New Beginning

Hello!

If anyone out there is still checking this occasionally, my thanks!

After a long hiatus, Take a Read on the Dark Side is back, but is now evolving into https://takeareadonthedarkside.wordpress.com/ Please check it out, and continue to support my weird and wonderful ramblings.

See you in the new world, my friends.

A Keen Observer

A Keen Observer, DeepDownSlytherin - 2005-6

From authors asking fans not to write fanfics, to the belief that fic-writing is something done by those without the creativity or talent to create original work, by way of Fifty Shades of Worst Series Ever Written originating as fanfic of Another Godawful Book, fanfiction tends to have a bad reputation. And like most stereotypes, there is a fair amount of evidence to support the idea, without for a moment meaning that it is true. There are some truly terrible fanfics. There is a reason why ‘crack-fic’ is a term, coming from the notion that one would have to be on crack to write it in the first place. For that matter, there is a reason why the terms ‘fluff’, a code that explicitly advertises syrupy sweetness and ‘pwp’, literally porn without plot, exist. However, within the vast sphere that is fanfiction there are also examples of superb characterisation, excellent writing and storytelling every bit as elegant as some of award-winning works featured on this blog. With that said, on to DeepDownSlytherin’s (DDS from here on in) beautiful fic A Keen Observer, set in the world of J.K Rowling’s Harry Potter books.

(I’m just going to go ahead and assume anyone reading this is at least vaguely familiar with the Potterverse, at least to the extent of knowing Hogwarts, Dumbledore, Voldemort etc. If you’re not… I have no words…)  

All rights to JK Rowling and Bloomsbury

The Black family is one of the most powerful and influential pure-blooded families in the wizarding world, moving only in elite society with an overriding belief in their own superiority.

Andromeda Black is the middle child in the latest generation, between the older, fiery Bellatrix and Narcissa, the vain and diva-ish little sister, and is the quietest and most reflective of the three. When she goes off to Hogwarts, like all of her family she is sorted into Slytherin, though due more to her fierce intelligence and pride, rather than the ruthlessness and ambition for which the house is also known. It is in her first Defence Against the Dark Arts class that she is seated next to Ted Tonks, a Muggle-born Ravenclaw boy, who is immediately determined to befriend her, both by being continually warm and pleasant, and by establishing an intense rivalry over their grades. Despite her initial contempt of him due to his status as a mudblood, their friendship develops and he continues to be an important presence in her life throughout the highs and lows of their seven years at Hogwarts. Eventually, after considerable denial on both sides, and recognising the difficulties they will face, Andy and Ted admit their love for one another. However, the wizarding world is changing, and the pure-blood prejudices against Muggle-born ‘mudbloods’ is being whipped up by a mysterious dark wizard, who holds a particular, terrifying fascination for Bellatrix; a wizard called Lord Voldemort…

Though it was written over ten years ago now, what struck me most when I first read the fic a year ago, and continues to surprise me every time I re-read it, is how relevant the story feels today. Indeed, with JK herself having drawn direct parallels between Death Eaters and the alt/far-right, DDS’s exploration of the radicalisation of the entitled elite seems more brilliant with each reading. Furthermore, if one reads A Keen Observer and compares it to the real life defection from the alt-right of Derek Black (how’s that for a coincidence in names?) the similarities are startling, and credit is due to DDS for the nuanced way she shows Andy realising the monstrous dark side of the pure-blood world’s entitlement. However, while Andy comes to see the inherent toxicity of the society in which she grew up, DDS is very careful to humanise and understand all of her characters. Significantly, one of the functions of fanfic can be to amend perceived issues with the canonical text, such as LGBT visibility, and one of the issues returned to again and again in the Potterverse is the demonisation of Slytherin House. Along with the cruel, vicious and utterly superior figures, who one is aware will become Death Eaters post-Hogwarts, DDS presents us with a number of gentler, more moderate Slytherins, in addition to Andy herself, people who are as horrified by the onset of war as the students of other houses.


The handling of the characters, those well-established by Rowling, those named in canon but only developed by DDS, and those created by her, is superb, as DDS not only vividly realises them, but also shows them change, both obviously and subtly, as they grow up. There are some moments of laugh-out-loud hilarity from Sirius and James Potter as their friendship evolves, but Sirius also carries the weight of being Andy’s forerunner; as he matures he finds the narrow-minded pure-blood worldview so intolerable that he furiously, joyfully abandons it forever. In terms of characters, however, the story belongs to Andy, Ted and Bellatrix. DDS shows us the sisters as genuinely loving and devoted to one another throughout their childhood which serves to make the eventual breakdown of their relationship all the more moving. We understand Bellatrix’s pain and fury at the perceived betrayal of Andy falling in love with a Muggle-born, even as Andy is becoming increasingly, terrifyingly aware of how dangerous the pure-blood ideology, not to mention Bellatrix herself, has become. DDS’s depiction of Bellatrix is still moving, even when we know full well what she will grow up to be, because she presents her to us through Andy’s eyes and shows us Bella, the precocious, wilful girl, talented and impetuous, then allows her to drift in and out of the narrative until Andy faces the painful realisation that she barely recognises her once-adored sister. Ted, for his part, is kind, patient, understanding, comforting, and also stubborn, ready and willing to fight, clever, witty and charming and daring enough to initially pursue a friendship with Andromeda Black. If this sounds too good to be true, it is a tribute to the skill of DDS that she makes him completely believable. And as for our narrator herself, Andy is a wonderful creation; insightful, clever, stubborn, occasionally highly dense and deeply loving. A character changing on a fundamental level is difficult to write well and it is the highest praise to DDS that she makes this narrative of the girl from the most elite of all pure-blood families who fell in love with a Muggle-born utterly convincing.


A key factor in what makes A Keen Observer work is that, for all that the setting is familiar, and many beats of the story, such as Sirius running away from home, are prescribed by the canon, the emotional narrative is entirely DDS’s own and, unlike certain other franchises that started as fanfic, could completely work out of universe. However, DDS uses the Potter canon to add extra layers and colours to the narrative; the squabbles of Lily Evans and James Potter are even more entertaining because we know where their turbulent relationship is going. By contrast, the most chilling moment in A Keen Observer comes when the teenage Bella rudely questions a stranger at a masquerade ball. He never actually appears in the story again, but the gloriously dark image of Lord Voldemort placing Bellatrix’s costume mask on her and tying it, is one of the most effective moments in a narrative full of them.


A Keen Observer is many things; a dark family chronicle, a wonderfully written love-story, and above all, the story of a young woman who determines to leave the world in which she grew up, not only for love, but in defiance of an ingrained hierarchical ideology that she chooses to abandon in favour of a life built on empathy, respect and love. If you are a Harry Potter fan, I cannot recommend it highly enough, and if you’re not, still give it a whirl. It really is worth it.

The all important link: https://www.fanfiction.net/s/2489360/1/A-Keen-Observer

Masque

Masque, Bethany W. Pope – 2016

'This was like one of the fairy tales Christine's father told us when we were still children. A monster, a princess, a castle underground'1

Gaston Leroux's The Phantom of the Opera, is perhaps the most famous reworking of the Beauty and the Beast fairy tale, taking the initial premise of a horrifically ugly man falling in love with a beautiful woman, and adding to it an even more heightened Gothic romanticism, as well as the core image of a masked figure in evening-dress, that has now been homaged beyond even the point of cliché. Leroux also added to his story a second male character, a classic hero, who wins Christine's love, instead of the beast, as well as serving as the narrator for the book.


It is also not very good…


OK, that's a little unfair, but Leroux's novel is certainly a mess, part romance, part detective story, part horror novel, all told via a dull and conventional narrator. Only through subsequent retellings – the 1925 Lon Chaney film and Andrew Lloyd Webber's record-breaking musical being the most significant – was the nugget of Gothic gold excavated: the melodramatic love-triangle between the young soprano, Christine, the Vicomte de Chagny, Raoul and Erik, the man in the mask. For a much more complete history of the Phantom's evolution, its worth checking out Lindsay Ellis's excellent recap here and here. The relationship between Phantom and Beauty and the Beast is also fascinatingly complex, as one feeds into the other with each subsequent retelling: Disney's renowned 1991 Beauty and the Beast owes more than a little to the Andrew Lloyd Webber musical, particularly in the addition of a more traditional romantic lead as a foil, even going so far as to make him the villain. For many fans of the Phantom stage-show it is the Phantom and Christine who are the soul-mates who should end up together, and they see Raoul as the villain for preventing this, however little this chimes with the show's narrative. In Masque, Bethany W. Pope skilfully picks at the threads of this interpretation and from them weaves a novel as deep and complex as any labyrinth beneath the Paris Opera House. 

(Though I'm going to try and review Pope's book objectively, I must lay my cards on the table and declare that am a huge fan (a phan, if you will! - and no, I didn't coin the term: there are people even worse than me…) of the musical, and of the franchise in general.)

It is important to note that Pope takes her cue, not from the more well-known musical, but from Leroux's original novel, and that in the first words of her story, she pulls the narrative away from Raoul's control. Instead, we have a three-person, alternating narrator and it is Christine who begins the story, a Christine of considerably more fire and spirit than any previous version. In Pope's hands the narrative becomes Christine's every bit as much as Erik's and the story is immeasurably richer for it. Throughout Leroux's story his heroine continually clings to Raoul in fear, and in Lloyd Webber's she is the passive prize to be fought over, until the climax in the Phantom's lair, where she makes her only choice of the narrative. Although her choice is courageous, she is immediately let off any consequences arising from that decision. Pope, however, inverts this narrative completely, her Christine actively conspires with her mysterious teacher against the intrusive and egotistical Raoul, and only becomes passive at the very moment of her assertion in the other versions. This passivity haunts her for the rest of the novel, until she powerfully re-asserts herself, divorces Raoul, returns to the stage and reclaims her voice.

Indeed, exploration of the idea of 'having a voice' is one of Masque's central themes. We now often hear the word 'voice' being used to describe a perspective, often in the context of a marginalised voice challenging, or being drowned out by, the dominant, usually patriarchal voice. Pope dexterously blends this modern idea of 'having a voice' with Christine's voice as a singer, by suggesting continually that, whether she is singing or speaking, Raoul only ever hears the tone of Christine's voice and never cares to listen to what she is saying. Pope's Raoul is creature of pure patriarchal entitlement; when he learns she is arranging a Mass for her dead father, his only thought is that 'a dutiful daughter will make a dutiful wife'. He continually, violently asserts his own narrative on Christine's life, stating 'I am certain that, gifted though you are, you have long since grown tired of singing for your supper'2. Our access to Christine's perspective, however, means we are aware that in doing so he is 'planning to utterly, blithely destroy everything that was of any value about myself'3. There is no option for her to simply refuse him, as that would end her career just as quickly.

As for Erik himself, Pope goes further than any interpreter of the story I've come across in conveying the sheer visceral unpleasantness of his deformity, beyond simple ugliness, as she employs constant references to peeling skin, sores and the stench of his body; indeed, when Christine finally sees his uncovered face and vomits, we have been sufficiently prepared that this does not seem like an over-reaction. Although this increases our sympathy for him, Pope also makes him wonderfully free of self-pity, unlike Leroux's wailing and moaning Phantom. This makes the interactions between Christine and Erik initially far more innocent; whereas Lloyd Webber's masked man seems hell-bent on seducing Christine from the start, Pope's simply assumes that that part of life is closed to him, and is simply determined to help Christine in her art. This makes their relationship all the more touching when it finally develops.

Masque is gorgeously written in sumptuous, vivid prose, and Pope channels all three highly distinctive narrative voices perfectly. There are, however, one or two issues; there are a few typos scattered throughout the book, as well as the odd occasion when characters speech suddenly becomes jarringly modern. More problematic thematically though, is that although Pope's Erik seems considerably more sane than many of his counterparts, his body count appears to be higher even than the Robert Englund-starring slasher-movie version. Indeed, this Erik is completely casual about killing, which seems rather at odds with the concept of casting Raoul as the villain; even Christine herself, though she tries to discourage him from killing, does not seem greatly perturbed. In the world of Pope's Masque, and especially in the heads of Erik and Christine, art is everything, and one who does not appreciate this and tries to obscure it will pay the price; here murderer is preferable to misogynist, and in reading Pope's perfectly obnoxious Raoul, its difficult to disagree.

However, the true reason that Raoul becomes the villain of Masque is that he is incapable of change or growth. The end of the musical gains its power from the Phantom finally achieving emotional growth, though it comes with the realisation that he cannot force Christine to love him and must let her go. In Masque, however, Pope grants both Erik and Christine a happy ending, but to reach it, both must finish their own character arc; Erik refuses to spend his life completely hidden, and Christine asserts control over her life and finally looks him in the face.

Although I am sure Phantom novices will enjoy Pope's beautiful writing, this is really a novel for the fans, for people who will appreciate not only the story, but the differences from previous iterations. Masque is a dexterously clever, elegantly executed novel, and easily ranks as one of the finest reinventions of the classic tale.


Phan-fucking-tastic!



Link to Seren publishers where the book can be purchased: https://www.serenbooks.com/productdisplay/masque

1Pope, Bethany W. Masque, Seren, 2016 pp. 156
2pp. 6
3pp. 113

A Darker Shade of Magic

A Darker Shade of Magic, V.E. Schwab – 2015

World-building is an art that belongs almost exclusively to SF/F writing. Though establishing a location is important for any novel, it is only in writing SF/F that authors are called upon to bring to life an entirely new world in the minds of their readers. While originality is one of the major goals here, the world of the book needs to be communicated effectively and efficiently, without getting in the way of the narrative. The more original the idea, the more space is needed to develop it and allow the reader to understand it; China Mieville's New Crobuzon is probably the best example, in that it is a phenomenal creation, but much of Perdido Street Station's vast page count is spent establishing the city. Therefore, many SF/F writers, even greats such as Gene Wolfe or George R.R. Martin, tend to use recognisable, established elements and tropes from within the genre, rather than create entirely new worlds. In A Darker Shade of Magic, however, V.E. Schwab presents us with a setting that is at once original, simple and superb….

There are four parallel worlds, all linked by one thing, one place that lies in the same location in each world: London. Our London, which at the time of the novel's events is ruled by the mad King George III, is Grey London, where magic has all but vanished from the world. The capital of Arnes and it's vast empire, where magic flourishes, is Red London. The citadel city of the savage, warlike land where magic is treated as a beast to be caught, tamed and used is White London. And there is Black London, where magic utterly over-ran and destroyed the world. After the events in Black London, all of the doors between the worlds were sealed, so that only Antari, wielders of blood magic, could pass between them. Kell is such an Antari, one of the last two alive, and serves as an emissary of the Red Throne, as well as an adoptive prince of the realm. He also smuggles small items between the worlds, in direct defiance of the laws of Red London that 'transference is treason'1. When he is asked to carry a trinket out of White London he does so, only to find it is a relic of Black London, capable of infecting all the worlds with chaotic magic. Injured, on the run and trying desperately to put things right, Kell is pickpocketted in Grey London by Lila Bard, sneak-thief and pirate-wannabe, meaning she quickly learns of the existence of magic. And then things start to get really bad…

There are two stand-out elements to A Darker Shade of Magic; Schwab's characterisation and her world-building. As a protagonist Kell is an interesting mix of petulant youth, responsible ambassador and trickster badass-in-a-long-coat. (The coat in question is a beautiful touch by Schwab; a coat with at least six coats within it, that transforms when turned inside out and even Kell is unsure whether he has found all its forms) We understand the lingering resentment he holds for the Red Throne; that despite being treated well by the king and queen, and as a brother by Prince Rhys, he is still technically the property of the crown, and how this leads him to defy their laws on transference. Schwab balances this side of his character by showing his gentleness and altruism, from his brotherly relationship with Prince Rhys, to his discomfort with the awe and fear that he as an Antari inspires in the populace, capped off by his determination to put things, even if it costs him his life. 

By contrast, Schwab then presents us with Lila, a gloriously unsentimental version of the 'urchin girl dresses as a boy' trope. There is nothing romanticised about Lila's poverty, her desperation or the danger that she lives in, yet the bitter, brutal heroine with the sole ambition to be a dashing pirate captain is also huge amounts of fun. As a character Lila is difficult to like but easy to love and makes an excellent counterpoint to Kell. Though their relationship has a definite frisson, particularly in Schwab's sparkling repartee, it is also to the novel's credit that their rewards are unique, separate and not one another; while all that Kell desires is to be able to put right what he did, Lila's swashbuckling dreams are finally realised in an ending far more satisfying than any hint of true-love's kiss. Elsewhere in the cast, Holland, the only other Antari and emissary of White London, makes a chilling presence, particularly when we learn his motivation, while Prince Rhys is written excellently by Schwab as an entirely likeable rogue, who is, among other things, an equal opportunity seducer.

Of course, the defining element of A Darker Shade of Magic is the world-building, and the word that I am continually drawn back to is 'evocative'. It is a brilliant device of Schwab's to assign each London a colour. From these four words, she then begins to sketch in details about each city, carefully using our associations and assumptions of each colour, so that grey becomes dull and dreary, red rich and resplendent, white stark and cold, and black mysterious. Each London is so vividly realised that each one would make a wonderful setting for a fantasy series; in presenting us with all of them linked together, Schwab offers us one of the richest worlds in SF/S, one that deserves to sit within the pantheon of Middle Earth, Hogwarts, Narnia etc. I say, 'each London', although the last, Black London remains tantalisingly, terrifyingly unknown, behind a door that Schwab allows us to peek through, but never opens wide.

There are some other excellent touches to the novel. Kell's coat I have already mentioned, as well as Lila's gaining her piratical desires; the scene where she is dressed in full swashbuckling gear is lovingly realised by Schwab, and conveys exactly the feel of the moment in a superhero movie when we see the protagonist don their costume for the first time. A much darker element comes when the two are having to carry the stone from Black London between them, even as they can feel it corrupting them. There are definitely overtones of Frodo and the Ring here, but Schwab takes the stone's effect on Kell even further, particularly as he is forced to use it again and again. In fact, the only tiny criticism I can make is that the UK cover, (pictured above) though gorgeous, does not have quite the same breathtaking originality of the American one (pictured below for comparison). 

Having heard from many places that A Darker Shade of Magic was an exceptional work of fantasy, I had high expectations going in, and each was surpassed. Indeed, this is the first time that I've read the first book in a series and immediately resolved to get the follow up as soon as possible. (Not to mention that Schwab has, in my mind, finally redeemed the word 'shade' from a very different trilogy that will never again be alluded to on this blog!)



Well, there we are, the last post of 2016, and the first from my giant Christmas book-haul.


Happy New Year guys!


1Schwab, V.E A Darker Shade of Magic, Titan Books, 2015 pp. 49

Rivers of London

Rivers of London, Ben Aaronovitch – 2011

As befits a police novel, I must begin with a confession: Rivers of London was not what I had originally intended to be my first Yuletide post; indeed I'd hoped to go with Joe Hill's NOS4A2, which is at least a horror novel set at Christmas, or even a re-read of Pratchett's Hogfather, which is to Christmas what Zelazny's A Night in the Lonesome October is to Halloween. However, as it took me much longer than expected to get through Canavan's Thief's Magic, along with all the normal festive mayhem, here we are, with the first title in Ben Aarononvitch's Rivers of London series.

There are some genres that just fit together extremely well, and combining detective/police procedural with elements of fantasy and horror goes back almost as far as the genres themselves. Indeed, given that Edgar Allen Poe is not only one of the great writers of horror and the uncanny, but also single-handedly created the modern detective story, they may be said to be inextricably tied together. Even after they had begun to part ways with the rise of the Victorian amateur sleuth, the most famous tale of the most famous detective in the world pitted Sherlock Holmes against an apparently spectral beast in The Hound of the Baskervilles. Today, with work from such varied writers as Jim Butcher, Laurell K. Hamilton and Derek Landy there are vast numbers of supernatural-crime novels out there, with only the occasional one, such as China Meiville’s The City and The City, bringing anything startling new to the table. That said, as SFX's review of Aaronovitch's début ovelpoints out 'it’s not always about having an astoundingly new idea'1 often it is enough for a novel to be well written and fun to read. 

Probationary PC Peter Grant is about to be assigned to a division as a full member of the London MET, when, guarding a crime scene after a particularly vicious murder, he encounters and interviews an unusual witness to the killing; a ghost. Though his constant sparring-flirting partner, PC Lesley May – clearly destined for great things in the police service, unlike Peter – thinks he should just wave it off as a hallucination, he returns to the scene, and meets instead DCI Thomas Nightingale. The next morning, as he prepares to be assigned to a soul-crushing admin role, Peter instead finds himself transferred to the Folly, the now two-man division headed by Nightingale, that deals with magical and supernatural crimes in London. As well as starting to learn magic, Peter’s first duties include brokering a peace between Mama and Father Thames, the Gods of the River. Meanwhile, however, the seemingly random violent assaults and killings continue, and each one makes clearer the supernatural nature of the events, particularly when the perpetrators’ faces begin to twist, growing hooked noses and pointed chins, and they scream, as they bludgeon their victims to death, ‘That’s the way to do it!’.

There are some excellent elements to Rivers of London, not least of which is Aaronovitch's superb characterisation of our narrator/protagonist Peter Grant. It would have been easy to make him a stereotypical Watsonian figure, constantly awed and baffled by Nightingale, and indeed, it is clearly shown early in the novel that Grant is far from an excellent policeman. However, we quickly learn Grant's strengths, his patience, determination and empathy, and, as we learn more about Grant's African heritage and his drug-addicted father, we discover how charming a narrator he is; wry and cynical while never losing his warmth. Indeed, all of the characters are wonderfully sketched; Nightingale is stiff and awkward, whilst also possessing old-world gentlemanly polish, the non-magical police are allowed to be competent professionals rather than Lestrade-esque* stereotypes and Lesley May delivers line after line that manages to be both caustic and affectionate. The presentation of the Gods of the River, Mama and Father Thames, is fascinating, as is the explanation for how they came to be and the extent to which they are actually divine. Aaronovitch's depiction of Mama Thames as an impossibly attractive, erotic African woman sometimes verges on exoticism, but is balanced so well by Grant's reflections on his childhood and his very down-to-earth, ordinary African mother that this is avoided.

Elsewhere, there are some great touches. The flirting between Grant and Lesley May is excellently written, as are the interactions between Grant and Beverly Brook, one of Mama Thames' daughters/tributaries, with whom Grant has an intense, mutual attraction. These moments are handled very carefully, as Aaronovitch allows us access to Grant's thoughts as he checks the young woman out, without making him seem predatory or pervy, helped considerably by her reciprocation. Aaronovitch also skilfully establishes the rules of his fantastical world, and when Grant and therefore the reader are kept in the dark as to what they may be, we are left in no doubt that, no matter how mysterious and hidden they are, there are rules governing the magic. This of course is essential for fantasy, in order to avoid the 'it's magic: we don't have to explain it'2 trope. It is also to Aarnovitch's credit that he does not spend a long time with Grant in denial; once Grant experiences the supernatural he accepts it quickly and the plot does not grind to a halt while he struggles with his newfound knowledge. Most of all, however, what comes bursting through the text is Aaronovitch's deep love for, and fascination with, the city of London, and his enthusiasm is so infectious that it made me want to jump on a train, head for the centre and start walking around the capital.

Indeed, my only slight criticism comes with our villain. If the end of the above summary didn't give it away, the central antagonist is finally revealed to be Mr Punch, the embodiment of anarchy, violence and mayhem. Aaronivitch is not the only writer to tap into the eerie, nasty quality of Punch and Judy, and my issue, although it's difficult to see how it could be altered, is that perhaps he doesn't dig quite deeply enough into the bottomless creepy potential of the puppet.

Rivers of London is not a book that will change the genre, and is all the better for it. It is a fun, violent, charming book that charges through its 400 odd pages at lightning speed and leaves you desperate for the next in the series in the hope that it will be half such a cracking read. That's the way to do it, all right!


Happy Holidays, all!


*Yes, I know in the original stories Lestrade is actually a pretty good policeman, but he's the most famous of the 'even WATSON'S cleverer than him' trope.

Link to Orion books where the novel can be bought: https://www.orionbooks.co.uk/Authors/Ben+Aaronovitch.page?AuthorName=Ben+Aaronovitch

1http://www.gamesradar.com/rivers-of-london-by-ben-aaronovitch-e28093-book-review/



2http://tvtropes.org/pmwiki/pmwiki.php/ComicBook/OneMoreDay – check 'A Wizard Did It'….

Rogue One: A Star Wars Story

Well, Rogue One has had its first major opening weekend, which means some of you lovely people who weren't passionate/stupid enough to go to the midnight screening as I did, have had a chance to see it, so I can do a spoiler heavy post. Still, please be aware, if you've not seen it yet that there are massive spoilers from the very beginning. Also, this is going to be less of a review, and more a collection of ramblings from an overexcited fan.

On that note, as I've not really discussed it before, I am a huge Star Wars fan. Like, huge. I don't talk about it much, not the way I do about my Neil Gaiman or Terry Pratchett obsessions, nor do I geek out on it the way I do with superheroes or Middle-Earth. I don't really consume much spin-off media, nor do I even really watch the films that much, no more than once or twice a year, if that. However, it is my home fandom. My first fandom. Star Wars A New Hope was the first live-action movie I was ever conscious of watching, aged 5 and I have been a fan from that time, to the point that the combination of music and opening scroll of The Force Awakens had me weeping openly (even if the subsequent film left me underwhelmed). So yeah, Star Wars is important to me.

With that said…

Rogue One: A Star Wars Story, dir. Gareth Edwards – 2016

 

I loved it!

Going into the cinema I knew exactly what I wanted from the film: originality and risk-taking, both of which had been so lacking in The Force Awakens. And while some people, even the usually excellent Peter Bradshaw in The Guardian seem to imply that because there are lightsabres and space battles the film is largely derivative (as if the presence of guns and horses made High Noon and Unforgiven near identical) Rogue One was, to me, near revolutionary as a Star Wars Movie. This is not to say that there aren't familiar elements, there is once again a parental relationship that is central to the plot, but it astonishes me that, in the reviews that I have read, critics do not seem to be acknowledging the huge risks taken in this film. Tonally, the film is closest to The Empire Strikes Back, but Rogue One is the first film to fully embrace the word 'Wars' over 'Star' and the upshot of this is that, in this Christmas blockbuster – one that parents will be taking their children to in droves – they kill characters. And not just the villains, or wise old mentors like Obi Wan, or Yoda, or even Han in The Force Awakens, or even all the background Jedi in the prequels-that-must-never-be-named. Main characters. All the main characters. I'll admit that when I first heard the synopsis for Rogue One I'd thought it would be so effective if those who stole the Death Star plans died doing so, but I assumed that Disney would never allow that to happen, neither wanting to jeopardise the market of Star Wars films as child-friendly, nor kill off further franchising along with the characters. The fact that they did so, and that the final act of the film is essentially a suicide mission, brings a weight and power, not only to the weak-sounding platitudes spoken throughout the film about rebellion and hope, but to the cinematic Star Wars universe as a whole. Ultimately, any action-related movie contains the basic question of 'are all/any of the protagonists going to make it?' and by answering 'No' Rogue One completely changes the game for the Star War's universe.

This is not to say there aren't problems. Despite boasting an impressively diverse cast (and making an excellent point in that every Imperial officer we see is played by an older, white actor…) it's a shame this only seems to apply to the men; the only two female characters with any substantial dialogue or narrative importance are played by well-spoken white women… And yes, there are only two… I have also heard criticism of the characters themselves, that they are too thin or the actors are wasted in their roles. While it's certainly true that actors of Forest Whitaker or Mads Mikkelsen's calibre are underutilised (poor Mads Mikklesen's not doing too well, is he?), it must also be acknowledged that this is not a rompy space-opera, nor even a character-driven action movie like the Avengers; it is a war movie, and part of what gives their deaths such power is how little we know these characters, the things we never get to see or learn about them. Another unfortunate aspect of the film lies in the CGI presence of a young Carrie Fisher and the late, great Peter Cushing, reprising their roles as Princess Leia and Grand Moff Tarkin. Leaving aside the considerable issue of taste, though the CGI is certainly impressive, it's nowhere near good enough yet for this to be anything other than distracting and it's hard not to think that shots of silhouettes, profiles and the backs of heads would not have been better.

However, one other character returns, whose presence alone helps us to forgive all the film's faults. Although Darth Vader has less than ten minutes screen time, every moment counts as Edwards perfectly utilises the greatest bad-guy of cinema, succeeding not only in making him cool as all hell, but also genuinely menacing, as the last few minutes of the film attest. It helps that James Earl Jones is still booming out the iconic voice, and that the script allows Vader to be intimidating, while also keeping the level of acerbity consistent with lines such as Return of the Jedi's 'The Emperor is not as forgiving as I am'.

Overall, the film is uneven, but the problems are entirely overridden by the excellent acting, breathtaking visuals and a plot that dares to take risks never normally seen in a blockbuster. It is one thing for a PG/12a film to assert that there are things worth dying for; quite another for it to back these words up by killing every one of its central characters. This fan adored it, and is already planning on seeing it again, so….



May the Force be with you.

Charmed Life

Charmed Life, Diana Wynne Jones – 1977


Charmed Life is a story not unlike a cat; playful and cute, until the claws come out. In discussing the genius of Diana Wynne Jones one encounters the same problem as when discussing Terry Pratchett; all the cleverness and craft that form the basis for their books are camouflaged by being written with such matter-of-fact elegance. In short; they make it look easy.

In this novel, written for children, we find ourselves in a quasi-Edwardian world where America is known as Atlantis, the French won Waterloo, and most importantly, magic is seen as simply another profession, such as the law or medicine, if one displays sufficient talent. After the deaths of their parents, Eric (Cat) Chant and his older sister Gwendoline go to live with Mrs Sharp their downstairs neighbour who is an affectionate, if deeply unscrupulous, Certified Witch. Though the meek and timid Cat clearly has no magical ability whatsoever, the haughty Gwendoline soon proves herself an exceptionally powerful sorceress. Dissatisfied with living with Mrs Sharp and discovering a connection to the renowned Chrestomanci, Gwendoline writes to him and the great man adopts them both, and brings them to live at Chrestomanci Castle. Sparks fly, however, as he refuses to acknowledge anything remarkable about the girl, and her actions become more outrageous by the day in an attempt to provoke a reaction. Finally, she disappears entirely, leaving Janet, a bewildered stranger from another world who looks identical to Gwendoline, for Cat to find in her place. And the trouble is only just beginning…

If this vague summary sounds intriguing to you, or if Charmed Life is sitting nicely on your to-read list, then stop now, get a copy, read it, and come back. Normally, I wouldn't bother with what is essentially a spoilers warning like this, but this is Diana Wynne Jones: the surprises in Charmed Life really will take you by surprise, and it's far better to experience them, without my having spoiled it for you. So, go on… shift! 

Jones' greatest skill in writing Charmed Life is her deft balancing of uncanny atmosphere and twisting plot; indeed the sheer darkness of Charmed Life is hardly apparent initially as Jones continually shifts the tone between whimsical and eerie, particularly once the children enter Chrestomanci Castle. Once there, Gwendoline's furious pranks and attacks are initially riotous, and as readers we revel in the spirited rebellion against the supercilious Chrestomanci and his luxurious, stifling household. The conflict escalates, however, and soon Gwendoline summons a creature 'weak, white and lonesome. It was draggled and slimy'1 outside the window, and when this horrifying apparition still provokes no response, Gwendoline uses an entire army of enlarged beetles and insects, as well as more of the ghastly white creatures, to interrupt an important dinner party. Though this scene is viscerally unpleasant, it is the events that follow which provide the first major curve-ball of the book. The beetles finally provoke a reaction from Chrestomanci and Gwendoline is punished, and just as we expect there will now be some important character development, Jones subverts our expectations and Gwendoline vanishes, leaving the terrified Janet in her place. This, in turn eventually leads to the major revelation; that Eric is a nine-lived sorcerer, and Gwendoline has merely been syphoning off his power while letting him believe he has no magic whatsoever. And finally we realise that the horrible white apparitions are in fact Eric's own lost lives, one of which at least, Gwendoline is responsible for him losing...


Making Gwendoline the villain, and happy to kill her brother altogether if necessary, is one of Jones' masterstrokes, and it is from here, rather than the ghoulish creatures and sometimes sinister feel of the castle, that the real darkness of the book arises. When we first meet Gwendoline as an arrogant, conceited girl, we assume that, in a children's book, these are traits that she will learn to grow out of, and that her affection for Cat will outweigh her power-hungry nature. To subvert this is a gloriously unsentimental choice of Jones', one that it seems unlikely would be made by a children's author today, certainly not without deep psychoanalysis of the character or considerable angst. The book gains its consdierable darkness from Gwendoline simply being a selfish and despicable person. A similar revelation is that all of the eccentric, entertaining villagers that Cat grew up around fully embrace their suspicion and hatred of Chrestomanci and are acting alongside Gwendoline, and are therefore willing to be complicit in the murder of Cat to achieve their goal. Looking very deeply at it from today's perspective, and given that Jones grew up in war-time, the idea of all the slightly eccentric figures from the town you grew up in suddenly being the villains and expressing views that are dangerous and ignorant, is a wonderfully sinister one, which is perhaps particularity resonant now. Indeed, in the townsfolk's dismissal of Chrestomanci and what he does, there is almost a faint whiff of being fed up of listening to the experts…


Balancing out the darkness of the book are some wonderful characters. Cat himself is almost unbearably wet at times, partly due to his own timid nature but also because of his emotional dependency on Gwendoline, but once she vanishes he gradually begins to develop. Janet and Gwendoline, so physically alike and emotionally different, both bring fire and energy into Cat's life, and are hugely entertaining characters in their own right, but also demonstrate the difference between a largely positive force and largely negative one in someone's life. Chrestomanci comes from the Sherlockian school of aloof-genius-heroes, often appearing in magnificent dressing gowns, but is most interesting in his relaxed and unguarded moments. The various figures of his household are a delight, particularly his wife Millie and the contrast we see in her between how she appears on the surface, and what she is capable of. Elsewhere, the Nostrum bothers make excellent secondary villains, and Mrs Sharp is another extraordinarily complex character for a children's book; the scene where Cat sees her again after missing her so badly, is deeply poignant as he begins to realise, despite her obvious genuine fondness for them, how unscrupulous and self-serving she really is.


Charmed Life is a novel of dazzling unpredictability and wonderful lack of sentimentality. Neil Gaiman, a life-long friend and fan of Jones, stated that her 'fiction was never improving'2, meaning that there was no moral or lesson to be learned from it. Unlike either the Narnia or Harry Potter series there is no message here, not even a predictable one of good and evil, it is simply a story, an enjoyable and unsettling story, and as such is a wonderful children's book. It is, in a word, enchanting.



Link to HarperCollins, where the book is available: https://www.harpercollins.co.uk/9780007255290/charmed-life

1Jones, Diana Wynne. Charmed Life, Harper Collins 2000. pp. 77




2Gaiman, Neil. Reflections: On Diana Wynne Jones in The View from the Cheap Seats, Headline Publishing Group, 2016 pp. 104