Not Worried About the Novel’s Future

Dan Rosenblum writes about author Jennifer Egan’s talk on technology, life, and reading:

But Egan said she wasn’t afraid for the future of the novel because of the form’s genesis as a “crazy grab bag” had left it with the ability to assimilate many different forms.

“Really, almost everything that’s been done since was done in Don Quixote and Tristram Shandy. So I find that very heartening, too. Just remember this was invented as a flexible, strong and swaggering form that could do all kinds of things that other forms couldn’t do,” Egan said.

Preaching a Different Gospel

The remarkable growth on Christianity in Africa “has been tainted by an American-style prosperity emphasis that focuses on health and wealth at the expense of sin, redemption, and repentance.” Nigerian Femi Adeleye is fighting back in his book, Preachers of a Different Gospel: A Pilgrim’s Reflections on Contemporary Trends in Christianity, drawing clear distinctions between biblical gospel with the message of self-satisfaction.

“Damsels in Distress”

Ooh! Ooh!

After more than a decade without a new Whit Stillman film, his new one, “Damsels in Distress,” is coming:

The trailer doesn’t say when it’s being released, but Movie Insider says April. I want very much to see this movie. It looks great.

I explain my passion for Stillman’s work here.

Tip: First Things.

DVD review: “The Beaver”

It was a great misfortune (but not a forced error) that the movie The Beaver came out just when pretty much everybody in the country was mad at its star, Mel Gibson. Alas, Mel’s particular form of weirdness doesn’t fall within the bounds of Acceptable Deviancy under Hollywood rules, so not many people saw it. But you can get it on DVD, which I did this weekend, and I found it well worth viewing.

The story is of Walter Black (Gibson), the president of a once-dynamic toy company now drifting aimlessly, due to Walter’s chronic depression. Walter inherited the company from his father who (we are informed almost parenthetically) himself fell into depression and committed suicide. Walter has a loving, frustrated wife, Meredith (Jodie Foster), an adoring young son, and an older son, Porter (Anton Yelchin), who hates him out of fear that he himself will end up as his grandfather did, and as his father seems likely to.

When Meredith finally kicks Walter out of the house for the sake of the children’s safety, he (in a remarkable scene of black comedy) attempts unsuccessfully to commit suicide. It’s in this awful moment that The Beaver, a discarded puppet he found in a dumpster, starts “talking” to him. (It’s always very clear that Walter is saying the words, but the personality differences are great enough that the Beaver takes on a weird reality of his own.) The Beaver tells him he’s come to save his life, and under his inspiration Walter revitalizes his company with new ideas, and reconnects with his youngest son and his wife (though she’s very skeptical). Son Porter alone refuses to play along, seeing in the Beaver the flowering of the insanity that scares him. (There’s also a very nice subplot about Porter courting a girl at school, trying to find his own way to be a man while terrified of himself.) Continue reading DVD review: “The Beaver”

Twice the critical goodness!

Today we have two blog reviews of Troll Valley.

First, from Will Duquette at The View From the Foothills:

They always tell aspiring writers that they should write what they know. As commonly understood, I think this is hogwash—a writer needs to be able to go beyond his personal experience to date. But there’s no denying that when it’s done well, the personal touch can bring an immediacy and a concreteness to a work. And that’s precisely what Lars has done here.

Then, from Loren Eaton, at I Saw Lightning Fall:

For the record, I hold little in common with the characters of Troll Valley. I’m not of Norwegian descent, I’m not Lutheran, and the closest I’ve come to even setting foot in Minnesota is a trip to friend’s wedding in Wisconsin. But I still found them engaging. Walker understands that literature is supposed about the stuff of universal human experience, and he uses his characters’ specific situations to touch on it. Alienation and belonging, love and lust, faith and doubt — all make appearances.

Thanks to both.

Moonlight Mile, by Dennis Lehane

I think the general consensus is that, of all Dennis Lehane’s Patrick Kenzie/Angela Genarro private eye novels, the most perfect, memorable, and troubling was Gone, Baby Gone, which was also turned into a very good movie that not enough people saw. In that story, the detectives, who were also lovers, nearly split up for good over the decision of what to do about a little girl kidnapped from a neglectful home. The conclusion of the book was heartbreaking and a real moral puzzler.

After more than a decade, author Lehane has picked up the story again in Moonlight Mile. Much has changed for the Boston investigators. Patrick, having barely survived a gunshot wound, has turned to less dangerous forms of detective work, doing contract jobs for a large firm. Angela is working on a graduate degree. They have a four-year-old daughter who is the light of their lives. Money’s tight, but if they can hold out until Angela finishes school, life ought to be good.

And then the past shows up. The aunt of Amanda McCready, the little girl kidnapped in Gone, Baby, Gone, who originally hired Patrick and Angela, approaches Patrick. Amanda, now sixteen years old, has disappeared again, she says. She fears it has something to do with the girl’s stepfather, an ex-convict and drug dealer with a record of sexual abuse.

Continue reading Moonlight Mile, by Dennis Lehane

The Unseen, by T. L. Hines

I think I’ll just start my review by saying that T. L. Hines’s The Unseen is one of the most impressive thrillers I’ve read in some time—not just among Christian books, but among thrillers in general. I liked Hines’ first novel, Waking Lazarus, quite a lot. I was less impressed with The Dead Whisper On, his second. But this book—in my opinion—knocks it out of the park. It works on many levels, not only as a straight thriller, but as a cultural metaphor.

Lucas, the hero, is not strictly a part of the normal world. He makes a little money doing temporary, menial jobs, but he doesn’t need much money, because he’s essentially homeless. He moves from place to place in Washington, DC—abandoned buildings, service tunnels, even the sewer. He lives to watch other people, from hiding places he sets up behind walls and ceilings, “between the seams of society.” He’s not a voyeur in the ordinary sense. He doesn’t spy on women in dressing rooms, for instance. He watches people in public places, or at work. He imagines what their lives are like. It’s the only thing that makes him feel good, that calms the incessant buzzing he hears in his brain.

But one day he meets another man who’s a watcher like him. Through that man he learns of a whole organization of “creepers,” people who install cameras and make secret videos of people in their homes. They film acts of domestic violence and murder plots, but they refuse to do anything about them.

Lucas does something about them. Only the results aren’t what he expects, and the more he learns the stranger the mysteries grow, until he finds himself pursuing—and fleeing from—spies and counterspies and mysterious scientists who may hold the secret to his own forgotten past.

Aside from the originality of the concept, I liked the way Hines progressively amped up the tension (some of the action is kind of hackneyed, but it’s effective) and managed to make sympathetic a character who could have been pretty repellant. And Lucas’s watching obsession obviously mirrors various pathologies in modern society, from which (I suspect) few of us are entirely free. (Porn, anyone? Reality TV?) I suppose most readers won’t identify with Lucas as strongly as I did, but I think most will identify to some degree or another.

Highly recommended for older teens and adults. Well done.

The Undead at War, by Kevin Long

Kevin Long, who is the author of The Undead At War is the same person as the Republibot 3.0 who wrote Ice Cream and Venom, which I reviewed a while back (I note that he’s come out of the closet on that authorship now). I thought his work showed a lot of promise then, and I’m happy to report that he’s only gotten better as a writer.

Although there are some stand-alone stories in the collection, the bulk of the stories fall into two sequences—the Undead stories (which, in spite of expectations, are not about zombies or vampires), and the Redneck Universe stories, which culminate in the last part of the book, a novella called “Home Again.”

The Undead stories are actually concerned with the question of medical life extension. What if we could preserve the brains of people whose bodies have died, hook them up to a virtual reality scenario, and put their brain power to work? Plenty of moral ambiguities are explored, and the texture of the narrative is enriched by the fact that the narrator, one of the Undead himself, is not a particularly admirable man, and has every reason to wish to postpone his absolute death.

The Redneck Universe stories have a Heinleinian flavor, and concern a mass exodus from earth by a large number of people who form colonies—entirely without the support of any terrestrial government—on distant planets. The essential theme of all these stories is the alienation experienced by people trying to find a way to be human in environments no human has ever known before. The narrator of “Home Again,” the bittersweet novella at the end of the book, is further torn when, on returning to earth, he finds himself (because of the effects of relativity) subjectively only a few years older than when he left, but faced with a world where everything has experienced decades of change. Christians are likely to have trouble with the one religious scene in this story, and also with its conclusion, which is nevertheless dramatically justified.

If you’re a science fiction fan, especially one with libertarian views, I think you’ll probably like The Undead At War. Cautions for language and adult situations.