Yesterday I saw the final Harry Potter movie for the second time in a week. I find with movies such as Harry Potter or Lord of the Rings - where I am so completely invested in the story and the characters - it takes two watchings to really see the movie. The first time I am too busy feeling it all to be thinking, and then the second time I can analyze and synthesize what I'm seeing. For some I have even enjoyed it more the second time, as I can truly appreciate what the director did with this beloved text.
So Harry Potter is over, and though I do feel as though this is a time of mourning, I am mostly overjoyed with the ending provided. Since Peter Jackson left out the Scouring of the Shire from the final movie, thus hacking off a major Tolkien-Christian theme, I was worried that the HP writers and directors might do the same, either editing out the "heaven" scene with Dumbledore or the "19 years later" scene. I've heard some people argue that this final scene takes away from the story arch - that there is too much denoument beyond the triumphant climax - yet this scene is nearly as important as Tolkien's Scouring. After triumph - after resurrection and truth and light and love - real life continues, and we must continue within it, like Sam and like Harry, maybe even becoming adjusted and normal people, whatever that may mean. And so that is the challenge: real life continues, but have I changed because Harry Potter existed?
Tuesday 26 July 2011
Monday 25 July 2011
Catch-22 vs. Kurt Vonnegut
I made the mistake of following my reading of Catch-22, by Joseph Heller, with The Sirens of Titan, by Kurt Vonnegut. I am usually quite conscious of the order in which I read my books - I like to follow heavy with light, fantasy with drama, character-focused with plot-driven - but this time I wasn't paying attention, and I followed a tongue-in-cheek war satire, with a tongue-in-cheek science fiction war satire, both about life and death and the men who control us along the way.
It took me a good while to really appreciate Catch-22. I loved the wit and the tone at the beginning, but only because I thought he would eventually settle into the story. When that just never happened, I got frustrated for a good chunk of it, and it wasn't until the last fifty pages or so that I could truly appreciate what he was trying to do with this novel. I was supposed to be that frustrated, and if that's the case, then I can see how this novel has become the success that so many say it is.
Unfortunately, my appreciation didn't last long, since within ten pages of the Vonnegut, he had made me think and feel almost everything it took Heller 450 pages to do (with over twice as many words per page!). Even when later in The Sirens of Titan Vonnegut borrowed material from one of his own short stories, I couldn't quite knock him for that, since he kept blowing my mind every few pages.
So, if you love M*A*S*H, and you want to read a novel version of it, go ahead and take the time to read Catch-22, but otherwise, go with The Sirens of Titan or Slaughter-House-Five. Vonnegut always wins.
It took me a good while to really appreciate Catch-22. I loved the wit and the tone at the beginning, but only because I thought he would eventually settle into the story. When that just never happened, I got frustrated for a good chunk of it, and it wasn't until the last fifty pages or so that I could truly appreciate what he was trying to do with this novel. I was supposed to be that frustrated, and if that's the case, then I can see how this novel has become the success that so many say it is.
Unfortunately, my appreciation didn't last long, since within ten pages of the Vonnegut, he had made me think and feel almost everything it took Heller 450 pages to do (with over twice as many words per page!). Even when later in The Sirens of Titan Vonnegut borrowed material from one of his own short stories, I couldn't quite knock him for that, since he kept blowing my mind every few pages.
So, if you love M*A*S*H, and you want to read a novel version of it, go ahead and take the time to read Catch-22, but otherwise, go with The Sirens of Titan or Slaughter-House-Five. Vonnegut always wins.
Sunday 17 July 2011
My picnic table, & The Picture of Dorian Gray
Yesterday, in the hot afternoon sun, my dad and I demolished my rotten, round, six-seater picnic table. At first we could easily rip off sections: seats, planks, whole arms. The heart of the table, however, was screwed together with approximately 2000 rusty screws, so for that part of the demolition my dad ripped it apart with his axe, violently tearing away at the wood while I prayed that the axe would not go flying from his hand.
I have recently finished reading The Picture of Dorian Gray, by Oscar Wilde, and while we were working on my picnic table a scene from the story popped into my head: after Dorian has murdered Basil, he blackmails his friend Alan into disposing of the body. Alan, after only 5 hours using chemicals and a fire place, manages to get rid of any evidence that the body ever existed. There is literally nothing left of Basil. He was methodically and even scientifically demolished until he was nothing. Just like my picnic table. Where once a carefully put-together object existed, now there is nothing. (Though the remnants of my picnic table will receive a proper burial in the Altona dump, Basil never gets the obsequies he deserves.)
Altogether a powerfully pervasive connection, and now that scene haunts me even more.
I have recently finished reading The Picture of Dorian Gray, by Oscar Wilde, and while we were working on my picnic table a scene from the story popped into my head: after Dorian has murdered Basil, he blackmails his friend Alan into disposing of the body. Alan, after only 5 hours using chemicals and a fire place, manages to get rid of any evidence that the body ever existed. There is literally nothing left of Basil. He was methodically and even scientifically demolished until he was nothing. Just like my picnic table. Where once a carefully put-together object existed, now there is nothing. (Though the remnants of my picnic table will receive a proper burial in the Altona dump, Basil never gets the obsequies he deserves.)
Altogether a powerfully pervasive connection, and now that scene haunts me even more.
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