In which lions, and sparkles.
In our last edition of "throwing shade at Twilight," I pretty deliberately didn't spend much time actually talking about the book. Mostly because the book sucks. We're going to do things differently today, because this particular chapter sucks in some new and intriguingly awful ways. There is no plot, beyond the remarkably weird bit about Eddie glittering in the sun like an oversized engagement ring, which is pretty much exactly what he is. I'm honestly not sure what our dear Mrs. Meyer is going for here, but I'm quite certain that this is the first time in the book I've laughed out loud. I'm not one to say that new iterations of a familiar genre need to hold sacred any traditions of same. So, if she wants to have vampires who can come out in sunlight, I guess that's just dandy. But a little respect for tradition would be nice. This is a de-fanged vampire, a noble, tortured soul who happens to be a mass murderer. The sickeningly worshipfull imagery and description tells us that there's no monstrosity, no genuine evil in Edward. I disagree, but the book's point-of-view is difficult to mistake. What SM fails to realize is that a true redemption story, a bad man made good, is vastly more interesting than this twaddle.
Just to be clear; Edward is a fucking monster, just not in the appealingly broody way his author seems to have aimed at. Consider the line about how Eddie wanted to start munching on Bella's neck in a "room full of children." We have yet to learn how old Bedward actually is, but it's a bit older than seventeen. Consider also his assertion that "the lion fell in love with the lamb." Does anyone actually think this is a balanced power dynamic, a joing together on equal terms of two souls? Bella is a kid. She's a fucking child, and a not-particularly-mature one at that. The plot of this book concerns whether or not Edward can resist forcibly penetrating her - whether you read that as blood sucking or rape is entirely your call, and I'm not sure which one is worse. When they nuzzle and he sniffs along her neck or whatever, the image reminded me quite forcibly of the horrifying recent piece on campus rapes in Rolling Stone.
Edward even admits that she's "intoxicated" by his very presence. In other words, drunk on the mixture of hormones and adrenaline that is responsible for the majority of every teenager's actions. I don't know how many ways Ms. Meyer can demonstrate that Bella CAN"T GIVE CONSENT TO THE RELATIONSHIP. But hey, who cares about that, right? Anyone? Bueller?
Fuck this book. Seriously, fuck it.
Wednesday, November 26, 2014
Saturday, November 15, 2014
Twilight, the 12th
You know, there's a fascinating moral dilemmna at the heart of this shitshow of a book. Vampires are very, very dangerous. Edward wants to penetrate (we'll come back to this word) Bella's neck with razored fangs. His sissie worries that the budding relationship will "end badly." So, naturally, he arranges to be alone with her in the woods for hours on end. Oh, right, because that's exactly what you should do with someone you care about, whose neck you're perpetually tempted to shred. Pardon me while I bash my head against a wall.
Now, that penetration thing…. Vampirism, in the literary / fictional sense, has all sorts of sexual overtones and connotations. Dracula, the Bram Stoker original, is essentially about the spread of sexually transmitted plagues throughout Europe. The metaphor works. An intimate encounter, taking place at night and generally in the bedroom. Removal of clothing. The climactic act of penetration, followed by a slow, creepy descent into madness, monstrosity, and disease. Normal Friday night, basically.
Twilight is a book of sex. Actually, scratch that, it's a book about wanting sex. Drinking blood takes the place of making sexytimes. Edward wants it, clearly, and is struggling to resist his temptations. Bella also wants it, although she's kind of dancing around the issue because she's incapable of making up her mind on any issue more complex than tonight's dinner selection. Does anyone else see the issue? There's no conflict here. They want the same thing, it'll happen eventually, and there's gonna be much making of icily-perfect babies and riding off into the sun… er…. moonset together.
Considering this book's progenitor makes its' flaws all the more readily apparent. The bloodline has become weak, diluted. Dracula, for all that it's a relic reflecting an older mindset, is actually the more enlightenened, interesting work. It features strong female characters with control of their own agency, who fight to protect their bodies and sexuality with the ferocity that those things deserve. I've said before that I'm not one to judge an author's mindset from her work. But, it bears pointing out just how little say or even interest Bella has in her own destiny. She's an observer, a bored and boring voyeur. Dracula is apocalyptic in stakes and tone. It occurs to me that Twilight is a rather brilliant title for a book that lacks the conviction to choose the brightness of love or darkness of fear.
Now, that penetration thing…. Vampirism, in the literary / fictional sense, has all sorts of sexual overtones and connotations. Dracula, the Bram Stoker original, is essentially about the spread of sexually transmitted plagues throughout Europe. The metaphor works. An intimate encounter, taking place at night and generally in the bedroom. Removal of clothing. The climactic act of penetration, followed by a slow, creepy descent into madness, monstrosity, and disease. Normal Friday night, basically.
Twilight is a book of sex. Actually, scratch that, it's a book about wanting sex. Drinking blood takes the place of making sexytimes. Edward wants it, clearly, and is struggling to resist his temptations. Bella also wants it, although she's kind of dancing around the issue because she's incapable of making up her mind on any issue more complex than tonight's dinner selection. Does anyone else see the issue? There's no conflict here. They want the same thing, it'll happen eventually, and there's gonna be much making of icily-perfect babies and riding off into the sun… er…. moonset together.
Considering this book's progenitor makes its' flaws all the more readily apparent. The bloodline has become weak, diluted. Dracula, for all that it's a relic reflecting an older mindset, is actually the more enlightenened, interesting work. It features strong female characters with control of their own agency, who fight to protect their bodies and sexuality with the ferocity that those things deserve. I've said before that I'm not one to judge an author's mindset from her work. But, it bears pointing out just how little say or even interest Bella has in her own destiny. She's an observer, a bored and boring voyeur. Dracula is apocalyptic in stakes and tone. It occurs to me that Twilight is a rather brilliant title for a book that lacks the conviction to choose the brightness of love or darkness of fear.
Friday, November 7, 2014
Thoughts on Minimalism
My two hobbies are writing and weightlifting. The one feeds off the other. To explain I will offer a negative comparison: Every day people pace aimlessly around the gym floor, adjusting headphones and tapping touchscreens and gazing into televisions. They socialize with other regulars and occasionally perform a set on a well-sanitized piece of plastic and metal. Some of them have overpaid trainers following them around and pretending to pay attention. Shockingly enough, they progress slowly or not at all.
I don't know the names of anyone at my gym. I try not to be anti-social, and always nod or greet everyone I recognize. But that's it. The weights are meditative. The iron teaches through its lack of caring. It doesn't know that I haven't slept, that the big project is due at work, that the pretty redhead on the treadmill keeps shooting me looks. The iron demands the fullness of my focus and attention, and I give it no less. I've made the mistake before, and paid a high price. As a teenager I demanded too much of myself without really knowing how to ask the questions. Pushed too hard, went too heavy. Scars tell the tale.
What does this have to do with writing? I believe in absolute focus. I turn off the wifi, hide the phone, put on some music, and generally develop tunnel vision as I flow through a piece. In a world constantly demanding our attention in a hundred places, it's a rare and valuable skill to do less. There's a kind of courage to it, really, a certainty and confidence that being the very best at a single thing is far better than sucking at many things.
I've recently been watching the show "Shark Tank" quite a bit. It's wildly entertaining, a kind of steroidal embodiment of capitalism. Many entrepeneurs come with big ideas, wild dreams, promises of changing the world. The Sharks care only about making money. They care little for dreams, and speak only in revenues, supply chain, online vs retail. It's the clash between ideologies that gives the show its appeal. Companies that get funded have made the Sharks confident in their ability to do exactly one thing, no matter the route taken in pursuit of profit. There are infinite methods but only one methodology.
With writing, and the weights, and so many other aspects of my life, there is always a goal. Sometimes I can achieve it in a day, sometimes five years. But always there's something towards which I'm working. Consider day to day, hour to hour, second to second, whether you're getting closer to whatever it is that you need. Act accordingly.
I don't know the names of anyone at my gym. I try not to be anti-social, and always nod or greet everyone I recognize. But that's it. The weights are meditative. The iron teaches through its lack of caring. It doesn't know that I haven't slept, that the big project is due at work, that the pretty redhead on the treadmill keeps shooting me looks. The iron demands the fullness of my focus and attention, and I give it no less. I've made the mistake before, and paid a high price. As a teenager I demanded too much of myself without really knowing how to ask the questions. Pushed too hard, went too heavy. Scars tell the tale.
What does this have to do with writing? I believe in absolute focus. I turn off the wifi, hide the phone, put on some music, and generally develop tunnel vision as I flow through a piece. In a world constantly demanding our attention in a hundred places, it's a rare and valuable skill to do less. There's a kind of courage to it, really, a certainty and confidence that being the very best at a single thing is far better than sucking at many things.
I've recently been watching the show "Shark Tank" quite a bit. It's wildly entertaining, a kind of steroidal embodiment of capitalism. Many entrepeneurs come with big ideas, wild dreams, promises of changing the world. The Sharks care only about making money. They care little for dreams, and speak only in revenues, supply chain, online vs retail. It's the clash between ideologies that gives the show its appeal. Companies that get funded have made the Sharks confident in their ability to do exactly one thing, no matter the route taken in pursuit of profit. There are infinite methods but only one methodology.
With writing, and the weights, and so many other aspects of my life, there is always a goal. Sometimes I can achieve it in a day, sometimes five years. But always there's something towards which I'm working. Consider day to day, hour to hour, second to second, whether you're getting closer to whatever it is that you need. Act accordingly.
Sunday, November 2, 2014
Twilight, 11
In which; Oh look, shiny car!
Zach Snyder's Man of Steel (or, Superman: The Christ-ening) isn't a great movie, although I'd argue that it's become genuinely underrated due to some weird critical misinterpretations. But I digress. The movie gets one thing very, very right: A genuine sense of awe at the discovery that there are fucking aliens living on Earth. Pa Kent chooses to die in order to protect the secret of Kal-El's existence, believing that the world simply isn't ready for the knowledge. Late in the film, as Zod's threats echo across the globe, we get a montage of awestruck faces from a dozen cultures, the words translated into as many languages. Pa Kent was right. When the news breaks, it's a huge moment for humanity, maybe the hugest since the moon landing. There are aliens among us, and nothing will ever be the same. Snyder correctly treats the moment with respect and gravitas, and all that follows is more powerful as a result. Basically, he gives his revelation some stakes, some acknowledgement of the firestorm of a chain reaction that we know will result.
Bella Swan finds out that there is an alien in her small town, one with super-strength, functional immortality, and a genetic bias towards slaughtering humans. They talk about gym class and favorite colors. I want to punch things. Edward's smug face would be a nice start. I am unsure of why this chapter exists. It does nothing to accelerate the (non-existent) plot. We learn nothing of importance about any character. There's no development, no major hint that I've noticed. Oh, Edward's sissy drives a nice car. Bella has heard of BMW, an automaker with an average of 220,000 in annual US sales over the past decade. Her mother must be so proud.
Bella just doesn't act like a normal teenager. Actually, fuck that. She doesn't act like a rational human of any age. The chapter is offensively and agressively stupid. Young ladies, take note; If you feel a spark coming off of your date, I recommend telling him to leave the fleece at home. Otherwise, seek help. Yes, two people who want to bang sitting close to one another can often lead to bonerization (or female equivalent), but let's not pretend that there's some sort of magical love spark or whatever. I don't even know anymore….
Zach Snyder's Man of Steel (or, Superman: The Christ-ening) isn't a great movie, although I'd argue that it's become genuinely underrated due to some weird critical misinterpretations. But I digress. The movie gets one thing very, very right: A genuine sense of awe at the discovery that there are fucking aliens living on Earth. Pa Kent chooses to die in order to protect the secret of Kal-El's existence, believing that the world simply isn't ready for the knowledge. Late in the film, as Zod's threats echo across the globe, we get a montage of awestruck faces from a dozen cultures, the words translated into as many languages. Pa Kent was right. When the news breaks, it's a huge moment for humanity, maybe the hugest since the moon landing. There are aliens among us, and nothing will ever be the same. Snyder correctly treats the moment with respect and gravitas, and all that follows is more powerful as a result. Basically, he gives his revelation some stakes, some acknowledgement of the firestorm of a chain reaction that we know will result.
Bella Swan finds out that there is an alien in her small town, one with super-strength, functional immortality, and a genetic bias towards slaughtering humans. They talk about gym class and favorite colors. I want to punch things. Edward's smug face would be a nice start. I am unsure of why this chapter exists. It does nothing to accelerate the (non-existent) plot. We learn nothing of importance about any character. There's no development, no major hint that I've noticed. Oh, Edward's sissy drives a nice car. Bella has heard of BMW, an automaker with an average of 220,000 in annual US sales over the past decade. Her mother must be so proud.
Bella just doesn't act like a normal teenager. Actually, fuck that. She doesn't act like a rational human of any age. The chapter is offensively and agressively stupid. Young ladies, take note; If you feel a spark coming off of your date, I recommend telling him to leave the fleece at home. Otherwise, seek help. Yes, two people who want to bang sitting close to one another can often lead to bonerization (or female equivalent), but let's not pretend that there's some sort of magical love spark or whatever. I don't even know anymore….
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