Arabat: Author Crushes

January 30, 2007 in Adventure, YA Fantasy | by | 1 comment

Cover Image

As I was emptying my bag from a recent trip to the library, my boyfriend Tim looked at the stack which included Arabat and its sequel. “Who’s Clive Barker?” he asked, “And why do you have all his books?” I smiled a shy smile. I know I’m doing it again.

I develop crushes on authors the same way I used to crush on boys in junior high (OK, and in high school and a little bit in college. . .). Here’s a snippet from my diary: I love Chad. I love Bryan. I love Kevin. I love Kevin and Bryan and Chad. *Sigh* Riveting prose, I know. Apparently I never grew out of this phase, I merely redirected it.

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Green Lantern: Digging Superheroes Again

January 28, 2007 in Adventure, Comics, DC Comics, Geoff Johns, Green Lantern, Sci-Fi, Superheroes | by | 1 comment

Against my better judgment, I recently bought a copy of Green Lantern: No Fear. It’s a collection of the current monthly Green Lantern comic book series, and the chuckle you just allowed yourself at my expense is exactly why I at first thought it would be a waste of my time. It just sounds geeky and useless.

This isn’t an unfair assumption when you consider the state of superhero comics these days. Comics as an overall art form is very healthy — graphic novels, newspaper strips, and self-published comics ‘zines are all doing well commercially and critically. But those monthly superhero tales are such awful loads of crap. And this is coming from a die-hard superhero fan.

My overall complaint is simple: truly great literature is universal, and there is nothing universal about this stuff. Superhero comic book publishers cater to a relatively small group of fans who are thrilled by the fact that their beloved characters are treated respectfully and seriously. It’s apparently enough for these readers to read periodic updates on the ups and downs of each hero’s love life or drug addiction or family situation. Superhero comics today are, for the most part, akin to soap operas or reality shows; there to excite readers who have an encyclopedic knowledge of each character’s history with references and in-jokes. That’s not a literary experience but a feeling of clubhouse belonging.

Green Lantern might be the comics outsider’s easiest example of this. Other superheroes have successfully nestled themselves in the greater public consciousness. Batman has his dark, brooding cool factor. Superman’s sense of moral certainty and optimism has always resonated far outside the comics community. Spider-Man is the everyman outsider – an outcast with a heart of gold. Wonder Woman appeals to a mainstream American mindset of feminism and the strength of the individual.

But Green Lantern? Isn’t he the guy with the magic ring?

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Al Capone Does My Shirts: Was that my biological clock ticking?

January 16, 2007 in YA | by | Leave a comment

I must be getting old.

I don’t usually identify with the mothers in the books that I read. One reason is obvious — I’m not a mother. But I think it goes deeper than that. My friend Scotty used to say How can we have kids when we can barely take care of ourselves? Amen. Part of me still feels unprepared for life and so the thought of being responsible for another life is very scary to me.

However I do plan on being a parent one day. And I recently got a baby dog rather than an adult dog in complete moronic confidence in my nascent parenting skills. I reminded myself that I have raised two cats properly. It was going along fine until it became clear that this pup needed special support and guidance. My worst fears began coming true: I had taken the responsibility for another life, and I was screwing it up.

I worried incessantly, as is my habit. In my daily reading of Al Capone, I began to realize how much I was becoming like Moose Flannagan’s mother in her dealings with Nathalie, her autistic child. Mrs. Flannagan’s faith hung on the word of experts; she used every tactic they gave her with the hopeful optimism that this would be the one (For my part, I talked to two dog trainers and a breeder and read three books). I felt her disappointment that with every small step forward were precarious steps backward. The day I picked up the business card of an animal communicator I knew I had reached my lowest point, which fortunately for me falls far shy of Mrs. Flannagan’s deluded attempt to pass her 16 year old daughter off as a ten year old.

As I identified all over the place with this strong yet brittle woman, I began to realize that no one is prepared for parenting and raising a child (whether a two footed or four footed version). And that all my obsessive preparations will not be any help.

Which leads me to the uncomfortable conclusion that I have to learn from Mrs. Flannagan’s experience. I need to take a deep breath. And learn to trust myself.

Yikes.

 

 

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