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(03/03/16 12:00am)
Written in 1987, Swordspoint by Ellen Kushner is an intimate fantasy novel set in a renascence world – a world full of swordsmen and challenges, nobles and intrigue, jewels and assassinations. The stunning opening line, “Let the fairy tale begin on a winter’s morning, then, with one drop of blood newly fallen on the ivory snow: a drop as bright as a clear cut ruby, red as a single spot of scarlet on the lace cuff,” immediately shows how intimately the reader is placed alongside the characters.
What makes this novel so unusual as a fantasy tale is that the world is not at stake. Not even the kingdom is under threat. Instead, the story centers on a romance between two men. Richard St Vier is the best swordsman in the world, and Alec, the badly-behaved heir to the Duchy of Tremontaine, must choose between the duchy and his forbidden love.
Swordspoint is beautiful, emotional and poised. I was astonished when I first read it, because this book went against everything I believed a fantasy tale should be. The strength in this unconventional story lies in Kushner’s excellent characterization and lyrical prose. Packed with delicate details, the book requires a second and a third reading for the reader to truly see the city. From the chocolate whisks to the unlucky play The Swordsman’s Tragedy to the boating parties where fireworks are set off to amuse the nobles, Kushner has it all mapped out in meticulous detail, fully immersing the reader in Richard and Alex’s world.
In a reality of intrigue, treachery, danger and secret pasts, what truly stands out is the evolution of the two men’s relationship, which spins from true love to artificial hatred founded on verbal duels. Swordspoint strikes me as a stained glass window or a tapestry brought to life from the rich mythology and history that Kushner has created. This is a book whose folklore will stay with you months after you have finished it.
(02/17/16 11:49pm)
We live in a world today that is growing rapidly more aware of the way it approaches issues of gender and sexuality. Despite some continuing controversies, there is an increasing acceptance of not only discussions of sexuality, but also of diverse sexual orientations. Dialogue about gender, too, has risen from internal conflicts to governmental debates asking, “Should one be allowed to change their gender on a birth certificate?” Growing up in the 21st century and studying at a liberal arts college that strives to be inclusive of all genders and sexualities, we are all immediately engaged in these questions individually and collectively. The College approaches these subjects in a multitude of ways, be it through gender inclusive bathrooms, all-gender housing, the Queer Studies House, academic departments or even research labs.
David Henry Hwang’s play M. Butterfly heavily explores the ideas of gender and sexuality by documenting the relationship between two men, French ambassador Rene Gallimard and Chinese Spy Song Liling, that goes hidden underneath several layers of heterosexual fantasy for 20 years. Critics commonly remark that the fantasy stresses the stereotypes of the dominant Western culture over its submissive Eastern counterpart. Hwang’s play parallels the tale of Puccini’s Madame Butterfly, in which a white American man falls for a 15-year-old Japanese woman. The love story ends when she commits suicide upon learning that her lover has betrayed her for another woman in the U.S.
Although audiences everywhere question cultural stereotypes in both Hwang’s and Puccini’s works, the bigger question remains: How is it possible that Gallimard does not know that Song is a man throughout their affair? Some believe that Gallimard’s blindness to Song’s gender is created by the fantasy of a modest Asian lover, which Song manipulates through cultural misperceptions, while others dismiss this ignorance entirely by arguing that Gallimard permits Song’s manipulation only as self-deception against the reality of his homosexuality. Despite Hwang’s confirmation that “on some level [Gallimard] knows he is gay … yet he lived in a homophobic period” in an interview with Don Digaetani in 1989, surprisingly, people still disregard this possibility.
Although many would say that this Song’s deception could never happen in reality, M. Butterfly is actually based on a true story. In 1986, French diplomat Bernard Boursicot was sentenced to prison for leaking classified information to his lover of twenty years, Shi Pei Pu, a Chinese spy whom he believed to be a woman. In contrast to Hwang’s play, where Gallimard commits suicide, Boursicot settled down to live a peaceful life with a man after his time in prison.
Hwang’s decision to parallel Madame Butterfly’s suicidal ending demonstrates that the reality of being a gay man was too difficult to live with, thus making Song’s identity as a woman an easy fantasy in which Gallimard could participate. Because Song portrayed himself as an Asian woman with great shame about her body, Gallimard never sees his lover nude until the last act. Despite the lack of nudity in their relationship, the two men do, however, reach a level of sexual intimacy that makes it impossible for some audiences to imagine that Gallimard was naive enough to misgender Song.
M. Butterfly first appeared on stage in 1988, after homosexuality was declassified from the Diagnostic and Statistical Manual of Mental Disorders (DSM) in 1973 and HIV/AIDS was clinically observed in 1981. Controversial dialogue surrounding homosexuality was at its peak then, and continues to come with a fair share of uncomfortable debates today, even though our world has strived to new lengths of acceptance, including the legalization of gay marriage in all 50 states in 2015.
David Henry Hwang intends to revive his boundary-pushing production, M. Butterfly, in the near future, allowing the hearts of the new age to conduct their interpretations of this historical love affair in a modern and increasingly accepting world. During a recent Skype conversation with Hwang, the playwright informed us that he believes the cultural stereotypes that drive the deception and conflict in his play are ever alive and influential today. However, he is curious to see the progression of public perception since the first production. Although Gallimard’s life has a grievous end, there is hope that the rebirth of his legendary tale will highlight the acceptance of all of our realities in the 21st century.
(02/17/16 11:45pm)
Dark and twisted in its portrayal of a feud between Black and White witches, Half Bad by Sally Green has been sold in 42 countries, and the film rights were snatched up almost instantly by Fox Entertainment Group after its publication. Set in modern day England, this fantasy world features “good” White witches and “evil” Black witches, but we soon learn that everything is not so, well, black and white. The fight between good and evil is never simple in this novel, and protagonist Nathan finds himself caught in the middle, as he is the son of Marcus, one of the most notorious Black witches of the age. (For instance, Marcus goes one step further than Voldemort, as he eats his victims once he has defeated them.) Nathan’s mother, a widely adored white witch, committed suicide years ago.
Green keenly explores the idea of nature versus nurture by depicting Nathan’s life as one dogged by prejudice. The boy is constantly pushed away from the White side of himself, as the members of the White Witch Council give him every reason to resent them. They restrict his movements, follow his every step and tattoo him with the number 0.5 so that his outsider status is clear to all.
Half Bad focuses on the theme of not belonging and of having nowhere to which to escape. In this world, the White Witch Council can kill a Black witch on sight, and Nathan is suspected of being one. The audience watches as he is nearly pushed into the “evil” side of himself. There is plenty of gore in the novel, but there is also tenderness, as in Nathan’s romance with Annalise and his relationship with his brother, Aaron.
Half Bad does not always feel original, but the tension-filled story will have you constantly turning pages until its suspenseful end. The first in a trilogy, the book can be swallowed quickly in a few dizzying, pleasurable gulps and will leave you aching for more. But for those who hate cliff-hangers, be warned, as the final installment of the series will not be released until March of 2016.
(01/21/16 12:02am)
Before you all freak out about the 14-year-old protagonist in Andrew Smith’s novel Winger, as I did, I should point out that this book is a breath of fresh air in the Young Adult section. Now, I normally stay far away from this genre, as I find the protagonists to be whiny and immature – but it is Ryan Dean West’s awareness of his own whininess and immaturity that makes this book so hilarious. Winger is a great piece of writing, and I particularly recommend it for people who have gotten out of the habit of recreational reading in college, but want something light to read before bed. The chapters are short, allowing you to pick up the story and put it down whenever you have free time.
Protagonist Ryan attends Pine Mountain Boarding School, where he earned his nickname “Winger” by playing wing for the rugby team. Having skipped two grades, he is a 14-year-old genius in his junior year of secondary education. Ryan is no teacher’s pet, however: his attempt to hack into a faculty member’s phone landed him in the O-hall, the dorm for rule breakers on campus.
We are introduced to Ryan as he struggles against the bullies from the rival football team, partakes in late-night drunk escapades and attempts to win the love of his best friend, Annie. The problem, however, is that Annie is 16 – and, as Ryan tells us repeatedly in his candid narration (29 times, by my count), he is a loser. Smith expertly portrays the torture and excitement of a first crush, building up the tension so well that I could not resist skipping ahead in the book to see if they ended up together. Smith makes Ryan utterly appealing – we want Annie to adore Ryan Dean as much as he adores her.
This is Smith’s sixth Young Adult novel, and his funniest book by far. Like most adolescent boys, Ryan has a weakness for rambling and absurdly long hyphenated modifiers; for instance, he describes the rival football players’ way of speaking as “a very creepy Greek-chorus-in-a-tragedy-that-you-know-is-not-going-to-end-well-for-our-hero kind of way.” I had tears of laughter in my eyes at one point (hint: check out page 316).
The comedic tone that dominates Winger makes for an easy and enjoyable read. I must warn you, however, that the humour eventually descends into an extremely dark plot twist. Though I wish Smith had explored this tragedy more – it only receives a couple of pages of attention – the impact is strong nevertheless. The ending deepens the narrative, transforming the mood of the entire book. If you are looking for a story that will make you laugh and cry, Winger is perfect for you.
(12/03/15 1:54am)
It takes a certain kind of daring to make the main characters of your novel two of the most gifted writers in history: William Shakespeare and Kit Marlowe (more commonly known to us as Christopher Marlowe). Yet author Elizabeth Bear succeeds in this regard.
Like Shakespeare’s plays, The Stratford Man series is divided into five acts, with Ink and Steel holding the first three and Hell and Earth containing the latter two. Though splitting up the story disrupts the rhythm, many would consider the cumulative 900 pages to be too long for a single novel, so I understand the publishing decision.
Set during the reign of Queen Elizabeth I, the books open with the murder of Kit, a member of the Prometheus Club who provides services for the queen. Soon after, his roommate, Will Shakespeare, is deemed worthy of being Kit’s successor, for he writes plays that contain enough magic to keep England’s enemies at bay. Meanwhile, Kit finds himself in the land of Fay, where he has been saved as a favor to Queen Elizabeth. Knighted by Morgana Le Fay, he drinks water that prevents him from returning to the mortal world for long periods of time and must transfer his loyalty for Queen Elizabeth to Queen Mebd. Yet in a world where “all stories are true,” each Queen represents each other and supporting one strengthens the reign of the other as well.
Each act features quotes from both Shakespeare’s sonnet and Marlowe’s play, creating the illusion that the book holds a true, as-yet-undiscovered history of the era. Bear concocts a wonderful blend of fact and fiction, history and fairy tale and plays and mythologies, allowing the reader to discover the Arthurian legend again. She tries to be as historically accurate as possible, whilst cultivating the characters’ personalities beyond the myths that surround these historical figures.
The focus of both Ink and Steel and Hell and Earth is the relationship between Will Shakespeare and Kit Marlowe. Both are extremely likable characters who we instantly want to succeed, yet the dilemmas they face are truly tragic. The strength of the story lies in the gut-wrenching heartache between Will and Christopher, the hatred, the jealously and the willingness to sacrifice anything to be with the other. It is these emotions that make the ending we all know is coming so difficult to process. In pushing us to rethink everything we thought we knew about not only William Shakespeare but also Christopher Marlowe’s suspicious death, The Stratford Man stands as a truly brilliant historical fantasy series.
(11/13/15 4:13am)
Rainbow Rowell’s new novel, Carry On, takes place at Watford, a magical school hidden in Scotland for wizards living in the United Kingdom. The protagonist is 18-year-old Simon Snow, an orphan who grew up among the “normals” before the mage scooped him up and took him to Watford, where he is now finishing his eighth year. According to a prophecy, he is the “Chosen One,” destined to fight the “insidious Hundrum” and save the world of magic.
If this sounds at all familiar, it is because Carry On is a fully self-aware rip-off of Harry Potter. Now, Rowell’s world does have a few of its own conventions – for instance, some magicians use rings or belt buckles instead of wands; there is no Sorting Hat, but rather a crucible that pairs roommates; and spells are cast with an emphasis on familiar-sounding language and phrases. Ultimately, however, most aspects map quite closely to the Potter world that we all grew up with.
Fan fiction has lurked in the shadows for years, largely due to copyright concerns and the opinion of authors that it is wrong to “borrow” characters, even if the writing is more for fun than profit. The value of Carry On is that despite the familiar template, Rowell has managed to construct a tale that feels fresh and new. Enriched by its connection to a whole host of other material, this book is for the readers who feel both love and frustration toward Harry Potter, Lord of the Rings or Star Wars. Rowell alludes to the aspects that most fans love whilst directly contradicting other parts, simultaneously reflecting and challenging these beloved stories. Carry On makes up one-third of the coexisting texts on Simon Snow, joining the ranks of Gemma T. Leslie’s Canon and Rowell’s earlier Cath fanfiction novel, Fangirl.
Fantasy might seem like a surprising genre for Rowell, who is known for her best-selling young-adult novel Eleanor and Park, a love story between teenagers in 1980s Nebraska (which, needless to say, is completely devoid of wizards and elves). As such, I was wary of how Rowell would approach fantasy. However, she draws clever connections, showing that an obsessive rivalry is not so different from an obsessive crush. Simon and Baz, his vampire love interest, circle each other closely throughout the first half of the book, each hyperaware of the other’s movements.
“I can feel Snow’s eyes on the back of my head,” Baz narrates.
Then, in the next chapter, Simon thinks, “I already feel I need to know where he is at every movement.”
This are-they-enemies-or-are-they-not storyline allows Rowell to play to her greatest strength, which is less the construction of magical worlds and more so the examination of vulnerable people falling in love. By using a template already set by J. K. Rowling, Rowell can skip the world-building and delve directly into emotional analysis. It is not easy to mimic, deconstruct and remix the elements of a magical world the way that Rowell does. Alive with freshness, Carry On makes a strong case for fan fiction’s legitimacy as a literary medium.
(10/21/15 11:16pm)
English novelist David Mitchell has been known to tailor to everyone’s taste, be it traditionalist, postmodernist, realist or fantasist. A superb writer and storyteller, he understands how to please his readers. As he stated in an interview in The New Yorker, “One of the questions I always try to keep in the front of mind is to ask why anyone would want to read this, and try to find a positive answer for that. Someone’s going to give you eight or ten hours of their life. I want to give them something back, and I want it to be an enjoyable experience.”
Mitchell’s sixth novel is certainly that. The Bone Clocks is written in a similar form to Mitchell’s most famous novel, Cloud Atlas, with six interrelated narratives that stretch from 1984 to 2043. In and of itself, each is a short novel with depth and precision in its characterization that manages to construct a full picture when it comes together with its counterparts.
The plot is complex, intriguing and filled with hundreds of threads woven together to create one large tapestry. The novel opens in 1984 with Holly Skyes, a teenage runaway, and ends sixty years later in the far west of Ireland, where Holly is raising her granddaughter as the world faces environmental and economic collapse. In between, Holly encounters an undergraduate Cambridge sociopath in a Swiss ski resort (1991), has a child with a man more invested in his job as an Iraq War photographer than in his family (2003) and becomes the widowed author of The Radio People (2015). Amidst all this, Holly’s life is disrupted by a slow-moving war between a cult of predatory soul-eaters and a brand of vigilantes led by Doctor Marinus. She finds herself as an unwitting pawn in a war she does not belong in – but she may prove to be its decisive weapon.
Mitchell writes with a furious intensity, a slapped-awake vitality and a delight in language that no new medium can rival. He sees the everyday world with startling freshness, leading to grounded and sarcastic Anglo-Saxon prose that somehow makes room for the supernatural, as if D.H Lawrence had been reborn in this new digital age. It is no coincidence, then, that it was the makers of The Matrix who transformed his previous epic Cloud Atlas into an extraordinary film released in 2012.
There are many reasons why a novel like The Bone Clocks should not be successful. In a section from the point of view of Crispin Hershey, Mitchell even writes, “A book can’t be half fantasy any more than a woman can be half pregnant.” Yet somehow, in a true testament to Mitchell’s writing abilities, it works. The realism of Holly’s life allows us to glimpse fragments of the world beyond, like a curtain revealing the shadowy figures from an alternative realm.
Overall, this book is a little mad, and like most of Mitchell’s works, it does not fit neatly into a single category. I am sure that many people will ask if this is “serious” literature, but that is not the point. Mitchell’s sentences never give off the sour taste of intellectualism that is found in many genius fiction pieces. Rather, he has always been a writer who understands that the reader wants to be entertained. The Bone Clocks shines brilliantly in this regard.
(10/07/15 11:27pm)
A Place Called Winter is a tale of heartbreaking hardship, a book that seems to combine Pride and Prejudice with E.M Forsters’ Maurice, against the backdrop of the 1908 settlement of Winter, Saskatchewan, Canada – which is, in fact, a real place.
Protagonist Harry Cane’s adventure is loosely based on the experience of author Patrick Gale’s own great-grandfather, who was mysteriously banished from England, leaving his wife and young child behind to face the wilderness of Canada alone.
Nothing could seem more unrealistic, perhaps, than a married man who would decide to leave his young child and private income in England in order to sail toward a life full of hardship and uncertainty in Canada. By the time Harry boards the immigrant ship, however, Gale has established his character with precise, economical strokes.
Harry is apt to stammer and feels constrained by everything that is expected of him. What changes his life utterly is the realization that he loves men, in an era where homosexual acts are punishable by law and met with social disgrace. Harry meets Mr. Browning, and soon after they begin a sexual relationship, a relation of love and passion through Harry’s eyes. Yet when a blackmailer exposes their relationship, Harry is told by his wife’s family to remove himself from his wife, child and country.
Gale retraced Harry’s steps while writing the novel.
“I spent three months there, and although Winter is a ghost town now, I had the coordinates for Harry’s farm, so I was able to track it down precisely. I found it terribly moving that his acres were still being ploughed,” Gale said.
The opening scene of A Place Called Winter takes place in a Canadian psychiatric hospital, where Harry’s sessions of hypnotic therapy reveal the events that led up to that moment. According to Gale, “the challenge was to inhabit homosexual life in a time when there are no words to describe any of the things the character feels or does. It is quite literally a story about the unspeakable.”
The classic story of a man finding himself through labor on his own land is derailed almost as soon as it begins to take shape. Harry is pursued by a nightmarish figure by the name of Troels Munck. This virtually fairytale villain has a knack for spotting weakness in others, a superb animal instinct and a prowling capability for destruction. Unvexed by any concept of mortality, he haunts Harry’s career as a homesteader.
And yet through Troels, Harry finds both great happiness and a neighbor whom he comes to love. Critics have highlighted compassion as one of the uniting qualities in Gale’s fiction, but I am still surprised by Harry’s willingness to see past Troels’ brutality.
“Munck is probably a psychopath,” Gale explained, “but my difficulty with writing a negative character is that, in the course of the book, I come to understand some of their behavior and at least halfway forgive them.”
A Place Called Winter neither resolves itself nor offers a closed ending, but it does offer hope that emotional truth and loyalty to that truth may be a way forward for Harry. Through his struggles, he transforms into an intensely sympathetic character. Harry’s tale reflects the experiences of many – the myriad hidden members of society, shunned by their families, their stories stained with shame. This fascinating novel is their requiem.