Reviews



A Review of Veronica Roth’s Divergent Series, and some reflections on the YA Genre

             At one point, I imagined my review of this series to be uplifting and optimistic. To illustrate this, I insisted a couple of my friends also read the first book, Divergent, and the sequel, Insurgent, in anticipation of the third and final book in the series, Allegiant, that was just released last week. I am disappointed to report that this series is not worth your time. Much like the Hunger Games in many aspects, it too had a ridiculous and pointless ending, and moreover, it was so poorly executed to the extent that I didn’t even care.

             To the series credit, the premise is quite interesting. The reader follows a quite likeable protagonist, named Tris Prior, through a crucial point in her life; where within her dystopic society that is divided into five factions based on personality type, she must decide where she should spend the rest of her life. You can see how this basis somewhat resembles the Hunger Games, but I was hooked from the premise of the division based on different personality types, and I kept reading because of the character development, initially. I will admit that I became somewhat invested in some characters.

             After the first book, the premise began to develop a little too far beyond its britches. Don’t misunderstand me. I love how YA fiction broaches big concepts in saliable, relatively non-threatening ways. The problem is (and would be for any book or writing of any genre) when a piece tries to take on too many big problems without giving adequate treatment to any of them. It was ambitious for each of the books in the Divergent series to deal with different problems (Divergent: societal devision based on personality; Insurgent with more authoritarian and rebellious political themes; and Allegiant, dealing with genetic (read: racist/ ableist) superiority issues. These are all wonderful issues that were set up quite nicely, but none of which were treated with enough attention. I did not expect these issues to come to a nice and tidy solution, but I also expect more from an author than to just set up (nicely) a premise and let it dangle while starting a new thread. Of course these topics also tie neatly into each other as well, but because the threads were dropped so abruptly rather than thought out entirely, each book almost felt like its own island.

             As for Allegiant itself… I have a massive bone to pick. I noticed while reading how Tris was an entirely different character from the start, and that the change was not gradual, but quite abrupt. More disconcerting was Roth’s continued insistence on “killing your darlings”… but I don’t want to spoil anything so I will leave it there for now, though I do want to think more about this “kill your darlings” tool in writing, and question its efficacy.

             Two of my major problems with Allegiant, though, I can talk about without spoiling anything. Roth, for some reason unimagineable to me, decided to change the narrative style of the third book, so that unlike the first two that were told from Tris’ viewpoint, Allegiantalternated between Tris’ and her boyfriend Tobias’ viewpoint. Ignoring the fact that it is just pure sloppy to change a voice this late in the game, is Tris suddenly incapable of telling her own story so much that she needs help with some nuance from her boyfriend? An extension of this problem that just makes it even more frustrating for me is that Tris does not even get the last word of her own story. This seems like so much wasted in effort in trying to build an admirable heroine just for Roth to undermine herself in the ninth inning for no good reason.

             My other major problem I can equate to my major problem with the Hunger GamesTrilogy, and namely Mockingjay. In imagining the target audience as being young, impressionable adults, it is important to expose them to the realism of the world. I understand that. But must we always be in such a rush to insist that the endgame is always: ‘and then everything turned to/remained shit’. Can we not find a silver lining, a reason to instill hope that a person can make a change? The trend in YA endings lately (Hunger Games; The Infernal Devices; Divergent) really bothers me. I would love to see someone on the scene shake it up a little bit. It seems YA authors have found some really creative ways of approaching mother fucking love triangles, you’d think they’d be able to find a unique and not lazy way to end their books?

             I don’t feel that I have to legitimize why I spend time reading Young Adult fiction, but I feel that certain really good YA fiction will legitimize itself anyways. An obvious example would be Harry Potter, but for me, one of the many profound moments I have had reading came from the Hunger Games. When Cinna, (for the uninitiated, a fashion designer helping Katniss with her rebel cause) turned Katniss’ dress from a symbol of her oppression into the symbol of her freedom, her cause, and a rallying point for a whole oppressed society, I had tears in my eyes. This moment did more for me as an Arts major than any other person, colleague, or professor did. I still think back to this moment at times when I feel that my training as an Arts major was futile. What Cinna did with his art as a designer was one of the most important acts in the Panem uprising. He had an integral part in the cause, and his training in art, coupled with his compassion and intelligence meant something. I am sure this same point has been made time and time again in literature and in life, but for me, Cinna and his Mockingjay dress were exactly what I needed.

This is why Young Adult literature is important. This is why Art is important.

“Make good Art.” –Neil Gaiman

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A Review of Dan Brown's Inferno (Doubleday, 2013)


            First of all, my instinct is to apologize for the blog that has lain dormant for a year. I must however shush that instinct, because truth be told, I am not at all remorseful that I didn’t write over the year. I simply couldn’t have. I was working very hard on completeing my Master of Arts in English, while holding up not one, but two jobs. I just wrapped up my final paper in August, and almost immediately after left for a wonderful (but whirlwind) trip to Ireland for two weeks. Since I’ve been back, I’ve been recovering from a touch of burn out… which has brought me to writing for you, at this present moment. I’ve sorely missed writing, even though its only been a few weeks.
             You see, as part of my recovery, I took a little vacation from writing, and even from reading. I started with… I am deeply ashamed to say this… deep breath… tabloids. Pictures and short shallow blurbs were the only things that seemed salient to be all my exhausted and ADD addled brain in the airports to and from Ireland.
             Next I moved on to various more content focused magazines. One that have I particularly enjoyed is ELLE. I am not at all even remotely claiming to be a fashionista; most of the fashion content goes right over my head. They do however have an excellent selection of journalistic articles and reviews of a variety of subjects, books, and films. Such articles were good reads, but did not involve the long term commitment of a novel or a book (oh the drama… alas, this is how tired I was.)
             My next, most recent step has been to move on to a book. I’m proud to announce that I’m back to real big kid books, complete with stories featuring developed plots. I am not so proud to announce the book I chose for my return is Dan Brown’s Inferno, which was in a word, wretched.
             I did not begin this book expecting epic plot, nuanced characters, or even beautiful prose, but I did expect that I would have had some sort of plot progression. Instead, I enduredInferno’s pointless plot and Brown’s worst, most dry writing to date. And yes, finishing this book was an act of endurance.
             To quickly gloss this book for those who are (blissfully) unaware, Inferno is Dan Brown’s latest installation into the adventures of Robert Langdon (of DaVinci Code fame). The beginning of the book had me hooked: Langdon wakes up in a hospital and cannot remember any recent events, or where he is; a deranged scientist simultaneously threatens to release a dangerous virus.
             In typical Dan Brown fashion, Robert Langdon’s adventure begins at the intersection of science of religion, dealing with overpopulation, scientific interventions and their redundancy due to the Catholic Church’s intervention. From the get go, the issue of overpopulation, while terrifying, does not create the immediate intrigue in the audience when compared to the wild conspiracy theories featured in Brown’s other novels.
             I will admit that there was a twist that I did not see coming, and for good reason. Brown essentially renders his entire plot moot on multiple occasions. The book ends up being literally pointless.            
             As for the writing: Dan Brown has never been Ondaatje when it comes to the poetry of prose, but Inferno was a new low. Much of the close readings of art that I do enjoy in Brown’s other books is missing here. Brown also missed many opportunities to create symbols: going to great lengths to set opportunities up, only to leave them dangling (a great mystery considering the book is about a symbologist). I typically enjoy the descriptions of Langdon’s travel adventures, being an aficionado of travel myself, but honestly… My lonely planet travel guide to Florence read more elegantly than parts of Inferno. Brown focused on bland and pointless details, shifting focus from the already lacking plot. There is also no character development, meaning there was no reader investment into any character, an integral function that was missing. If none of the action has any consequence because the reader doesn’t care about the characters, where does that leave an action novel? Collecting dust on the shelf.

Did you read Inferno? If so, what did you think? Has anyone had a good read lately? I’d love to hear any recommendations in the comments!

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"You will never write this well": A review of Zadie Smith's NW (Penguin, 2012)



In an essay on minimalist writer Amy Hempel, Chuck Palahniuk notes that the take home lesson from her short story “The Harvest” is that “you will never write this well”. I find this aphorism most appropriate every time I put down a Zadie Smith novel. Her newest contribution to the destruction of my self-esteem is entitled NW, and you should go and buy it. Right now.

Zadie Smith emerged onto the literary scene in 2000 with the brilliant White Teeth.  I think I am safe in speaking for the literary community when I say that this novel is mind bendingly brilliant. I have seen it on countless “Top x lists of x” and have had it recommended to me by at least 3 professors, so I think my sample size is pretty reliable. And I have read it. I have read it forwards and backwards, I have read in between the lines and I have tortured myself over every word. Zadie Smith wrote this novel in her early 20s. The same age I was when I read it. White Teeth is a coming of age story, but when I say coming of age, I mean coming into any and every age. It is a story of London, and of race in London, and consequentially, post-colonialism. White Teeth taught me, or brought me, to think in unfamiliar terms considering race and gender. Most of all, Zadie Smith and White Teeth taught me about the fine line between inspiration and desperation.

But this review is not about White Teeth. I found it necessary to start with White Teeth, however, because NW is in some ways a follow-up, a more focused thesis into the same issues, same narratives that were previously incited. NW refers to North West London, which is perhaps the largest key in interpreting the social significance of this novel. Smith brilliantly brings into focus the intersections between race, gender, and socioeconomic status by applying geographic scale to the narrative. The area from which the characters hale do far more to give them context then almost anything else that they could do or say. For example, the characters are wont say things like, “I don’t go S”, or describe people as, “more N than NW”. This form of characterization in itself should not be a surprise to us: here I can direct you to the countless studies between the index in socioeconomic status and country in the world, or even in various neighborhoods and cities.

I am also very impressed by the way in which Smith continues to play with the format of the text. The narratives of each individual character each appear differently on the page, and in a way add a deeper level of understanding to the character. A stand out example of this experimentation with form is the delineation of chronology through lingual fad phases like “literally”, or the equivalency between the phrase “In Africa” as a referent to an earlier point in time.

One of my favourite things about NW is its awareness of its predecessor, White Teeth. I caught two character references to White Teeth in NW (Mrs. Iqbal and Irie). This consciousness of what came before is very well suited to a story set in and about London, a city that has transformed and grown through the ages. To me, these character references evoked a sense of nostalgia, and I am nothing if not nostalgic.

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The Cabin in Woods (dir. Drew Goddard)


             My first impression after seeing the trailer for Cabin in the Woods was that it was a formulaic horror flick. After reading some great, albeit surprising reviews, I decided that watching it might be something to do, but immediately began to doubt myself when the Piranha 3DD preview (I wish I were joking) played in the theatre. Faulkner once said that there were only 7 different types of plots, and while I respectfully disagree, the horror genre at times seems bent on supporting this. There is the stock paranormal plot, the large mutated animal plot, the psychological thriller, the slasher plot, and combinations thereof. And that is why the Cabin in the Woods is brilliant. It never pretends to be anything that it is not, but manages to push itself outside of the margins of the genre and perform an impressive self-examination.
             This is not say that there has never been a meta-fictive horror film before. Scream did a very good job of being self-aware, and making the audience aware of what the movie was, and the mechanics with which it functions. The Cabin in the Woods was more successful with meta-fiction for two main reasons: one, it took more chances and pushed the boundaries farther than Scream, and two, it was magical and fantastical (unicorns always win). Joss Whedon and Drew Goddard know something very important about writing: your audience is only as intelligent as you let them be. On that note, Cabin in the Woods will please both audiences who want the shit scared out of them, and also audiences who want to look past the first frame.
             Though featuring a fairly hefty cast, the actors did little more than lead the audience up the garden path of horror film archetypes. The characters may look a certain way, but the audience’s expectations are immediately flouted. The way that the scientist’s alter the character’s personalities to better fit the stock archetypes is akin to the action the director, writers and actors do to characters: make them completely stereotypical, so that the audience can understand and expect what has happened, and what will happen as a consequence. How can any character in a horror ever have agency?
             This movie happened to pick a rather comtemporary American brand of zombie, the hick-family type (The Hills Have Eyes come to mind). Nothing in horror films screams Americana quite like zombies (I’m looking at you Zombieland, The Walking Dead). The Japanese are definitely a close second to Americans in horror films as well, which the movie is quick to acknowledge, containing the Japanese favourite antagonist and stock characters as well.
             Part of the movie’s self-awareness was in acknowledging the normal hints the audience can tell will be triggers: the windows and doors lurking in the background, the conspicuous lighting, the tense music or lack thereof. As I said before, the writer’s do not infantilize the audience, so making these horror mechanics ultra obvious acts as a satire of the genre. And even on the most primal level, even if you know something is going to pop out, it can still make you jump out of your seat.
             I am surprised the ending and the multiple frames that encompass the “cabin in the woods” plot have managed to stay fairly quiet. I think the movie works best this way. To eliminate any doubt in the audience’s mind that this movie is anything else than a love letter to horror, the pretty bow on top of Joss Whedon’s gift, is the best use of deus ex machina, since, well, ever. Or at least Mass Effect 3.