I know, I know, I’m late to the party. Continue reading
It’s the holiday season…whoop-de-doo.
No, seriously, that song has been in my head for the last two months.
My workplace has been blasting Christmas music since the beginning of November, and for two months I’ve tried not to turn into a grump who despises Christmas music. I’ve mostly succeeded.
Listening to Christmas music so often made me realize that there are a lot of Christmas songs I could live without and some I never get tired of. Aside from all the chocolate and trinkets I bought to get myself through a nine day holiday workweek, this is a gift to myself: a top ten list of my favorite and least favorite Christmas music. Hope you enjoy. Continue reading
Jess Glynne is Adele with a better groove and preachier lyrics, bringing strong, soulful vocals to a collection of dance tracks. Continue reading
If you hadn’t guessed, I love Harry Potter. It’s a story I return to often and enjoy even more with every read.
I’m not too crazy about the fanbase.
I wouldn’t say it’s an entirely negative reaction, but more of a puzzled one. The fanbase has decided on things that I don’t agree with and/or comprehend and I wanted to take today to go through some of those things. Continue reading
Warning: Spoilers abound
I love Gregory Maguire and have no intention of reading any of his books more than once.
Confessions of an Ugly Stepsister was an odd blend of historical fiction and magical realism that offered an interesting take on the Cinderella myth. The part I connected with was the plight of main character and aforementioned ugly stepsister, Iris.
The conceit of Maguire’s story was this: what if the ugly stepsister wasn’t ugly at all? What if she’d been told her whole life by one person that no man would ever want her?
Iris’ mom, Margarethe, is the origin of Iris’ lack of self-worth, calling her daughter plain and insisting no man will ever find Iris or her simple sister Ruth desirable.
Mom of the year, ladies and gentlemen.
It’s bad enough that it’s Iris’ parent spreading these harmful ideas. There are enough forces warping peoples’ perceptions of themselves; significant others don’t need to get in on the act.
Iris’ self-perception leads her to resent her stepsister, Clara, whose only fault is being too beautiful. (No, really. Also, she’s kind of mean.)
The worst part, though, is that Iris’ belief that no one could want her hurts her budding relationship with aspiring painter, Caspar.
Caspar is awesome. I just found out Matthew Goode played him in the TV movie, which is great and all, but nowhere near close to Caspar’s true greatness.
Iris spends the whole book hoping that Caspar will love her, because he’s GREAT, and for much of the book it seems like just that will happen: Caspar paints Iris and calls her beautiful when no one else does.
So of course Margarethe has to ruin it, telling Iris all manner of lies about Caspar, namely that he’s gay and has no interest in her anyway, despite all evidence to the contrary.
That’s the part I hate most: after all Caspar does, Iris finds it impossible to believe he could love her. What’s worse, she can’t accept any true things about herself.
Loving people who believe lies is exhausting and frustrating. It hurts to hear them tell you outrageous lies and not know where they first heard them. I can only do so much to let them know they’re loved. That doesn’t stop me from wanting to fix it.
Caspar loves you, Iris, and it kills him that you mistrust it.
Need cheering up?
What better way to suck out all the angst and heartbreak of the source material than to make a hokey TV movie?
“You are not my family, and I am not a piece of merchandise to be used to benefit you!”
Also, IS THAT GOVERNOR SWANN? Land. Sakes.
Ah yes. Because this is a story about how two strangers can become the best of friends.
I love this trailer.
The Lunar Chronicles is over. I won’t be able to theorize about possible plot events anymore; they’ve already happened. There won’t be any more stories starring my favorite cyborg princess and Lunar special operative (unless Meyer pulls a J. K. Rowling and keeps milking the series). I can only imagine what Scarlet, Wolf, Cress, Thorne, Kai, Cinder, Jacin, and Winter are doing now.
It’s slowly hitting me that the journey is over.
I’m not handling it well.
I thought about reviewing Winter, but I’m not great at avoiding spoilers and to write about it would ruin the entire series for newcomers.
This was the only course of action: a survey of things to expect from a book that offers the unexpected. Continue reading
I just finished Stephenie Meyer’s gender-swapped Twilight and I. Am. Frustrated.
Meyer wrote the newly-titled Life and Death to commemorate Twilight‘s 10th anniversary. Life and Death reimagines Bella Swan and Edward Cullen as Beau and Edythe. Meyer wanted to prove that Bella was not a “damsel in distress” but a “human in distress,” and claimed that switching the genders left the story unchanged.
Only it didn’t.
Meyer and I have history. Like many people, I jumped on the anti-Twilight bandwagon when I was in high school and all the cool kids were mocking it. I spouted a lot of opinions that weren’t my own in an effort to fit in. Because of that, I’ll avoid any outright meanspiritedness.
My real opinion of Twilight is this: it’s BORING. I’ve read the original two or three times now. My first read-through didn’t leave much of an impression, which is why I was baffled when I heard people exclaiming over the book like it was something special. Bella commits the literary sin of being dumb, the love story isn’t very compelling, and the first 3/4 of the book can be summed up as “Bella falls in love with a vampire.” NOTHING ELSE OF NOTE HAPPENS.
As a comparison, I’m reading Marissa Meyer’s Winter right now, the 800-page capper to The Lunar Chronicles series. In the first 250 pages, plans are made, things go wrong, blood is spilled, and stakes are raised.
Twilight has no stakes until about page 300, when the hasty arrival of some bad vampires causes everyone to freak out.
You could say the pacing is uneven.
All of these things carry over to Life and Death: Beau moons over Edythe, they fall suddenly in love, and the barely-foreshadowed climax drops 3/4 of the way in and lasts over 100 pages.
Strangely, I found myself liking Life and Death a little bit more. I wondered if changing the relationship dynamic made the story better. Beau, compared to Bella, was less dramatic, though still prone to moodiness. Edythe, meanwhile, came off as less controlling and, unlike Edward, was understandably beguiling. For part of the time, I actually enjoyed my reading experience.
Then I started thinking: how much of my enjoyment was due to the gender switch and nothing else, and why did I like it so much?
After that, Meyer’s claim that the switch changed nothing started to fall apart.
I don’t know whether Meyer believes biological sex has no bearing on personality or thinks it does, in fact, have an impact.
I’m of the latter view. Due to Meyer’s insistence in the foreword that the story was exactly the same after all the changes, I would guess she leans toward the former.
Oddly enough, Meyer writes her gender-swapped characters differently, which she admits in the foreword: Beau is less descriptive and, compared to dour killjoy Bella, is almost happy-go-lucky.
The biggest impact on the plot, however, is the light the characters’ genders cast on their actions.
I haven’t read Twilight in a while, so I wasn’t aware while reading Life and Death which details were kept the same and which were changed to fit the characters. I’m only aware that during the restaurant scene, Beau grabs and/or touches Edythe multiple times knowing she neither likes nor wants the physical contact. While his intention is not to hurt her, he does it without caring about her feelings.
Now, Edythe is physically stronger than Beau, as is pointed out multiple times in the narrative. Technically, she is more of a danger to him than he is to her.
Even knowing this, I’m still angry that he touched her. It doesn’t matter how strong the woman in question is–you do not force physical contact on anyone, and the fact that it was a man forcing contact on a woman made me extremely uncomfortable.
In later scenes, Meyer’s gender swap made for some unfortunate implications. I’m sensitive to portrayals of women as overly emotional while men are always rational. Such portrayals simplify gender differences and invalidate emotions.
I doubt Meyer intended to portray Edythe as hysterical and Beau as levelheaded solely based on gender. Unfortunately, during Beau’s escape from hunter Joss, Edythe can barely function while a calm Beau spits out great idea after great idea. It doesn’t help that fellow passenger Eleanor keeps goggling at Beau in awed surprise. Again, none of this is intentional (I hope), but it unfortunately proliferates gender stereotypes.
I kept checking my attitudes toward the characters as I read. In the original, I felt Bella was a pathetic, hopeless, lifeless cliché pining for a bad boy. Somehow, Beau made sense to me. After all, a self-deprecating teenage boy mooning over an older girl who’s out of his league isn’t pathetic, but normal.
The gender swap also necessitated a change in ending. Meyer takes the “what if?” idea too far; her characters have a different choice forced on them due to changes in the narrative. I have mixed feelings about it. On one hand, I feel agency was taken away from the main characters. On the other, I know I just want to hate the ending because it’s different.
The last 40 pages are the most egregious. Meyer makes the mistake of trying to push a sweeping moral with insufficient evidence. In this case, the moral was, “True love [defined, of course, as romantic love] is the most important thing.”
Some people will bend over backwards to argue that this sentiment is biblical. Unfortunately for Meyer, the message rings false. As a reader, I’m being asked to accept an uneven relationship and gloss over the pain and heartache any normal person would have felt because “true love” outweighs all negative consequences. Worse yet, Beau claims the ending was inevitable in any case. Logically, he might be right, but having that explained to me at the end of the novel is different than deciding that same thing–however resignedly–for myself. Beau’s argument sounds more like an attempt to ward off criticism than anything else.
In the book’s afterword, Meyer again asserts that the story hasn’t changed. The fact that it has isn’t in and of itself a bad thing; not acknowledging that it has is. Meyer missed an opportunity to start a conversation about perception, stereotypes, feminism, and responsibility. It does no one any favors to act like nothing is different when your protagonist thinks nothing of grabbing his female companion even knowing she doesn’t like it. More telling is the fact that Meyer’s dangerous, liberated, strong female vampire doesn’t think to speak up.