, friends and folks whose taste I admire, but I saw the ugly, toxic, choo-choo train cover and felt compelled to click some link somewhere and read the plot summary.
I think I found out at that point that Keith C. Blackmore was a Canadian author, so that probably influenced me. I remember thinking, too, that the cover of The Majestic 311 reminded me of one my favourite repeating billboards in my many Trans-Canada journeys, a billboard trumpeting the awesomeness of The Minnow Trap (a truly awful book by some goofy writer from Northern Ontario), and I thought The Majestic 311 would at least be some trashy fun to take my mind off all the serious books I've been reading. But even then I shouldn't have been convinced enough to spend the money on The Majestic 311, yet I did and much to my surprise I didn't just put it on my "to read" pile and let it languish for five years. I opened the cover and started reading.
Awesome decision.
I love The Majestic 311. It really defies description, but let me try one out without spoilers: a gang of Canadian train thieves finds themselves in the wrong train one cold, wintry, Alberta night, and that train takes them across the universe and back again. Or something like that.
The Majestic 311 started out feeling like an old black and white Twilight Zone episode, blending Western and the supernatural, then it turned into an 80s mash-up of Slasher & Western movies before becoming a full out Bizarro novel before morphing its tone to the New Weird before shifting to full-out Sci-Fi before giving way to John Carpenterism then eventually winding up in a sort of Rod Serling's Night Gallery double twist ending. I never knew what was coming next, what was waiting from train car to train car, and I loved every second of it -- much to my surprise. I loved it so much that by the time I made it about two thirds of the way through the book I had to slow down my reading just to savour the remaining story.
I'm not sure how many people I know would love this book as much as I do, but there is no denying Blackmore is a solid technician and a fiercely imaginative author. I'm already nearly finished the first book in his Zombie series -- Mountain Man -- and I can't see myself slowing up. Blackmore's writing is just too damn entertaining.
There is one sad thing about The Majestic 311, though. I have been dreaming of starting to record audiobooks, and I was going to beg Blackmore to let me narrate The Majestic 311. Turns out that audiobook ship has sailed. Too bad. Back to dreams of classics, I guess. ...more
There is no way my words will express anything close to my admiration for Lacy M. Johnson's The Other Side. Nothing I write can be adequate. This memoThere is no way my words will express anything close to my admiration for Lacy M. Johnson's The Other Side. Nothing I write can be adequate. This memoir is the bravest memoir I have ever read.
Read it yourself if you want to know Lacy's story, but I will tell you this: The Other Side is not exactly what you will be expecting.
Johnson is, as far as I can tell (and I am confident you will see this too), the most honest memoirist in the history of memoirs. She fearlessly challenges her own memory of events (or ... possibly ... fearfully; hence her bravery), yet the discrepancies she finds in the way her story is remembered by everyone touched by her story and recorded by everyone who has recorded her story (herself included, on both counts) does nothing to diminish or undercut her memory -- instead, the discrepancies bulwark her memory, making her reality all the more potent. It is an astounding act of honesty and courage.
And that would be enough to make The Other Side a required work of literature, but it is more. What she has done is more.
Johnson reveals what true crime should really be about -- the victim -- and effectively shames all the true crime that fetishizes the criminal. Johnson reveals the ongoing and inescapable damage done to victims of violence. Johnson unflinchingly describes the violence done to her, then unflinchingly describes how she can't help but pass some of this damage on, then unflinchingly describes the woman she is and how the violence done to her cannot dim her need for eroticism, love, community, living poetry.
And then there is that which pushes The Other Side even deeper into the realm of true literature: Johnson is a poet. A poet is what she truly is, and much of her memoir is strikingly poetic, to a point that if has the power to unnerve its readers its sensuality (in its appeal to the senses).
Then there is power. That is what I am left with now that Johnson's voice (she narrates her memoir herself) is a whispery ghost in my ears. The power taken away from people. The power regained. The power to heal. The power of words. The power of one's self.
Usually I would say you should read a book that's this powerful, but I think you should listen to The Other Side. When you hear Lacy M. Johnson's voice, you will know why. ...more
Last winter, deep in the Canadian plains and the COVID tundra, my kids and I decided to read Genesis together (well ... the whole bible, actually ... Last winter, deep in the Canadian plains and the COVID tundra, my kids and I decided to read Genesis together (well ... the whole bible, actually ... but we've paused half way through Exodus as we wait for the Fall to return). Each night before bed we'd read a chapter all off by ourselves, and each morning on the way to our school day, we'd take a walk in the park, trudging through the snow, working out our thoughts and feelings concerning what we'd just read, full of debate and discussion.
I thought it would be a benefit to supplement our discussions with some "expert" theologians, and that thought took me to Karen Armstrong's In the Beginning: a New Interpretation of Genesis. I wish I had never had that thought.
Quite simply, my sixteen year old girl-boy twins and their eleven year old sister had far better insights into and interpretations of Genesis than Armstrong, a so-called expert, and the discussions we had on cold Manitoba mornings were far more enlightening than anything that appears in In the Beginning .... My three baby-theologians challenged the text, deconstructed chapters and put them back together, debated one another over issues that concerned them, questioned their own biases and how those biases conflicted with the original audience of the text, engaged in both literary criticism and critique of the book, dug into some historiography, and flexed their critical thinking skills with a passion. And they let Genesis itself be their guide. They didn't add apocrypha to fit their interpretations -- a favourite tactic of Karen Armstrong -- and they made no excuses for the "authors" of Genesis, made no presumptions of knowing what those "authors" intended, spent no time apologizing for and rationalizing Genesis' contradictions -- again, unlike Armstrong.
My children were the scholars; Karen Armstrong was, at best, a fabulist.
I will admit, however, that In the Beginning ...is a fascinating look at how the devout think, and for that reason alone I don't feel like this book was a waste of time. I didn't enjoy Armstrong's work and wish I hadn't bothered reading it, but I still managed to take something of value from the experience....more
I am never a fan of an author telling one’s readers what one was trying to accomplish when one set out to write one’s story, and I am even less a fan I am never a fan of an author telling one’s readers what one was trying to accomplish when one set out to write one’s story, and I am even less a fan of an author telling the readers what one’s story means or doesn’t mean, so being faced with Octavia E. Butler’s afterwords for each story was not my favourite part of what was an otherwise strong cycle of her short works. But Butler, herself, is so amazing that her afterwords didn’t kill the experience for me (as I feared they would) and, once or twice, when she stuck to the peculiarities of her writing (like the fact that she actively dislikes the short story form) rather than her goals and meanings, her afterwords actually overcame my biases. What really got me, however, were the stories and essays themselves. Exceptional shorts from a woman who would rather be writing novel length tales.
Blood Child --
This is a Nebula, Locus and Hugo Winner for Novelette, and the awards are well deserved. It isn’t my favourite story in the book, but it is damned powerful.
Without giving too much away, the story sees humans (Earthlings) taking refuge on some other planet far away from ours, where the cost for living there, in the Preserve, is to become hosts for the native species’ babies, essentially giving up our blood and circulatory systems to their larval offspring as wombs for reproduction.
Though Butler denies that this is a tale of slavery, that is precisely what I read it as before reading her comments (along with one or two other possible meanings), and her opinion hasn’t swayed my feelings one jot. She may not have written Blood Child with slavery in mind, but the power dynamics of the tale certainly parallel those of slavery (or maybe more accurately the human relationship with pets and domesticated animals; its own form of slavery), which made my reaction to the main characters -- Gan and T’Gatoi -- troublesome because I couldn’t help caring for both. Regardless of its “true meaning,” Blood Child will make you think, which is so often the way with Octavia E. Butler.
The Evening and the Morning and the Night --
This is Science Fiction at its absolute best. I would go so far as to say it is one of my ten favourite Sci-Fi Short Stories, which is an illustrious list. It is also the story in Blood Child that makes me angry at Octavia E. Butler. Her command of prose, her perfect weighting of every element in this tale, the information she gives and withholds, it is all the work of a master short story writer, and I can’t help being pissed off at her for not writing more tales of this beauty and economy (but then I remember all the wonderful novels she’s given us and I don’t stay pissed long).
I will say nothing about the plot, but even if you don’t read Blood Child as a book, find The Evening and the Morning and the Night. It is a must for any Sci-Fi fan. It’s one of those stories I wish I had told.
Near of Kin --
I know that Octavia E. Butler is mostly challenging herself when she writes tales like Near of Kin, but her readers are, luckily, just as challenged as she, probably more so. Here she delivers a tale of incest stripped of abuse and lasciviousness, and turns it into a story where the shame of an act -- an act that may not have been shameful in the moment of its consummation but is shameful for the players once they come out the other end and have to live with what they’ve done because -- has quiet and generation spanning repercussions. It’s beautifully told, and the narrator and her uncle are so real I feel as though I could meet them on the street.
Speech Sounds --
So much could be said about this story, so much should be said, but I think that I am going to stick to something simple -- how impressed I was by the way Butler handled the sex. There is a pivotal moment of sexual contact in what seems a nearly hopeless near future utopia, and it is handled with a frankness and honesty that seemed to me to be the beginning of the hope that Butler’s tale eventually paid off. Beautifully done.
Crossover --
When hope is lost this is what happens, more often than not.
Positive Obsession & Furor Scribendi --
These essays are not Butler’s forte, but for any writer thinking of dedicating themselves to their craft, these words are wise and can only help....more
At this point -- having finished Annihilation, the first book in Jeff Vandermeer's Southern Reach Trilogy -- I have no idea what is actually going on.At this point -- having finished Annihilation, the first book in Jeff Vandermeer's Southern Reach Trilogy -- I have no idea what is actually going on. And I don't know if I want to know.
The journey of the Biologist in Area X (is that the letter X? or is that the Roman numeral ten? If you've heard the audiobook or you're Jeff Vandermeer himself, please let me know) is at times terrifying and at times thrilling and even occasionally adventurous. But the story I really loved was the Biologist's personal tale, her past, her concerns, her marriage, her difficulty with love and intimacy, her obsession with her own perceptions of life.
And once I put all of her past together with all of the present she conveyed in her journal and listened to the direction I thought Vandermeer was giving the readers to let our own perceptions dictate the tale, I came out the back end with a very personal, very strange, more than likely very incorrect reading of what was going on.
I brought my own personality to bear on the text and my knowledge of Vandermeer the writer and all my own biases and concerns, and more than I do with most novels, I created a reading of the story that is probably exclusively mine. And I loved it. Which leads me to my three star rating. I couldn't give it more because I feel like the five star enjoyment I felt could easily be destroyed were I to go on and discover more about Southern Reach and Area X. I fear that what will be revealed will destroy what I love about Annihilation, and I am already (and quite foolishly) sad before I have even cracked Authority.
I can't wait to read other people's reviews and views of this book. I hope they're as varied as I imagine they will be....more
My introduction to the X-Men, many years ago, was the Dark Phoenix Saga (even though it was already a couple of years old when I found it). Up until tMy introduction to the X-Men, many years ago, was the Dark Phoenix Saga (even though it was already a couple of years old when I found it). Up until then I'd been consuming Namor and the staples: Batman, Superman, Captain America, Spiderman. My starting place was not a bad place to start; it was, in fact, a pretty fine place to start. Maybe too fine. Starting with one of the finest chapters of the X-Men might be why I've mostly been a passing fan of Marvel's mutants over the years. Nothing could quite live up to the excellence of the Chris Claremont & John Byrne partnership.
I'd pop into the X-Men for a visit if I heard an arc was worth reading or if a crossover made a visit essential, or even buy a mini-series with an X-Man I liked, but I was never an avid reader.
I had no idea until recently that my introduction to the X-Men was as significant to my personal mythology as it was and is, but somewhere in my squishy brain bits that first moment with the X-Men planted some seeds that germinated into my contribution to our youngest daughter's name.
When I chose the name nine years ago (a name which was supposed to be my son Milos' when he and his twin sister Bronte were born, but he was a boy, "Damn it!" and he screwed up my plans), everyone wondered why I would chose a name like the one I chose, especially when I instantly replaced it with a nickname. I couldn't provide an answer beyond, "I dunno. I've always just loved those names." The name and the nickname felt right.
It took Joss Whedon's* Astonishing X-Men Vol. 1 Gifted to answer that question and reveal the roots of the brain shrub that had been growing since I was a kid, but the answer was there in the pages of his epic X-Collaboration with John Cassaday.
As soon as I started reading I was greeted by an old, old friend -- Shadowcat. She's late for her return to Professor Xavier's School for Gifted Youngsters, and she finds an empty school upon her arrival, so she starts walking through walls and sinking through floors trying to figure out where everyone's gone (she can phase through anything, in case you didn't know). And I am thrilled. I instantly remember how much I've loved Shadowcat through the years, and I hope that she'll bump into Wolverine soon (in the movies, Rogue's relationship with Wolvie is based on the comic book relationship between him and Shadowcat). Instead, she stumbles into a school assembly and shrugs off the embarrassment at her lateness when the new Headmistress, Emma Frost (former White Queen of the Hellfire Club), mocks her. She gives Emma a sassy tongue lashing and reminds the White Queen that the first time they met Emma tried to kill her, derailing her search for the X-Men and unleashing a Dark Phoenix. I snort at Shadowcat's telling blow, then remember that Dark Phoenix was indeed the first appearance of Kitty Pryde.
And I start to wonder without any serious thought whether "Kitty" has anything to do with my Kitty Kat's nickname; something is shaking those roots, but I ignore it and keep reading until it comes clear.
You see ... another old favourite appears right near the end(view spoiler)[ Colossus, resurrected from the dead by alien baddy, Ord (hide spoiler)], and he calls Kitty by the name only he calls her -- "Katya" -- and I know the source of my contribution to Scoutie's name: Katya Gwendolyn Scout. I should have known all along, but somehow the source slipped away from me only to be revealed in the best X-Man comic since the Dark Phoenix Saga.
I think they're fabulous. Both the comic and the revelation it catalyzed. And I love comics. And Joss Whedon. And most of all I love my Scoutie Kat.
*For all you oldsters out there: did you know that Joss Whedon's Dad, Tom Whedon, was the head writer for The Electric Company? How fucking cool is that?...more
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