When a new year rolls around, it seems custom dictates that we look back upon it and those of us so inclined to waffle on do so in that retrospective manner. Those of us so inclined take to using bizarrely structured sentences with big words to make themselves sound ever so more eloquent than they really are, to promote the idea of intelligence. That or the person in question has just watched the last episode of Sherlock again and as such is feeling like prancing around and being a smartass. Unfortunately, that is all I'd be able to do as I lack Sherlock Holmes' rather brilliant deductive processes.
Anyway, that's a digression. Back to the matter at hand, which is the retrospective look at 2013. Blame old Janus for that one, two-headed know-it-all. Thanks to that particular god - who, fun fact, has no equivalent in Greek mythology - we spend a lot of January (shockingly enough named after him, vain little bugger) looking back at the year before and planning on doing so many wonderful things in the year ahead. We call them New Year's Resolutions, more commonly known as "sign up for the gym in January then stop going in February because I can't be arsed". Disclaimer - there are those in this world who do manage to actually stick to their resolutions and kudos to them, but I'm one of the little naysayers who doesn't even bother them. No definite philosophical aversion that I'm going to jam down your throats, I've just never felt the need for them. Simple apathy really.
Oh bollocks, I'm digressing ONCE AGAIN. Ahem. All right then. 2013.
First off, thirteen. The number has itself a bit of an unlovely rep. In the western world we have this undue obsession with thirteen being unlucky. In fact, in the later months of 2013, I was serving a customer - as my job requires - and as they had ordered food, I gave them an order number. It happened to be thirteen. So they said "Can I have another number?" Now I'm usually one to just bend over backwards and say "Yes, sir, of course, sir, no problem, whatever you like, sir." But I developed an affinity for thirteen in my old age. I happen to think it's a bit of a misunderstood number, the underdog that everyone should be rooting for. So my less-than-composed response was something along the lines of "Really?" The gentleman did not seem entirely impressed, especially when I tried to explain my off-hand objection in the context of my feelings towards thirteen. Epitomised by the serial number of my Colonial Fleet dogtags, 428813. I changed the number despite him apparently yielding to my defence of thirteen. Just to attempt to keep the customer happy, even though I'm 99.9% certain that he was distinctly unimpressed by the whole exchange.
But that's the latter half of 2013. Let's talk about the beginning. Now the last time I did a retrospective, I talked a lot about movies, babbled a little about books and went all gushing about people. Not sure if I'm going to do all of that, but there is some kind of abstract exploration I want to do. You see, when 2014 rolled around, I noted many people on the dread website Facebook noting how glad they were it was over. Indeed, I managed to blunder myself into one of my trademark hole-digging session on New Year's Day, just after the stroke of midnight, when I decided that there was really only one person I wanted to text and did so, expressing the sentiments to the effect of a hope that the coming year would prove as awesome as the last. Only to discover that in spite of several awesome things having happened to this person, a lot of crap happened afterwards. I sense, from the tidal wave of Facebook sighs of relief that many people felt that way about 2013.
Given my affinity for the number, I had some pretty high hopes that 2013 was going to be my year. It's been hinted and intimated on many an occasion (or maybe not, so some exposition will follow) that I have been attempting to woo/impress the object of my affections. First of all, object of my affections is an awfully unfortunate phrase. This person is not an object, they're a rather fantastic human being who on several occasions I was quite absolutely sure I'd completely blown it with. The beginning of the year being the first roll of a tiny snowball down the mountain, that eventually tumbled down and exploded at the end of June. Thank the Lords of Kobol that when it did, I discovered the lady in question did not in fact revile me or want me gone, they actually quite value my friendship and thus my affections have safely died away and some seem to be stirring elsewhere, but what becomes of that remains to be seen.
So, a little more geeky context. Earlier in 2013, I mentioned a television show called The Almighty Johnsons, the main thrust of which is the mortal incarnation of Odin seeking to reunited with his true love, the mortal incarnation of Frigg. Since watching the show, this has been something of a theme, the quest to find the Frigg to my Odin. Let's face it, if I could be Odin going around defeating frost giants and looking particularly badass with an eye-patch, it wouldn't be so bad. But I'm not exactly Odin, I just like the phrasing, "the Frigg to my Odin". Other potentials are "the Starbuck to my Apollo" and "the Holmes to my Watson". All in keeping with a theme of finding...companionship. I hesitate to say more because it feels a little too much like tempting the gods and they have an awfully annoying habit of making things awkward and pissing themselves laughing at the folly of mortals. That and it seems to me that there is a perception, nay even a prejudice, against those who seek to bestow affection on those they deem worthy of it. Phrases such as "You'll find it when you're not looking" are commonly thrown at you, should you dare to actually believe that you can find your Frigg. Or Odin. I can testify that things seem to work best when someone comes out of the clear blue sky, tearing through the little bubble world you've been in and drop-kicking you in all of the complicated feels, but nonetheless I do hope that I can find my Frigg. And if not, I can definitely say I've made some wonderful friends along the way.
AHEM. I think it's time to move swiftly on to a point that I've kind of been building up to. It's kind of a life philosophy. About six years ago, the world as I had wanted it to be crumbled down around me. The woman I believed I loved promptly turned around and jumped on some other donkey, dangling the false carrot of possible friendship as opposed to reconciliation and pretty much left me to emotionally bleed to death. Gods, that was awfully melodramatic. Anyway. As a result, I became even more of determinist in order to reconcile what had happened with the way I believe the world should be. Eventually, this evolved into a simple mantra - "Bad fortune is merely good fortune in a very clever disguise". Now in some cases, this is extremely hard to follow. I know because by sheer virtue of believing something, you invite others to criticise and challenge you. By way of example, 2013 put one of my friends through the absolute frakkin' ringer. Hades himself couldn't have been more sadistically evil in torturing them. Yet I believe that all that bad fortune, all the bad things that have happened, happened with good reason. It may not show itself immediately, but the reason is frakkin' out there.
Before this life philosophy attracts more raised eyebrows and strenuous objections, time to move on to the housekeeping. Well, the little details, more relevant to my journey through 2013. I've covered the big, nearly screwed-it-up-with-amazing-person-who-still-wants-to-be-my-friend, but 2013 wasn't all me bumbling around trying to love someone who loved me back, but only as a friend. In fact, in terms of my working life, 2013 was frakkin' epic. On the front of my paying job, I had a boss who unlike the last two jokers actually had the vaguest hint of a clue what they are doing. A revelation after the abject hell me and my colleagues had been through in the previous year. Then, as I mentioned in my last blog entry of 2013, I actually started and finished the first draft of my novel! Backtracking to the bad fortune/good fortune thing, I want to say that 2013 is almost...part one of a trilogy. Or maybe part two. Heck, it's Empire Strikes Back. The bad guys have one, the good guys are on the run, but all the crap we've been through, all the things that have happened good or bad have set us up for where we're going to be next. So 2014, if it turns out to be as awesome as everyone hopes, might just owe a frakton of thanks to 2013 for being so crap.
Also in 2013 where some other artistic, non-writing touches, but not by me. First of all, I had my first ever tattoo:
In keeping with my nerdiness and obsession with Battlestar Galactica, this is the Colonial symbol for Scorpia. To put it as simply as I hope I can, each of the Twelve Colonies of Kobol is named after the twelve constellations of the Zodiac. So, if you go by my logic, to figure out which colony you're from and which symbol is yours, look at this simple table, pick out your star sign and BOOM, that's your colony:
Aries - Aerilon.
Taurus - Tauron.
Gemini - Gemenon.
Cancer - Canceron.
Leo - Leonis.
Virgo - Virgon.
Libra - Libran.
Scorpio - Scorpia.
Sagittarius - Sagittaron.
Capricorn - Caprica.
Aquarius - Aquaria.
Picses - Picon.
For further information on the Twelve Colonies of Kobol, visit the helpful Battlstar Galactica wiki or, if you're in anyway obsessed with Galactica like me, go to Quantum Mechanix and buy the Map of the Twelve Colonies. It's where I took the symbol from that is now permanently inked on my arm. So say we all. Straight-faced this time. Also, photo credit goes to my colleague, call sign "Sonic" on account of his mohawk (not blue though), who as of Monday, 13th January 2014, has become my wingman. This could turn into a very interesting year...
The next subject of art is also in a similar tattoo vein. You see, I've wanted a tattoo for ages. Before I decided on the Scorpia Colonial symbol as my first tattoo, I came up with the idea of a dragon and a wolf in a Yin-Yang pattern. As luck would have it, I'm friends with a rather brilliant artist, Jennie Gyllblad. Click the name to discover her website and the brilliance of her work. Further good fortune smiled upon me, as she accepts commissions, so I commissioned her to design it. Now, given that I am something of a fan of The Song of Ice and Fire books and the associated television show, the design is a Targaryen dragon and a Stark direwolf. It now sits, beautifully framed, on my desk, right next to my computer. It looks (sans frame) a little something like the link you can click on which is these words. It is supremely beautifully awesome and much kudos goes to Jennie for her hard work and artistic genius. Still debating the tattooing of it upon my body, but by gods I still have an awesome piece of artwork to proudly display in my humble hall.
I suspect I have waffled on for a lot longer than I usually do and about subjects I don't usually waffle about, though I suppose that just goes to show that I feel a bit strongly about some of these things. Especially the bad fortune/good fortune thing. It's not the most popular life philosophy, mostly because people look on it as a cop-out, a cheap way of excusing bad things. It doesn't excuse them, barely explains them. What I hope it says, what I want to say to the people who have had a shit 2013, the people I care about who know who they are and will punch me repeatedly for being so stupidly sentimental, is that the bad things don't have to rule us. They happened because they needed to, to put us on the path we're on now. Hell, at the risk of getting myself shot, it's time for a final thought.
This year, I started out being completely in love with this incredible girl. I still love her in this moment right now, but I cannot stress enough how platonic that feeling is. She is my friend. For the very good reason that without falling in love with her, without expressing my feelings to her, putting myself through the ringer with own neuroses and insecurity, I could not be the man I am now. Slightly more confident than yesterday. Looking at 2014 with Mal's pistol strapped to his hip, the promise of Vera on the horizon (see QMx's Facebook page for context), high hopes for a Mk II Viper one day and hoping that maybe, just maybe, out there somewhere, is the Frigg to his Odin, the Starbuck to his Apollo.
In the lengthy silence that I have been hiding in whilst writing my novel, I have done a spot of reading. Not much, given that I've been furtively writing most of the time, as well as taking a hiatus from reading because I was less than one hundred pages from the end of the book mentioned in the title. You see, it has been mentioned in two previous entries, one Sitting Under the Shade of the Tree and a fellow Curled Up Next to the Fire, incidentally also blogged about at the start of a year. For today's blog speaks of the wonders of China Miéville's work. And I couldn't bring myself to finish reading Iron Council before finishing my novel, because I knew I would absolutely have to blog about it. So I forced myself to be patient and wait until the writing was finished before the reading was.
Now, before I dive in and babble about the book itself, a small warning of potential spoilers. While I aim to avoid them as best I can, Iron Council is the third book in the Bas-Lag Trilogy. There is that ever-present risk that some of the events of the previous two books might get mentioned.
So, with that disclaimer out of the way, on with the babbling.
Iron Council is set some twenty or so years after the events of Perdido Street Station and The Scar, which are set near back-to-back. From what I've been able to gather from the novels and some Google referencing, Iron Council takes place in the year 1804 (or around then) in the Bas-Lag chronology, the previous having taken place in 1779 and 1780 respectively.
1804 then. Big changes have happened in New Crobuzon, the toxic city at the heart of the Bas-Lag trilogy. Well. The city administration, the Parliament and its tyrannical Mayor, are still as corrupt and tyrannical as ever. But the feared New Crobuzon Militia is no longer a secret police hiding in the shadows, they have uniforms and are patrolling the streets, though they still wear masks to hide their identities. And all the while, New Crobuzon is waging a costly war against the mysterious city-state of Tesh. Against this backdrop, the rag-tag liberal dissidents of New Crobuzon gather, independently of each other, to bring about great change in the city of rotten dreams.
Iron Council follows three dissidents - Cutter, Ori and Judah Low. Cutter and a band of fellow dissidents from the Caucus, a loose affilitation of the dissident groups in New Crobuzon, are on the trail of Judah Low, who has disappeared halfway across Bas-Lag's continent of Rohagi in order to find the fabled Iron Council of the title. He and his band of fellow seditionists are only a few steps behind the New Crobuzon Militia, who seek to destroy the Iron Council, a symbol of hope and rebellion that could unravel the tyrannical fabric of Parliament's rule.
Meanwhile, back in New Crobuzon, Ori grows tired of the Caucus's ineffectual rebellion, growing to deeply admire and fall into the company of Toro, a militant seditionist who seeks to take direct action against Parliament and the Mayor.
Finally, Judah Low. While some of what we see through Judah's eyes is a telling of events transpiring in the now, the majority of his perspective chapters deal with the past, with the birth of the Iron Council, its roots in New Crobuzon's indiscriminate attempt to expand its dominions through the creation of a great railroad. Interesting side note, Judah Low is a golemist, a particular tradecraft for fashioning golems from various mediums. In the historical context of our Universe, Judah Loew ben Bezalel, famous for creating the Golem of Prague, a creature made from clay.
Anyway, back to the point...
I've waxed lyrical on the subject of the Bas-Lag Trilogy twice now and as the above paragraphs might show, I'm a bit naff at plot summaries. When I gush about China Miéville's works, I'm gushing about setting, about the atmosphere of things. The trick with Iron Council is that the setting is pretty familiar - we're back to New Crobuzon, the city that Perdido Street Station did a very good job of introducing us too. The lure of Iron Council is the state of New Crobuzon some twenty years on from when we last saw her. No less decayed and broken, the city is fast approaching a tipping point - the war with Tesh is going less-than-brilliantly, seditious elements in the city become even more organised in spite of the public presence of the Militia and despite having caught and executed famous Remade revolutionary Jack Half-a-Prayer years before, the violent spirit lives on in the previously mentioned Toro. Underneath the surface of it all, the city can feel that the whole stinking mess is about to violently explode.
Iron Council definitely feels different to the rest of the trilogy. And it's the finality that I think does it. You can feel that everything is coming to a head, that the final showdown is imminent. All roads lead to revolution and all that jazz. The usual sense of setting, the incredible character that arises from the places the characters inhabit isn't really here, which is a shame, but there are some pretty cool locations explored. One in particular, which I'm going to stick a giant SPOILER WARNING before just in case...
Much later, around the middle of Iron Council, we learn that the titular entity has retreated into the fringes of the Cacotopic Stain, a region first mentioned in Perdido Street Station. The Stain is a massive blight, a barren area where the laws of reality unravel, ravel themselves up again in new arrangements and play general havoc on anything they come into contact with by virtue of a highly unstable magical energy source called Torque. One of the dangers approaching the Stain is something I find particularly fascinating - a substance called smokestone. From what I can gather, it rises as smoke and then, when it comes into contact with living or inanimate matter, it hardens and creates solid stone. It's frakkin' dangerous stuff and litters the area around the Stain.
For all that I'm bigging it up though, we don't stay in the Stain long. Iron Council isn't so much about its settings as Perdido Street Station and The Scar were. This one is all about the oncoming storm that is about to zap New Crobuzon's Parliament in the butt.
As part of a trilogy, Iron Council comes to be judged next to the merits of its peers. Standing next to Perdido Street Station and The Scar, Iron Council is the weakest instalment in the trilogy, but no less a satisfying conclusion and a worthy entry in the Bas-Lag mythology. As with all of China Miéville's work, including the shudder inducing Kraken, I thoroughly enjoyed this book and would definitely recommend reading it. Let's be honest, if you've read the first two in the Bas-Lag Trilogy, you should read the end, if nothing else to complete it. For all that I seem to be underwhelmed by it, it doesn't detract from my opinion that China Miéville is a genius, a brilliant writer whose work I continue to devour with near-religious devotion. Around the middle of the year, when I've demolished my reading pile a little more (hopefully), it'll be on to the next offering of his I have in my reading pile - Railsea. Oh, it turns out he has a bit of an obsession with trains...it definitely comes across here in Iron Council, but doesn't take anything away from the narrative, so all in all...just an interesting side note I guess.
Moving on...
As my babbling is reaching the level where I feel all sanity and confounded Vulcan logic has left the building, it's time to wrap things up. In summation, Iron Council is a good book, a worthy read, but alas not up there with the predecessors in the series.
Gods I feel all evil and dirty saying that...I suspect I need help.
Anyway, until next time dearest readers, where I plan to recap the exciting adventures of 2013 in a Year in Review-style blog, read, enjoy, curl up next to a nice roaring fire with a good book.
Custom dictates that I spend the first paragraph after a lengthy silence explaining what exactly has caused said silence. Well. It's been more than a little bit of a lengthy silence. In fact, I haven't babbled at anyone about anything since the end of September. Which is really where this all begins. But first of all, I wish to attribute the quotation title - the magnificent G-Man from the Half-Life series of games. This quotation specifically from Half-Life 2. Though I suspect a great number of you already figured that part out by now. So, without much further ado, time to explain where I've been the last few months. Just to warn you, it's not terribly exciting...
Anyway...
I think the most dramatic way to phrase it would be to say that I've been immersed in The Writerverse. Immersed...I like that word. Don't use it often enough. Ahem. Moving swiftly on. Okay, so a long, long time ago, in a blog post far, far away I talked about the notion of The Writerverse. I babbled quite a bit about my journey through The Writerverse, where I was going, how I was getting there. That was June 2012. An awful lot has happened since then.
One of the most important things I talked about in that blog post was the sense of...fundamentally interconnected community there is in The Writerverse. There is a great community of writers I know from my days at university, but I have also met some in the course of my current paid vocation. That being a front of house dancing monkey/jack of several obscure responsibilities at Boston Tea Party Bath. In the course of my work, I met an awful lot of interesting, bizarre, wonderful people. Oft it is said that my job is a brilliant job for a writer, all those characters. I can't help but have horrible flashbacks to Daisy Steiner in Spaced*...
(*Author's Disclaimer: I really, really love Spaced. It's awesome).
Anyway, getting on with it...
Over the many years I've slaved away at Boston Tea Party, there have been a gaggle of steadfast regulars. Some have gone to my lament, leaving me with no one to write nerdy quotations on the side of their cup for. Some have remained throughout the years and it is one of these men I speak. He is a gentleman by the name of David J. Rodger, a fellow science-fiction author, though he beats me on account of being published. I'm still pining for the fjords on that one. Anyway. One fateful day, 24th September I suspect, which is funny to me for various reasons, I'm chatting with Mr Rodger as he sips at his dark side coffee, talking about his rush of writing/re-writing short stories (for further info, check out his website, look up his page David J Rodger on Facebook. Including a link to that but not sure it'll work, but you all get the gist). In the course of discussions over his recent flurry of activity, I mention my months and months of inactivity. I mention potentially going back over short stories I'd written a long time ago, wanting to rip apart the ones I did in my teens and put them back together again with the skills I have now. I say all this in that off-hand, "Yeah, maybe one day" kind of voice. I am promptly informed that I should get frakkin' to it (no one but me says frakkin' though, alas) and near ominously, Mr Rodger informs me that he is now officially on my case.
I cannot tell you how important and motivating that was. The next day, I come to work armed with a short story I wrote at the beginning of 2012 and many told me I should expand into a novel. I showed it to David, he skimmed it, came back to me and told me I could easily cut the 8,000 word story down to 2,000 words. We agreed upon a deadline of next week to regroup with a finished, 2,000 word short story. When I finished work that afternoon, I returned home, sat down and using David's suggestions on how to condense the story, blitzed through 2,000 words. Upon its completion I sat back, let out one of those "Holy crap, I just did that!" sighs (might be embellishing slightly here) and realised to my complete and utter surprise, I had just written the chapter one I had been wanting to write for so long. Not contended to just sit back and write that, I launched into chapter two, completing 1,000 words before I succumbed to the need for sleep. I printed off the triumphant chapter one and reported to David the next day. Suffice it to say, my improvements met with his approval.
Over the next couple of months, whenever David drifted into work for his dark side coffee, I would report my progress and if there was an lack of progress, an explanation of why and what the frak I was planning to do about it. Finally, on the night of Sunday, 29th December 2013, it all came to a head. 109,894 words later, the first draft of the novel was finished.
While it might somewhat go without saying, (a funny turn of phrase, since it is always proceeded by that which allegedly doesn't need to be said) I owe a rather huge debt of gratitude to David J Rodger for giving me the push in the right direction I so sorely needed. Undoubtedly, should my book ever be published, much kudos will go to him in the acknowledgements at least. Fun fact though, I appear in the acknowledgements of his book The Social Club, as do several of my Boston Tea Party colleagues for our coffee fuelling services.
So there you have it. For the last three months, I have forbidden myself from writing anything but the first draft of my novel. I'm taking a brief break, then conning people into proofreading it before moving on to the massive editing process. And while I await feedback, I intend to be working on some short story notions I have brewing, as well as work peripheral to the novel.
Now in my three month silence, many things have happen, TV shows and movies watched, etcetera, but for me the biggest thing, the thing that I must note because it is so frakkin' worthy of it, is the tenth anniversary of the re-imagined Battlestar Galactica.
I marked the occasion with a rather nerdy status. I used the words "So Say We All", which I can barely do with a straight face. A fact that became so much worse when I discovered a parody video of Katy Perry's song "Fireworks" on YouTube, entitled "Cylon". It's incredibly catchy, really rather awesome from the perspective of a Galactica-obsessive. Also sung by a beautiful redhead, who evidently loves Galactica and is also British. Knowing my frakkin' luck or lack thereof, she's on the other side of the country with a boyfriend who possesses ten-megaton biceps the size of Belgium with which to crush my puny mortal frame. Still the biggest Galactica nerd in Bath, just not the country it seems.
Oops, think I digressed from the point there.
Back on track now that I have publically sealed my own doom, suffice it all to say, I want to make a big deal of Battlestar Galactica's tenth anniversary. On the tenth anniversary of season one's first broadcast, I may even have my own little Colonial Day. Oh and Quantum Mechanix are so on my wavelength (or I on theirs, depending on existential perspective), because they are releasing a tenth anniversary print in celebration, much as they did for Firefly. Honestly, I squealed like a giddy school child when I saw it. I will be obtaining it, framing it (octagonally) and putting it up right next to my framed Firefly print. Must also get my Map of the Twelve Colonies of Kobol octagonally framed too.
Anyway, with some level of mercy, we have reached the end of today's babble. As it is the 31st December 2013 when I write this, I wish everyone a Happy New Year. A 2013 retrospective will appear soon, as will a review of Iron Council once I've blitzed my way through the last thirty-odd pages. Been resisting that too because I knew I'd want to blog about it straight away.
Right then.
Ladies and menfolk, Cylons and Colonials, Happy New Year. May 2014 bring us all good fortunate, be it in a clever disguise or glaringly obvious.
So say we all.
(Almost had a completely straight face that time...)
It's been a little while since I've done my "literary" segment and I've managed to read a couple of books since tackling the epic tome that was Great North Road. Of course, true to personal style, my scatty writing habits mean I skipped over the last two books I read but not for this one. You see, this is one is by a man I regard as an absolute dude, Mr Peter V. Brett.
Fantasy is a genre that I'm still...getting into, in the context of books anyway. I've always enjoyed it, but the collection of fantasy in my library has always been a bit lacking. The acquisition of The Painted Man was mostly due to going to see Peter V. Brett in person and naturally wanting a book that could be signed by the man himself, but also a further effort in expanding my fantasy collection.
So, to the metaphorical meat of this particular meal, The Painted Man.
We are introduced to a world where demons of various kinds come out at night to terrorise the poor unfortunate humans. The only protection for these humans are magical wards that, if arranged in the proper way, keep the demons from breaching protective barriers. Legend tells of a time where humans also had not only defensive wards, but offensive wards that allowed them to wage war on demons. But three hundred years have passed and the wards have fallen into antiquity. Humans are now clustered in a handful of settlements - a few small hamlets dotted on the roads between the five major cities: Fort Miln, Fort Angiers, Fort Rizon, Fort Lakton and Fort Krasia.
There are three major characters in The Painted Man. The first is Arlen Bales, a young boy from a hamlet called Tibbet's Brook. He has a talent for painting wards (even though not formally trained as a Warder) and a curiosity for how to fight demons - a thing that no one but the fanatical inhabitants of Fort Krasia ever attempt. During his formative years in Tibbet's Brook, Arlen becomes fascinated by the lifestyle of the Messengers, men who travel from city to city (via the hamlets) trading valuable goods and bringing letters to the people. This fascination with the Messenger lifestyle, coupled with an incident that we shan't go into here, leads Arlen to leave Tibbet's Brook and seek out the life of a Messenger in Fort Miln.
Next up in our selection of major characters is Leesha, from the small hamlet of Cutter's Hollow, near Fort Angiers. Her arc sees her finding a talent for being an Herb Gatherer, a profession seemingly only occupied by women and can be described as essentially being a doctor. Previously, Leesha had been "promised" (i.e. engaged) to a boy in Cutter's Hollow, but when he spreads lies about her virtue she shuns the life her overbearing mother wants for her and takes up the life of Herb Gathering, eventually finding her way to the (metaphorical) bright lights of Fort Angiers.
Finally, there's Rojer. Hailing from Riverbridge, this settlement is destroyed in a demon attack when we met Rojer, who at the time is merely a toddler. He his rescued by Arrick Sweetsong, a Jongleur (a profession that appears to be similar to a court jester) working directly for the Duke of Angiers. However, after the destruction of Riverbridge, Arrick loses his commission with the Duke and finds himself with the burden of raising a child. As befits the situation, he trains Rojer in his own profession, though the demon attack did leave Rojer without two of his fingers which means the juggling part of being a Jongleur is a little tricky for him. He does, however, have a significant talent for playing the fiddle.
Through the various arcs of these characters, we are shown the majority of the length and breadth of the world they inhabit, known (very infrequently in the text) as Thesa. We are introduced to the various forms of demon (fire, wind, rock and wood to name the most frequently seen) and the scattered legends and stories of the "Age of Science" that led to the return of the demons from "the Core". Peter Brett uses a narrative style I'm rather fond of and have used myself - multiple major characters, each with their own piece of the puzzle, wandering through the world until a major event brings them together. And what I love about this style is watching these seemingly unrelated people, knowing that they'll be drawn together and watching how far away they get from each other before the inexplicable fates drag them all to the same place.
Okay, so this is the awkward phase of things. The honest opinion moment. I cannot deny that I enjoyed this book. I really did. Just not...overwhelmingly. Which confuses me, because as I mentioned on several occasions in my post about meeting Peter Brett, the man is a frakkin' dude. I guess, if I had to give it a rating out of ten (this will not become a tradition!) I'd mark it as a seven. This book is definitely worth reading. It's a good book. I just feel bad that I wasn't as wowed by it as I was by the man. BUT. And this is in capital letters because it's real important. The Painted Man is but the first in a series. And the finale definitely picked up the pace and opens some very interesting doors. I look forward to going through the doors when I reach The Desert Spear, book two, as I trudge through my ever growing list of books to read. Honestly. Went out and bought seven more books the other day. It's something of an addiction I suspect.
Until then...I hope you do read this book, in spite of my apparent underwhelmed reaction. It is really rather good and the man who writes these books is really rather awesome and I would like for people to keep him in business.
The title of this long overdue entry in my sadly neglected blog is a cheeky little reference to my neglect. I have been procrastinating in the last few months, so I feel that the words of Kathryn Janeway are quite appropriate. I'd promise to better in the coming days, but let's face it - Life, that absolute cheeky little frakker, has a habit of finding ways to interfere. In the meantime, I've racked up a few topics I feel worthy of babbling about. Not going to cover all of them today...going to attempt to say a couple for another blog post. In fact, in the course of making a quick scribble on a piece of paper at this very moment I discovered a theme. These topics can be grouped into categories of movies, TV and videogames. Given that I snagged today's title from a television show, today's category of rambling will be TV shows.
I'll start with Joss Whedon's Dollhouse. I had to do a quick trawl through my posts to check that the one and only time I mentioned it was in reference to Topher Brink being one of my top ten favourite tech people, so I now have free license to go for the full ramble.
Let's start with a mild pre-amble. I think it would be pretty difficult not to notice that I'm something of a Whedonite (if this isn't a term it probably should be). I hold Joss Whedon's works in very high regard and have a lot of time for pretty much anything he does, TV or movie. Especially after the awesomenesses that were Avengers and Much Ado About Nothing. Now, by and large Dollhouse is not held in the highest regard by a lot of people, Whedonites included I'm pretty sure. And I have to admit, I'm one of them. Dollhouse is the weakest of Joss Whedon's TV offerings, disappointing after the great offerings of Firefly, Buffy the Vampire Slayer and Angel.
I have to follow this paragraph up with a huge, gigantic YES IT FRAKKIN' DOES LOOK BIG IN THIS...
...BUT...
...I did, actually, quite thoroughly enjoy Dollhouse. I won't put it on a pedestal and say that it's the best thing Whedon has ever done. Joss may be Boss, but alas I can't sing too many praises. Dollhouse has great moments, some fantastic episodes, utterly astoundingly brilliant characters and some incredible acting talent...but alas, it's not enough to detract from the fact that, well, you do have to wade through a tiny bit of crap to get through to the really, really good stuff.
Now, thrashing the poor bugger while it's down and out for the count aside, let's talk about the good bits.
As with any Joss Whedon show, I absolutely love the witty banter that is fired off between the characters. In fact, I'd wager half of what I love about Whedon shows are the character dynamics, punctuated by the witty banter. For an example and some context for said example, the "Dolls" (or "Actives") of the eponymous Dollhouse are not supposed to exhibit the usual human reactions in their "Doll" state. In one episode, the B-Story Arc revolves around LA Dollhouse head tech Topher Brink (Fran Kranz) discovering that one of the Actives, "Victor" (Enver Gjokaj) is having a "man reaction" (Topher's exact description) and investigating this occurrence with Doctor Claire Saunders (Amy Acker), the head physician. In the course of their investigation, the phrase "I believe I spotted a tumescence" occurs. Giggles all round.
To go a bit sideways for a second, I want to touch upon my comment of "incredible acting talent" and single out the aforementioned Enver Gjokaj. During the course of the show, as one of the "Actives", he plays many different characters, essentially. And he does them all superbly. Including...well...here is a massive SPOILER ALERT. If you have not watched Dollhouse and intend to, do not continue much further. Well, skip the next paragraph at least.
For at one point, Victor is "imprinted" (the in-universe term for having a personality put into the blank-slate head of an Active) with...Topher 2.0. That's right, the brilliant techie that is Topher Brink has his mind copied and downloaded into Victor in season two in order for them to hack into a secured computer system. Utterly brilliant and genius. Enver Gjokaj, proving how awesome he is.
Anyway, moving on now.
Now, I will briefly discuss how I have been sucked into watching and enjoying Breaking Bad.
So this has been one of those shows that almost everyone I know has been raving on about. I'd heard about it, been intrigued by it. Finally managed to get to sitting down and watching some of it. And I must say, what I have seen has been very enjoyable. A particular highlight is the season two episode "Negro y Azul". Much laughter and enjoyment was had, though there is one part that I still wonder if I shouldn't have found it that funny. But oh well.
I said this would be brief, right? So there it is. Started watching it, think it's pretty good.
Moving on to something I'm going to absolutely rave about, my new addiction - The Almighty Johnsons.
My provider of sage advice and wisdom, Oracle, was the first to discover this. She recommended it on numerous occasions before me and my housemate finally sat down to watch it. And lo, it very quickly became...pretty much like crack for me (funny that I just mentioned Breaking Bad, a show about drug dealing...). Honestly. Couldn't stop watching it. Within in a few days, I had devoured both seasons. Twenty-three episodes total, but still.
Now, for some context. The Almighty Johnsons is a New Zealand TV show about four brothers, the Johnsons, who just so happen to be the mortal reincarnations of Norse gods. Yep. That's right. Norse gods in New Zealand. The eldest brother, Mike (full name Mikkel), is Ull, the god of the hunt and of games. Next up is Anders, played by The Hobbit's Fili, Dean O'Gorman. He is Bragi, god of poetry. And is a womanising jackass, but somehow, because it's Fili, I don't detest him as much as I should. Or maybe it's his godliness...anyway, next on the agenda is Ty, who is Hod, the god of all things dark and cold. He's not so happy about that. And last of all there's the youngest brother, Axl. In the first episode, it's his 21st birthday, the time when his god-hood manifests. And lo and behold, he discovers that he's none other than Odin, the Allfather. And in order to restore all the gods to their true powers, he has to find Odin's beloved, the goddess Frigg to restore the House of Asgard. Seems simple enough? Only there's a quartet of goddesses out to stop him.
The Almighty Johnsons is a comedy drama that I find absolutely, utterly 100% brilliant. Like I said, like crack for me. I've always had passing interest in mythology, knowing little to nothing about it, but by the gods and goddess of Asgard, this show makes me want to learn more.
I would rave so much more, but I feel that A) I've been babbling too long and B) The Almighty Johnsons can more than speak for itself. I now join my dear Oracle in her nail-biting irritation at the lack of season three on DVD. Come on, New Zealand. I can now more or less tell the difference between your accent and the Australian accent...release season three of The Almighty Johnsons on DVD? Pretty please...?
(Song of the Mind: Battlestar Sonatica - Bear McCreary)
Anyone who's seen the trailer for Pacific Rim knows that this is an awesome line delivered by the incredible and amazing Idris Elba, known for playing Heimdall in Thor and the title character in the BBC crime drama Luther. I'll cut straight to the point for once. I'm using it as the title because about five days ago I finally saw it. By the gods old and new, the Lords of Kobol and other appropriately geeky deities, it was frakkin' amazing! I mean, my gods...just...godsdamn. I don't know exactly what I was expecting from that movie when I went in, but I came out in awe.
And right now I'm listening to the soundtrack. I love the music. No surprise really - the composer, Ramin Djawadi, is also the composer for Game of Thrones. He has a knack for addictive, catchy and awesome music.
Now I could go into a review-style summation of the plot of Pacific Rim, but it's easy to describe. It's the near future, giant aliens are attacking humanity and we built giant frakkin' robots to beat the ever-loving crap out of them. Awesomeness ensues, as directed by the awesome Guillermo del Toro.
I feel a bit speechless about Pacific Rim. I'll admit, I'm not often tempted to go see a movie at the cinema twice. I'm usually content to see it once, wait for the DVD to come out. Even with Avengers, I was never this impatient for a movie to come out on DVD. Pacific Rim...just outstanding. Not mind-blowing or groundbreaking...just incredibly good fun to sit back and enjoy. I mean...giant aliens versus giant freakin' robots?! What isn't to like?
Moving on to more coherent discourse, it's time to chat a little about another rather good movie I saw the other day. Yesterday, in fact. It was called...
...The World's End.
That's right, ladies and menfolk. The final film in Edgar Wright's Blood and Cornetto Trilogy. After nearly ten years, it came to a final, glorious, blood and explosion-filled end.
Now I'll kick off by saying that Hot Fuzz remains my favourite of the three. There's no denying that Shaun of the Dead is amazing and The World's End is the worthy finale, but I think it's a bit of a Star Wars thing here. Hot Fuzz, for me, is like the Empire Strikes Back of the Cornetto Trilogy. But enough on that. It's time for The World's End to have a moment in the sunshine. Which we have had an awful abundance of lately. But hey-ho.
The World's End begins like any other movie of the Blood and Cornetto Trilogy. It's framed as a simple tale of ordinary folk - in this case, Gary King (Simon Pegg), a man who never quite got over a particular night (22nd June 1990), where he and his erstwhile school friends attempted Newton Haven's (their hometown) "Golden Mile" of twelve pubs. The final of which being The World's End. Only the Newton Haven of 2013 isn't like 1990 Newton Haven...it's been slightly taken over.
As always, our hapless band of heroes - Blood and Cornetto Trilogy regulars Nick Frost, Martin Freeman, Paddy Considine, joined by Eddie Marsan and Rosamund Pike - blunder straight into a hornet's nest that's far beyond them and Gary, unwilling to let the failure of 1990 repeat, is determined to see the Golden Mile through to the end (I would say bitter end, but the film makes ample use of this joke).
The World's End sees the triumphant cameos of Spaced stars Mark Heap (Brian) and Michael Smiley (Tyres), the return of many other Spaced/Blood and Cornetto cameo regulars and the inclusion of Pierce Brosnan in a small, but delightfully awesome role.
I'll admit to being slightly underwhelmed by The World's End. Let it not be said that I didn't enjoy it and it wasn't a worthy finale, but I was hoping for...well, for a little more. The movie delivered plenty, but I felt...felt like I was waiting for something more. Perhaps once I obtain it on DVD I will feel differently. Who knows, eh?
I'm afraid, however, that Pacific Rim has kinda stolen the thunder (which might explain where there was no lightning but plenty of rumbles of thunder early, early this morning). But the year is only half over. Many, many more movies await and many, many more awesome things await being rambled about. Until then, I leave you with a snippet of the Pacific Rim soundtrack:
(Song of the Mind: Canceling the Apocalypse - Ramin Djawadi).
As today is Independence Day in the United States, it seems only fitting that the quotation title of this entry is a quotation from the 1996 film named after this peculiar occasion. It also seems only fitting to choose today to talk about said film, but more importantly...the dubious nature of this rather awesome film getting a FRAKKING SEQUEL twenty years later.
Now for the traditional context portion.
Independence Day is one of my favourite films ever. It's kind of a classic from my teenage years and a film I shared in common with one of my best friends from school. In fact, it was part of our bonding process, along with our shared fascination with UFOs and aliens. In fact, this lady is the reason I received the nickname "Alien Dave". So yeah, Independence Day is an absolute classic for me and my friend. We would quote it and a couple of other choice films that we shared a love for. I even got her hooked on Firefly and Serenity. But I digress, so back on track.
Roland Emmerich...once I thought he was brilliant. He gave us Stargate, he made Independence Day. But in more recent years, his credentials have become ever more dubious. Now, he's making a sequel to Independence Day (without Will Smith but still keeping Jeff Goldblum and Bill Pullman) and talking about going back to Stargate (which he originally conceived as a trilogy of films). I want to frakkin' scream.
A while back I talked about my scepticism of remakes. I was proven wrong with Total Recall and I still want to scream at them for what they're going to do to RoboCop. And now Hollywood are making angry about sequels. They're not bad as a general concept. Some movies are fantastic as trilogies, some would have been better if you'd left things well enough alone. Perhaps a top ten list with some pretty pictures will illustrate my feelings on this one day, but not now. No, for now I want to make this point. All these sequels that work well as trilogies and the ones that don't...they were made within a couple of years of each other. Admittedly, we've been waiting some six years for the final part of Edgar Wright's Blood and Ice Cream trilogy, but it hasn't taken them twenty years.
If it takes you twenty years...I think there's a subtle message in there.
Don't frakkin' do it.
Now I could be entirely wrong. Come 2015, I could be back on this blog admitting to everyone that I was wrong to nay-say and that Independence Day 2 is amazing or at very least a passably enjoyable movie. And perhaps, somewhere, there's historical precedent for a sequel being made twenty odd years after the original being absolutely fantastic. But I can't help but think of the Die Hard movies and George Lucas' reprehensible treatment of Star Wars and seriously contemplate weeping. The historical precedent does not look good, Roland Emmerich. Oh no.
I'm now going to digress entirely into a new topic, since I don't think there's much more I can say about my hesitance regarding the Independence Day sequel. Intriguingly enough, I've just realised it could be construed as somewhat tying in to the subject. Although I'm not going to chat about sequels, I'm going to be talking about a particular reboot. A reboot known...as Man of Steel.
For all my geekdom, I'm not actually a big reader of comic books. In fact, I don't really have any. I have some graphic novels, but as for comic books...no. None. Alas. So when it comes to the Marvel and DC comic book superhero movies, I have to ask my friends about the source material for more information. Or look it up online. So many glorious hours of procrastination...
So, Man of Steel. Bottom line, I enjoyed it. But it seems to me that it's an incredibly divisive film. Once upon a many Moon ago, I talked about the Marmite Principle. I think it applies here. You either love Man of Steel or hate it. Or you can go completely middle of the road. But still. I've spoken to people who love it, people who hate it. And one of the most interesting things I've come to learn about this movie and what divides people, is the nature of the source material. Superman is the perfect superhero. He's invincible, he has pretty much every superpower crammed into one human being. Oh wait, sorry, crammed into Kryptonian being. Ahem. Anyway, as I've been told, in the comics he's the square-jawed perfect hero. He always saves the day and he's always a jovial, lovely chap.
So for this reboot, they make him all dark and brooding.
Now I didn't necessarily have a problem with this, given that I don't have an attachment to the source material and know very little about it. But apparently, this is not a good thing. Superman is not dark, he does not brood or seethe with repressed issues. He glides through existence with an almost child-like fascination at the actions of humanity and continues to save them all the while. And this leads me to an interesting point that one of my colleagues made...
...if you do not want spoilers, do not read on.
In the finale of the movie, Superman and General Zod are having themselves a fine old brawl. While they are beating the ever-loving crap out of each other, they are simultaneously laying waste to Metropolis. Seriously. The amount of damage they perpetrate is quite astonishing. I didn't think too much about it at first. But then my colleague made the point that, as Superman is the perfect square-jawed superhero, he would have been trying to save everyone. Or, at the very least, the director could have allowed for a couple of brief scenes showing people escaping from the carnage and devastation that Superman and his nemesis were causing. I found this to be...well, quite a compelling point.
However...
An interest counterpoint was presented to me - while it is inevitably true that Superman caused untold carnage that is uncharacteristic for him, it could be part of the backstory for the sequel (there's that word again...) and its potential villain, the one and only Lex Luthor. The devastation wrought upon Metropolis would give Luthor an opportunity to step in, rebuild the city and use the events of Man of Steel to poison the people against Superman. As a premise, it's very intriguing and I can see it working out. So we'll just have to wait and see I guess.
On that note, I wrap up today's babbling with the final thought - Independence Day 2, I really hope you don't suck but I won't hold my breath and Man of Steel, you were a really rather enjoyable movie, even if you do have some plot falls here and there.
