Category: Authoring

Movie Review: Midnight in Paris (2011)

Midnight in Paris (2011)

3 out of 5 stars

Terry and I watched this over a week ago, on a Monday evening.  We were interrupted a couple of times by telephone calls from our children, so the flow of the movie suffered a bit.  I believe we also paused the DVD while we made dinner.

As with all of Woody Allen‘s films, I take time to absorb his presentation and vision.  In the case of Midnight in Paris, however, additional time did not endear me to the film.  I guess I felt it a bit too obvious.

If I had not read a recent FilmCritic blog post on the past year’s mediocre scifi Academy Award scarcity by John Scalzi, I doubt I would have ever watched this film.  Since Scalzi claimed Midnight in Paris actually masqueraded as a time travel tale, it intrigued me enough to place it at the top my Netflix queue.

As stated at the Wikipedia article, “the movie explores themes of nostalgia and modernism.”  Woody Allen tapped into the ‘Golden Age’ vibe for each succeeding character, leading us down the path of impending disillusionment, liberally laced with nearly every famous author or artist of the late 19th and early 20th centuries who conveniently converged at midnight in Paris (insert appropriate year here … and there’s the beauty of time travel as a plot device).  But not all this famous name dropping could elevate this film to greatness, at least for me.

Reader of the Vast Tomes

For the third day of my ‘Thirty Days of Thankfulness‘ I wish to express my appreciation of reading books.  I can’t remember of a time when I didn’t know how to read, going clear back to when I was three or four years old.  By the time I finished second grade, I believe I had finished all the Laura Ingalls Wilder Prairie books and started working through my mom’s old collection of Nancy Drew novels (printed in the 30s or before), as well as a few Hardy Boys and Trixie Beldon mysteries.  I also remember reading Black Beauty and Little Women several times.  Alice in Wonderland and Through the Looking Glass come to mind as well as some Jules Verne.  I loved (and still re-read) C.S. Lewis Chronicles of Narnia and own a large hardcover omnibus edition, which I place prominently on my Shelf of Honor.

As I approached middle school age, I became exposed to other genres, including science fiction and horror.  During my early teen years, I couldn’t read enough Stephen King.  I still consider The Stand to be one of his best novels and a great example of post-apocalyptic fiction.  But there came a point when the thrills paled and the terror became predictable.  I did an about-face, a complete one-eighty and dived into epic fantasy.  I have rarely, if ever, looked back.

Epic Fantasy Tomes

Why did epic fantasy appeal to me?  The size of the books.  Yes, I prefer tomes.  The longer the book (or series), the happier I am.  I read fast (not as fast as I did during my young adult hood, but still no slouch).  Of the three novels shown in the photo above, the Janny Wurts novel on my Nook Color is the longest, weighing in at 749 pages.  The classic, by Twain, and Vinge’s Rainbow’s End are actually approximately the same size in length: between 350 and 400 pages.  If I put my mind to it, had few distractions, and really enjoyed the novel, I could finish either of the paperbacks in a day.  Janny’s writing, however, is dense, rich and full of revelations and layers that require concentration.  I will enjoy her prose for a minimum of ten days, and again in the future, because there’s always something new to find in her work when you re-visit it.

While Janny’s latest publication, the very recently released Initiate’s Trial, seems long to the casual reader at nearly twice the size of a normal paperback, to me it is a good sized epic fantasy novel.

The longest books I’ve read in the last three years include:

  1. Jonathan Strange & Mr. Norrell (read in 2009) ~ 1,024 pages
  2. The Way of Kings (read in 2010) ~ 1,007 pages
  3. The Wise Man’s Fear (read in 2011) ~ 994 pages

For more of my book stats, visit my stats page at GoodReads.

Book Clubs

I spent most of the 90s and the first half of the 00s raising children and helping my chronically ill husband all while working full-time.  So basically, for a decade or a decade and a half, I stopped reading.  Not completely, of course, because I read technical manuals and references guides for work and I occasionally picked up a novel off the new release shelf at the library.   But I had blinders on and wasn’t taking advantage of the wealth of information available via the Internet.

About three years ago, a friend on Facebook invited me to join GoodReads, a social network site for bibliophiles.  I felt like I’d found the keys to the gates of heaven.  I quickly found online book clubs that aligned with my readings interests, signing up immediately with the Science Fiction and Fantasy Book Club.   That quickly followed with Beyond Reality (which seems to be my favorite place to hang out for the moment).   Eventually, I joined (and now help moderate) the Fantasy Book Club and the sister group Fantasy Book Club Series.

My awareness of reading and reviewing skyrocketed and pushed me to branch out in the ‘real world.’  Conveniently located in the building I spend Photo0960.jpgevery weekday in is a branch of the Kansas City Public Library.  I participated in reading challenges and seasonal book clubs, some of which I’ve written blog posts about here (including:  ‘A Taste of Victorian Literature‘; ‘Altered States‘; ‘Readers in the Rue Morge’; and, ‘The Big Read‘ featuring Twain’s Adventures of Tom Sawyer).

 

Accessible Authors

As if reading, reviewing and discussing novels wasn’t wonderful enough, the real icing on the cake comes from the authors themselves.  Unlike in the 80s when I had to write a letter on a manual typewriter and snail mail it to one of my favorite authors with a question (I did this with Barbara Hambly, Piers Anthony and Stephen R. Donaldson – all of whom replied courtesy the self-addressed stamped enveloped I provided them), today’s authors write blogs, tweet via Twitter and participate eagerly at GoodReads either as discussion leaders or via dedicated Q&A topics  posted for the chosen Book of the Month they wrote.  Without their talent, imagination, perseverance and passion, I would have less to read, both in quantity and quality.

I highly recommend the following author blogs:

Back to the Future

I still love the heft of a heavy hardcover edition of a treasured classic epic fantasy … for about five minutes.  I may have turned the final page of my last new hardcover.  Any future purchases will be made solely to support a favorite author, with the hope of meeting the author and asking for their autograph on the title page.  For the lion’s share of my reading, and to preserve both my weakening eyesight and the strain on my hands and arms, I will peruse the hundreds of novels and thousands of pages on my Nook Color ereader tablet, which is smart enough to turn off the light and mark my page when I doze off to sleep each night.  Thanks again to my husband, for gifting me with this amazing product.

To Scream or Keep Silent, That Is the Dying Question

Scream by Edvard Munch
Scream by Edvard Munch

September went into a tailspin about a week ago.  I can’t remember the last time I actually received personal good news from family or friends.  Death or dying and depression crowd around me, jostling for position and attention, blotting out my surroundings: beautiful sunrises and sunsets, crystal clear night skies bursting with twinkling stars, perfect weather any southern California native would drool over.

I woke up this morning after having tossed and turned and lost the skirmish with my sheet and pillows.  Apollo couldn’t wait to jump up and greet me with a wagging tail and unconditional canine adoration.  Roxy slept on, sprawled on the floor, oblivious to anything but her dreams of breakfast.  I rubbed the crusty, dried sleep from my eyes, slipped on my reading glasses and woke up my Nook to see what had happened in the wider world while I pretended to sleep.

I soon read the sad, tragic news of the death of Sara Douglass (aka Sara Warneke).  I discovered this astounding Aussie female fantasy writer a half dozen years ago and loved everything she wrote, especially Threshold, the first novel I found written by her.   As I perused the various postings on Twitter and Facebook about her passing, I found her blog post from March 2010 she entitled “The Silence of the Dying.”  I took a few minutes to read the entire post, after which I couldn’t help but shiver, especially after the seemingly prophetic nature of the most recent Doctor Who episode “Closing Time” wherein the Doctor seems to fall apart (emotionally) as he approaches the day of his death (flashback to the start of this season and the “Impossible Astronaut“).  He even utters some dialog containing the words ‘silence’ and ‘dying.’

After reading Sara’s thoughts on how modern society sticks it’s head in the sand with respect to death (and the dying), I pondered my own situation.  Part of my September tailspin centers on a sharp worsening in my health.  Par for the medical course, I’m running the gauntlet of various tests, procedures and eventually a biopsy (scheduled for mid-October), all of which amounts to endless waiting for results and the accompanying anxiety.  Just as Sara describes in her blog post, I prefer to keep silent, as I don’t want to appear ‘weak’ by complaining.  Of course, at this stage of the ‘game’ I’m not in much pain or discomfort (not compared to what Sara or other cancer victims endure).  And I must put up a good front for my husband, one of the chronically ill routinely maligned or ignored by modern day society.  He needs me to be ‘strong’ and I will remain so as cheerfully as I can.

Normally, I look forward to the beginning of October and the advent of autumn with peace and joy in my heart.  Of course, the fact that my birthday occurs the day after the first of October wouldn’t have anything to do with that would it?  But this year, no birthday cake with sputtering scores of candles will great me.  Instead, my husband and I will travel south, to his home town, to console and support his life-long friend and his wife in the sudden and unexpected loss of her mother, so soon after his mother’s death.  Oh, and their dog died last week in the midst of all this family tragedy.

I am full of unanswered questions and troublesome, uncomfortable thoughts today, ones that I wish I had the courage to shout out on a street corner to the self-absorbed oblivious passersby.  Rather than deprive a homeless person of their accustomed spot, I will jump up on my bloggity soap box instead.

From a Christian worldview, I can understand some of the silence surrounding death and dying.  Jesus conquered the grave, therefore, it follows, that we can sweep this whole messy business of dying under the proverbial rug.  (Yes, I’m being sarcastic).  Yet, even Jesus wept (and raised Lazarus from the grave).  Jesus also suffered, but not silently, and died, nearly alone, on a cross we nailed him to, at a crossroads dung heap outside Jerusalem.  Two thousand years later, we’ve sanitized and compartmentalized dying, hiding it from ourselves so we can ignore the writing on our own walls.

I ask that you stop for a moment and spend time, yes, that very precious commodity you can never, ever get back, with a friend or family member who is dying.  Don’t send flowers, or stuffed animals or Hallmark cards.  Give them comfort.  Don’t expect them to put you at ease about their situation.  Embrace the truth.  For you know, it’s not ‘if’ we’re going to die, it’s when.  We’re all dying.  And I, for one, will not go silently into the night.