A Lopsided Love Affair in Retrospect: The Neil Gaiman Signing in Toronto

 I was not even aware that it was Neil Gaiman whom I loved the moment I fell in love with him. I was sick at home, doing some homework when the film Stardust came on TV. It instantly became on of my favourite films (even bumping The Princess Bride down a notch). It didn’t occur to me that it had been based off of a book (or graphic novel). A couple of years later, I began reading the comic book series Sandman over my boyfriend’s shoulder. After Pat told me that it was the same author who had written Stardust (and that Stardust was a graphic novel!) I was sold.

I quickly came to find that Mr. Gaiman was not only a wonderful writer in all of my favourite genres, but that he was a wealth of inspiration in wisdom in regards to the writing process, a process that still fascinates and terrifies me. If you are an aspiring writer, or even a student looking for inspiration to overcome procrastination, I recommend reading some of Mr. Gaiman’s blogs , or you can spend hours (or days like I did) pouring over his tumblr. (ahem… about that procrastination thing…)

During a shared daydream in which Pat and I fantasized about attending San Diego Comic Con and only one of us winning a raffle to attend the Gaiman signing there, Pat and I burst our dream bubble by arguing about who would get the ticket (reality check: neither of us were going anyways). A short while later, when Indigo announced that they were hosting a Neil Gaiman reading/signing in Toronto, I could not buy the tickets fast enough.

The signing was extra awesome, because not only did Neil (I feel like after our moment, I’m for sure on a first name basis with him) sign and personalize The Ocean at the End of the Lane, he also signed one other book of choice. I got my favourite copy of Stardust signed (the graphic novel illustrated by Charles Vess), and Pat got Sandman’s Preludes & Nocturnes signed (Neil even drew a picture inside the front cover).

For the record (let me state it bluntly in case it isn’t obvious enough already), I highly recommend both Stardust and the Ocean at the End of the Lane, (and Gaiman's entire back catalogue if you've got the time).

For me, what made the event the most special wasn’t that I got to hear Neil read, or even that I got his signature, but rather, the time that he spent with each of his readers. Even though it was only a brief moment, I know you will be able to see in the pictures that follow how Neil genuinely took interest in what each person said when the interacted with him.

He listened careful, and did not look bored, irritated, or even in pain (as one would be after signing for hours). It is a hard feeling to put to words, the feeling of sharing eye contact with someone who has inspired and entertained you for such a long period of time; the feeling of someone so significant to even acknowledge your existence for a fleeting few seconds. 

And now you all have an idea of the extent to which I am a literary fan girl.

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, Allegiant alternated 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 Games Trilogy, 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

Chuck Palahniuk's Doomed Tour Stop in Toronto

Do you know how Chuck Palahniuk lost his virginity? I do.

Last night I had the privilege of attending a Chuck Palahniuk reading promoting his new book, Doomed.  I had seen him (and actually met him) at a signing a couple of years ago when he was promoting Rant. This time around, Chuck did things a little differently. For instance: there was a dress code. Attendees were asked to wear their pajamas for a PJ party.

Pictured, Mr. Palahniuk looking dapper in his red smoking jacket:

I decided to break out my favourite PJs:

Upon entering the event, Indigo employees handed out deflated plain white beach balls and glow sticks. The audience was instructed to inflate the beach balls, insert the glow sticks into a designated pocket within the inflated ball, and then write a question on the ball. When it came to question and answer time, the lights dimmed and the crowd turned into a human pinball machine, mixing up the balls to find good, Chuck-worthy questions. 

While this was all fun, there was actual reading going on too, I swear.

For the record, I shouldn’t have to justify why Mr. Palahniuk is my favourite author, but here it is: anyone who knocks Margaret Atwood and the Kardashians in the same story (“Zombies” forthcoming in Playboy) is tops in my eyes.

The story of how he lost his virginity was so raw and awkward (as most of ours I’m sure would be), but told in Palahniuk’s distinct voice and cadence. It was infused with irony and a sort of hilarious poetics that makes me think that he can’t have just recalled it on the spot-- it must have been forethought, recalled and retold. The thing is: how far can you trust a storyteller? Perhaps veracity should not be a qualifier for trust in the case of art, because I can tell you that I know I can always trust Chuck for a couple things: to entertain me, to shock and amaze me, and to take me to school.

 And take me to school, he did. Chuck casually put on a clinic, as per usual, in terms of writing advice. One question asked about a particular technique Chuck has called “unpacking”. Chuck explained the necessity of reading a story out loud, so that you’d know when you start to lose your audience to death by boredom. Chuck explained that, “When I look out at you and see a bored face, I think, that person must have a hearing problem”. He put this theory to practice when he read one of his classic short stories, “Guts”, a story that has a history of making people faint due to it’s graphic nature (sometimes known as “the Guts Effect”).

The highlight of my evening however was when Chuck read his new story, the aforementioned “Zombies”, about people using automatic external defribillators on their brains, turning them into “zombies”. Sort of like suicide, but without the death part. I know that little recap doesn’t sound so cheery, but I promise you that this story has one of the most uplifting, beautiful morals of any other Palahniuk story I’ve ever read.

Having just received my copy of Doomed, my plans for this weekend have been made. I’ll report back soon. 

A Review of Dan Brown's Inferno

            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 endured Inferno’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!

"You will never write this well": A review of Zadie Smith's NW

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. 

Eating, Drinking, and Loving Italy

My partner is obsessed with Italian food. He worked in an Italian restaurant, and even though there is a tendency to fall out of love with things you work with all the time, I think this must have just reinforced his passion. Sometimes I wonder if he is with me because of my Italian grandmothers cooking. He says its just a perk, but I wonder… He is truly in culinary heaven in Italy.
             Our tour of Italian cuisine started in Florence. We had some incredible pasta and pizza, and our hostel had great meals (3 portions of rice and a full small chicken for 7 euro!) on the cheap. The real prize of Florence cuisine for me was the wine. Particularly, Chianti. The first time we had it, it was a warm night on the patio, which I have already stated already makes everything taste better. Although we had a red wine, it was chilled, which made it refreshing after a hot day. Sometimes after you walk 30 kms in a day, you just want something cold to drink, and since I don’t drink beer, wine doesn’t really fit the bill for me either. But this Chianti certainly did. It had a full flavour, but was very light. Definitely have a new favourite wine. I can’t bring the Tuscan hills home with me, but hopefully every time I drink Chianti it will be a nice reminder.   
             The next stop on our Italian itinerary was in Rome, which was sort of underwhelming in terms of food. More expensive for less quantity. After two subpar dinners around the tourist areas, we decided to follow the locals across the river to Trastavere. Here we found a slight decrease in the expense and a definite increase in the quantity of the food. We found many family owned restaurants right near the river and sat on the patio, because I have to sit on the patio unless its cold or raining. For drinks, we made our way to Campo di Fiori, a short walk from Piazza Navona. In the mornings, Campo di Fiori is a square that is filled with market stalls. In the early afternoons, all the stalls are cleaned up and tucked away, and the square turns into a giant open air pub. On our last night, we went for dinner with our two flat mates from Rome at a favourite place of theirs called Cesars very close to ruins. It was a family owned place, and our flatmates had become regulars throughout their stay in Rome. We had bruschetta, pasta, panna cotta and tiramisu for 12 euro per person! We also indulged in three bottles of wine and stayed at the restaurant until after 1 am… Time flies when youre having fun.
             Naples was all about the pizza. The birthplace of pizza is reknowned for doing it right. And did they ever. The prices of everything in Naples were extremely cheap because the city was literally drowning in trash and unbelievable sketchy. I literally mean unbelievably. It is still a shock to me. But more on that in another post at another time. The one positive perk of this was that I had the best pizza of my life for 5 euro. I had a pizza with blue cheese, spinach, and walnuts, and it was incredible. My Italian food loving companion combined his passion for pasta and pizza by selecting a pizza with mozzarella cheese covered with Bolognese sauce and soft ricotta like cheese on top. I’m not going to lie, his was definitely better.
             On the last leg of our tour in Italy, we stopped in the small town called Rutigliano (near Bari—close to the heel of the boot) where my grandparents are from. We stayed with family there, and we got to truly experience what a day eating in Italy is like. For breakfast, or la collazione, you generally eat a croissant, or a croissant like pastry filled with chocolate, or cream. This can be accompanied by a collection of cookies and/or cakes, and is certainly accompanied by espresso. Luckily my aunt knows that I am a pansy and made me a cappuccino instead. Breakfast of champions. The main meal of the day is pranzo, around 2 in the afternoon, when everyone leaves work or school for an hour or two. Pranzo consists of a primo piatto (a first plate) of a pasta dish, a second dish of carne (meat or fish) followed by salad, and peppered throughout with lots of bocconcini, a type of mozzarella cheese and focaccia, a thick oily bread covered with tomatoes, or onions and cheese. Dinner or cena is a much later meal in the evening after 8 or 9, and unfortunately I did not get an accurate representation of this because I had another massive feast for my little cousins birthday party. I hear that cena is usually a smaller meal, but we had so much food at the party that it don’t believe it could be smaller than pranzo. On a day trip, we went to some of the surrounding areas, including Monopoli, Arberobello, and Polignano, where we had a granita: a cup with pane (or whipped cream) on the bottom, coffee flavoured ice, and topped off with more pane.
             Now its time to walk it all off in Greece…

Lost in Translation

Believe me when I say that there is no better way to learn a language then by immersion. Before a few days ago, I thought I could get by in an Italian conversation. I thought that when I spoke to my grandparents, we were speaking Italian. I thought that when I spoke with train station attendants, waiters, and other passers by in Italy that I was speaking Italian. I have since realized that the Italian that I was speaking was actually akin to pig’s latin, and I was like a child playing at a language game.
             On the train into Italy from Nice to Florence by way of Milan, my partner and I were in a compartment with 2 other young female students, an old man who lives in Monaco, and a churchman who is from Africa but lives in Milan. Between us, more than 15 different languages were represented. We carried on a conversation for 3 hours switching between French, English, and Italian. I knew enough words of what they were saying, and when I spoke Italian, I did not have too much of an accent, however my grammar was horrible. Past tense was entirely beyond me at conversational speed.
             At restaurants, train stations, and buying tickets for museums and galleries, I always tried to speak Italian because of my displeasure for waltzing into a country and expecting them to be able to accommodate me. On a few occasions, my Italian was complemented (“considering you’re American”). On more occasions, because my Italian was so atrocious, people could tell that I was not Italian and responded in English. I really liked it when people responded in Italian because I like to think that I actually did a good job in convincing people that I was Italian.
             My main frustration with speaking Italian is that so many words are readily available to describe precisely what I am thinking in English, but in Italian, I always end up saying, “that is nice” or “very beautiful”, which just seems so lame and flat to me, thus making me feel like I am being insincere. I thought hard about how my vocabulary exploded when I was learning English, and it came to me: I read voraciously. With this idea in mind, I bought Harry Potter and the Philosopher’s Stone – in Italian—for a few reasons: 1) the level of reading is suitable for a younger audience, which I figure is roughly the level that my Italian is at; 2) I have read it way too many times, so I could use context/logic to figure out the meanings of words that I don’t know (elementary school reading buddies comes to mind) ; 3) the cover art is so cooool!
             For our last few days in Italy, I had the ultimate test. The full on language immersion experience. We stayed with my Italian aunt in Rutigliano, the small city where my grandparents are from. It. Was. So. Hard. I did okay during our first big family supper, because the stuff we were talking about was all stuff I had said before. Luckily, I have a few cousins my age who speak English incredibly well, so between English and Italian they managed to teach me some new things. By the first evening though, I had learnt so many new words and expressions. I even learnt how to use the past tense! Go me! My head was spinning so fast, and I felt that I was more exhausted than I would be after running 10 k. Learning a new language at immersion speed takes a massive amount of cognitive effort. However, I cannot deny the results. By the end of my stay in Italy, I was thinking in Italian first. I still occasionally accidentally respond to my boyfriend in Italian because some responses became automatic.
             As a Cognitive Linguistics and English student, I am so thankful for this experience, because it has solidified for me concepts that I have been learning about for the past 4 years. For one, I felt the impact of critical/sensitive periods for language learning. One of my aunts told me that I should go to one of my older cousins to practise my Italian with, and why couldn’t I speak as well as her. I thought about it, and her parents were born and raised in Italy, and when they moved to Canada and had her, Italian was most likely her first language. The same goes for my father and his sister, where Italian was their first language, so many of the words and the verb conjugations are automatic. The second thing that I am really interested in is the mindframes that certain languages produce. It is really hard for me to think of inanimate objects in terms of masculinity or femininity, so I often end up using the wrong article that accompanies a word. But for any native speaker of a language, knowing the gender of a word is automatic. In many cases, there is no rhyme or reason why a word would be assigned the gender that it is, but yet, its there. I wonder what impact this has on people’s worldviews that they are born into labeling things into genders. And this concept extends beyond gender. How does the language that we speak impact our worldview? We do not have words in English for some things that are not prevalent in our culture, but does that impair our way of thinking about things outside of our everyday life?