So, I was listening to PJ Stock on the Team 990 this morning and he threw out mention of a trade rumour whereby the Canadiens would give up Michael Ryder, David Aebischer, Sheldon Souray, Mike Ribeiro, and a 1st round draft pick for Evgeni Malkin. Interestingly, a blogger at Hockeybuzz.com posted this same rumour later in the day, claiming that he heard it not from Stock, but from another retired player from somewhere in TMR. We can tentatively conclude two things from this: 1) It's not going to happen, since with Bob Gainey as GM the rule has been that if you hear about a potential deal involving the Canadiens then it's already dead; and 2) It probably was being talked about inside the organizations involved, given that it's turned up from two different sources (though it is possible the guy who talked to Stock and the guy who talked to the blogger are one and the same. Who knows?).
Anyway, just for the hell of it, does the deal make sense for the Canadiens? Financially, it clears away a lot of one-year contracts. Opens up some cap room for signing Markov next year, plus maybe picking up a free agent to replace the depth they lose in the deal. From that angle, yeah.
Malkin over Ribeiro is a no-brainer; Malkin's the big, talented forward the Canadiens desperately need. Losing Ryder is tough; he scored 30 goals while playing through an injury. But the Canadiens are deep in prospects on the wing, so they can likely deal with it, and if worst comes to worst, they could sign Dumont (personally, I hope the worst doesn't come to the worst, but hey). Losing Aebischer puts a lot of weight on Huet's shoulders, but if you believe in Huet you go for it -- especially since Yann Danis can't clear waivers, meaning you kinda have to carry him on the team one way or another. So: vast improvement at one position, marginal step back at one, potential headache cleared up at another.
And now we come to Souray and the 1st rounder. The Canadiens aren't that deep on defense as it stands -- they could probably use a good top-4 d-man right now. Giving up Souray hurts bad; I feel he's more of a poor-man's Jovanovski than people realise. Physical presence, offensive potential ... also, granted, tendency to misread plays, but still. Not Jovanovski's level, but along those lines, and certainly a damn useful player and a key part of the defensive core. I don't know how the Canadiens would replace him. And a first-rounder, in what's supposed to be a very deep draft year? Here's where we get into the dicey waters.
I think I could stand the loss of the first rounder if I'm sure I've got a replacement for Souray somewhere. Or if the first rounder could get knocked down to a second. It's still arguably a good deal, though not the slam-dunk great deal some people think it is -- stars are highly overrated in the NHL. This is a team sport, where depth counts. Except ... sometimes you give up depth to get the right star, a guy you can build your team around or who complements the players you already have.
So. Risky deal. Could be good, could be bad, almost necessitates at least one more transaction afterward to fill a hole. But it does give the Canadiens that star power ... and a line of Kovalev-Malkin-Samsonov would be pretty sweet.
Anyway, it won't happen.
Wednesday, August 16, 2006
Tuesday, July 18, 2006
Some thoughts towards random comics reviews
I bought comics today.
The Escapists #1
The cover doesn't actually hurt my eyes, but that's about all that's good about it. The logo looks lost, the dominant colour is a bright orange-red flourescent which somehow manages to be dull, and the attempt to use some dynamic framing techniques just looks like the picture was poorly-cropped. Plus, as a general rule, super-heroes and arm-hair don't seem to mix.
So much for Frank Miller's contribution. The rest of the book was very nice. Brian K. Vaughan tells a nicely upbeat tale of a young man pursuing his dreams, and the rights to an out-of-print comic-book character. Mind, the story's not completed, so it could all end in tears. Seems unlikely, though; the way the thing's coming together, it feels like something else. Vaughan's pace is solid, and his dialogue sharp. Even some basic improbabilities -- most notably the 'meet-cute' between two characters -- comes off smoothly. If there's a problem, it's that the story's a bit too easy to take; we're not really getting a sense of his main character overcoming obstacles and facing conflict. But then, he does have both parents die in the course of the story, so it's not like there's nothing happening. And Vaughan's dialogue and sense of storytelling is so strong that you get pulled in.
Philip Bond's artwork is incredibly strong. Vaughan calls for stylistic variety in this book -- mimicking a golden-age comic, dropping into black-and-white and back into colour -- and Bond delivers. More importantly, he gets the basics. Characters act and emote. The design sense -- of apartments, faces, cemeteries, basements -- is all just exactly right, always serving the story. It's an understated visual feast.
The high point of this book comes in a sequence aping an Escapist comic (the Escapist being the comic-book character created by the protagonists of Michael Chabon's novel The Amazing Adventures of Kavalier & Clay). Roth tells us how much the character meant to him as we see the Escapist fighting an evidoer named the Villainess. Roth's words about the importance of the Escapist replace the words in the speech balloons and caption boxes of the comic. It's a device that's been used before, notably by Chris Ware in a story in an issue of Raw, but whereas Ware used the device as part of his (essentially wise-ass) distancing effects, Vaughan and Bond make it work to draw the reader into Roth's story, to affirm the importance not just of the character but of the idea of the character; of the ability to escape. Roth's reaction to buying the last issue of The Escapist he needed to complete his collection is especially well-observed and well-imagined.
This story originally appeared in one of Dark Horse's earlier Escapist books, but here it's kicking off a new ongoing series. It did its job; I'll be looking forward to future issues. For an overall grade, I'd give this book a solid B+; call it an 89/100.
Detective Comics #821
It's a single-issue story, and a detective story at that, by Paul Dini. Dini (with his collaborator Bruce Timm) reinvented Batman for the early-90s animated series, and to my mind that show stands as the definitive version of the character; it was a nice mix of Batman as an infallible mystery-man and Batman as a fallible human investigator. Visually, it was often spectacular, a highly-designed gothic deco world owing something to the Fleischer Superman cartoons. So this book, by Dini and noted design-oriented artist J.H. Williams III, has some promise.
Unfortunately, it doesn't quite deliver. It's not bad, and Dini does capture something of the feel of the cartoon; you can almost hear the actors delivering the dialogue in the word balloons. But what works over the air doesn't necessarily work as text. There's not much in the way of a sub-plot here, either. The story feels small. It has Batman, Robin, Alfred, Commissioner Gordon, assorted Gotham socialites, and a new masked villain. But it feels small.
Williams' art doesn't help much. It's too designed; there's no motion to it. His depiction of fight scenes is particularly jarring; every punch or kick has its point of impact picked out with a flare of black-and-white, and these hot-spots draw the eye all sorts of odd places at inappropriate times. Plus, Williams uses a trick I found annoying on Promethea: spreading panels across the page-divide with no warning. It's a difficult technique to master, and one which I find works a lot less often than many artists seem to believe.
All this being said, the book looks stunning. The colour choices on each page are excellent. It's a nice-looking package, no doubt about it. The story is solid enough, the mystery is coherent, and the fair-play solution is well-explained when all is said and done. It's a Batman story which hits all the bases. It's not something that leads me to think of buying another issue, but it's nice enough for what it is. For a grade, I'd give it a B-; 81/100.
Moon Knight #3
This is an odd book, in a lot of ways. Writer Charlie Huston has a hard-boiled style which, in combination with David Finch's almost over-rendered pencils, results in a lot of gore. That's not necessarily bad, but in this case it's jarring. Huston's talked about wanting to get back to the spirit of the original Moon Knight stories, and you can kinda see that; but the over-the-top violence gets in the way, shattering the tone completely to pieces. Further, part of the feel of those old stories was an almost anachronistic pulp sensibility. That's nowhere to be found. Instead, we have bits and pieces of old continuity -- characters, an evil criminal organisation, a familiar statue, all the knick-knacks of the past (including an old villain, thankfully back in his classic and snazzier costume).
On its own terms, it's not a bad book, I feel. This issue parallels Marc Spector, still suffering from an injury and not ready to take up the mantle of Moon Knight, meeting with an old friend. Who comes out of the closet. It works, somehow. Then the violence kicks in. I've seen an interview where Finch has talked about his determination to get better at drawing conversations; I think some of that comes through. At any rate, the emotions come through strongly, though we do get a lot of close-ups of eyes. The plot is strong enough; you can see what happens, why, and there's a logical and at least vaguely character-based structure behind it.
But somehow, this book just doesn't come together. It feels like it's been divorced from some source of strength that made the original series work. That could be the pulp sensibility I mentioned above. Or it could be Bill Sienkiewicz's art, which was likely the most outstanding thing about the original book -- consider that his design for Moon Knight is still in use, despite the craze for costume reworkings of the past ten years or so.
If the original Moon Knight series was a notch grittier than the other books around it on the stands, then I suppose this version accomplishes much the same thing. But in the end it's moving forward awfully slowly; this story is a long version of the old chestnut about the fallen hero recovering himself, and it's taking its sweet time about it. It's not an awful book, but it's less and less compelling with each issue. There's only so far visceral artwork will take you. Grade: B-, 83/100, but that's only because I'm in a good mood.
The Atom #1
Idea by Grant Morrison, plot and script by Gail Simone, art by John Byrne: and it seems like there's a disconnect at each step along the way. It looks like Morrison came up with an interesting take on the Atom; a new physics professor joins a mysterious New England University, falls in with a group of eccentric genius fellow-profs, and discovers his predecessor's ability to size-shift. Exploration of new worlds, new perspectives, mixed with Lovecraftian mystery. Conceptually, that's solid.
Except that it's not much like what we get in this book. That is, in plot outline, this is more or less what we get. But there's not much of a sense of atmosphere. The eccentric-genius supporting cast is introduced, for example, but don't really come alive. Whether she invented them or not, Simone didn't seem to know quite what to do with these characters; as a result, neither does the reader. And John Byrne, who can be a strong super-hero artist, is out of place in a situation where atmosphere is called for. Consider his establishing shot of the college campus; it looks like something out of the Italian Renaissance, fitting neither with the New England ('Ivy Town') locale nor the dean's dialogue.
Worst, though, is the size-changing sequence that introduces the new Atom's powers. You can see echoes of the cool-factor involved in the idea of a size-shifting superhero: getting lost in your own clothes, fighting a rat the size of a dragon. But between expository captions and fairly bland art, it never comes alive. I gave a positive review once to The Essential Ant-Man because Jack Kirby showed in that book how to make a shrinking super-hero work: you make the world around him strange, something entirely new. That didn't happen here. Some of the fault belongs to Simone; her description of the Atom's awe doesn't work as sparking the imagination or as a deptiction of the thoughts of a young genius (which this character is supposed to be). And Byrne's depiction of the battle with the rat is uninspiring -- especially since the rat looks a lot like a mouse.
Overall, neat ideas, bland execution. I've got no plans to pick up another issue of this one. Grade: C-, 72/100.
Uncanny X-Men #475
Simple, but effective. Well, as simple as an X-men comic can get.
Lorna Dane, or Polaris, gets chased through an Egyptian bazaar while Charles Xavier gathers a group of X-men for a dangerous mission. Said group end up rescuing Polaris in the book's major fight scene. Now, I don't understand who it was who was chasing Polaris, or what it has to with Apocalypse, or what's going on with her powers. So the exposition could have been handled better, because I don't think all of these things were intended to be mysteries. But given the complexity of X-men history, some confusion is a given. The structure here is solid, andmost of the characters are brought in nicely enough (though one, Havok, doens't get his own page of set-up); also, the story ends on a nice line.
The point is, it's a clear introduction to a new team of X-men, with a clearly-defined mission. Writer Ed Brubaker is almost invisible, in a stylistic sense; he's not reinventing anything, he's not bringing in any particular quirks of structure or dialogue; he's just crafting a strong X-men story. Billy Tan's art is clear, but nothing especially attractive. His characters are stiff; their emotions are clear, but lacking in nuance, and their poses and proportions seem sometimes clunky. Tan also uses photoshop blur effects to emphasise action, and of all the tricks artists use to try to get across motion in a still image, that's one of least effective when used consistently.
(Somewhere, there's a comic-book limbo full of all kinds of neat comics effects which are criminally underused in mainstream books these days. Thought balloons, sound effects, and above all, speed lines. Although, saying that, I notice that there are sound effects in this books; Nightcrawler "bamf"s when he teleports, Warpath's knives "thunk" home. But big robot-suits get demolished with no sfx comment, and a bazaar gets trashed soundlessly. There's something inconsistent about that, if only at some subliminal level.)
It's a promising start to a long storyline. Grade B, 85/100.
The Escapists #1
The cover doesn't actually hurt my eyes, but that's about all that's good about it. The logo looks lost, the dominant colour is a bright orange-red flourescent which somehow manages to be dull, and the attempt to use some dynamic framing techniques just looks like the picture was poorly-cropped. Plus, as a general rule, super-heroes and arm-hair don't seem to mix.
So much for Frank Miller's contribution. The rest of the book was very nice. Brian K. Vaughan tells a nicely upbeat tale of a young man pursuing his dreams, and the rights to an out-of-print comic-book character. Mind, the story's not completed, so it could all end in tears. Seems unlikely, though; the way the thing's coming together, it feels like something else. Vaughan's pace is solid, and his dialogue sharp. Even some basic improbabilities -- most notably the 'meet-cute' between two characters -- comes off smoothly. If there's a problem, it's that the story's a bit too easy to take; we're not really getting a sense of his main character overcoming obstacles and facing conflict. But then, he does have both parents die in the course of the story, so it's not like there's nothing happening. And Vaughan's dialogue and sense of storytelling is so strong that you get pulled in.
Philip Bond's artwork is incredibly strong. Vaughan calls for stylistic variety in this book -- mimicking a golden-age comic, dropping into black-and-white and back into colour -- and Bond delivers. More importantly, he gets the basics. Characters act and emote. The design sense -- of apartments, faces, cemeteries, basements -- is all just exactly right, always serving the story. It's an understated visual feast.
The high point of this book comes in a sequence aping an Escapist comic (the Escapist being the comic-book character created by the protagonists of Michael Chabon's novel The Amazing Adventures of Kavalier & Clay). Roth tells us how much the character meant to him as we see the Escapist fighting an evidoer named the Villainess. Roth's words about the importance of the Escapist replace the words in the speech balloons and caption boxes of the comic. It's a device that's been used before, notably by Chris Ware in a story in an issue of Raw, but whereas Ware used the device as part of his (essentially wise-ass) distancing effects, Vaughan and Bond make it work to draw the reader into Roth's story, to affirm the importance not just of the character but of the idea of the character; of the ability to escape. Roth's reaction to buying the last issue of The Escapist he needed to complete his collection is especially well-observed and well-imagined.
This story originally appeared in one of Dark Horse's earlier Escapist books, but here it's kicking off a new ongoing series. It did its job; I'll be looking forward to future issues. For an overall grade, I'd give this book a solid B+; call it an 89/100.
Detective Comics #821
It's a single-issue story, and a detective story at that, by Paul Dini. Dini (with his collaborator Bruce Timm) reinvented Batman for the early-90s animated series, and to my mind that show stands as the definitive version of the character; it was a nice mix of Batman as an infallible mystery-man and Batman as a fallible human investigator. Visually, it was often spectacular, a highly-designed gothic deco world owing something to the Fleischer Superman cartoons. So this book, by Dini and noted design-oriented artist J.H. Williams III, has some promise.
Unfortunately, it doesn't quite deliver. It's not bad, and Dini does capture something of the feel of the cartoon; you can almost hear the actors delivering the dialogue in the word balloons. But what works over the air doesn't necessarily work as text. There's not much in the way of a sub-plot here, either. The story feels small. It has Batman, Robin, Alfred, Commissioner Gordon, assorted Gotham socialites, and a new masked villain. But it feels small.
Williams' art doesn't help much. It's too designed; there's no motion to it. His depiction of fight scenes is particularly jarring; every punch or kick has its point of impact picked out with a flare of black-and-white, and these hot-spots draw the eye all sorts of odd places at inappropriate times. Plus, Williams uses a trick I found annoying on Promethea: spreading panels across the page-divide with no warning. It's a difficult technique to master, and one which I find works a lot less often than many artists seem to believe.
All this being said, the book looks stunning. The colour choices on each page are excellent. It's a nice-looking package, no doubt about it. The story is solid enough, the mystery is coherent, and the fair-play solution is well-explained when all is said and done. It's a Batman story which hits all the bases. It's not something that leads me to think of buying another issue, but it's nice enough for what it is. For a grade, I'd give it a B-; 81/100.
Moon Knight #3
This is an odd book, in a lot of ways. Writer Charlie Huston has a hard-boiled style which, in combination with David Finch's almost over-rendered pencils, results in a lot of gore. That's not necessarily bad, but in this case it's jarring. Huston's talked about wanting to get back to the spirit of the original Moon Knight stories, and you can kinda see that; but the over-the-top violence gets in the way, shattering the tone completely to pieces. Further, part of the feel of those old stories was an almost anachronistic pulp sensibility. That's nowhere to be found. Instead, we have bits and pieces of old continuity -- characters, an evil criminal organisation, a familiar statue, all the knick-knacks of the past (including an old villain, thankfully back in his classic and snazzier costume).
On its own terms, it's not a bad book, I feel. This issue parallels Marc Spector, still suffering from an injury and not ready to take up the mantle of Moon Knight, meeting with an old friend. Who comes out of the closet. It works, somehow. Then the violence kicks in. I've seen an interview where Finch has talked about his determination to get better at drawing conversations; I think some of that comes through. At any rate, the emotions come through strongly, though we do get a lot of close-ups of eyes. The plot is strong enough; you can see what happens, why, and there's a logical and at least vaguely character-based structure behind it.
But somehow, this book just doesn't come together. It feels like it's been divorced from some source of strength that made the original series work. That could be the pulp sensibility I mentioned above. Or it could be Bill Sienkiewicz's art, which was likely the most outstanding thing about the original book -- consider that his design for Moon Knight is still in use, despite the craze for costume reworkings of the past ten years or so.
If the original Moon Knight series was a notch grittier than the other books around it on the stands, then I suppose this version accomplishes much the same thing. But in the end it's moving forward awfully slowly; this story is a long version of the old chestnut about the fallen hero recovering himself, and it's taking its sweet time about it. It's not an awful book, but it's less and less compelling with each issue. There's only so far visceral artwork will take you. Grade: B-, 83/100, but that's only because I'm in a good mood.
The Atom #1
Idea by Grant Morrison, plot and script by Gail Simone, art by John Byrne: and it seems like there's a disconnect at each step along the way. It looks like Morrison came up with an interesting take on the Atom; a new physics professor joins a mysterious New England University, falls in with a group of eccentric genius fellow-profs, and discovers his predecessor's ability to size-shift. Exploration of new worlds, new perspectives, mixed with Lovecraftian mystery. Conceptually, that's solid.
Except that it's not much like what we get in this book. That is, in plot outline, this is more or less what we get. But there's not much of a sense of atmosphere. The eccentric-genius supporting cast is introduced, for example, but don't really come alive. Whether she invented them or not, Simone didn't seem to know quite what to do with these characters; as a result, neither does the reader. And John Byrne, who can be a strong super-hero artist, is out of place in a situation where atmosphere is called for. Consider his establishing shot of the college campus; it looks like something out of the Italian Renaissance, fitting neither with the New England ('Ivy Town') locale nor the dean's dialogue.
Worst, though, is the size-changing sequence that introduces the new Atom's powers. You can see echoes of the cool-factor involved in the idea of a size-shifting superhero: getting lost in your own clothes, fighting a rat the size of a dragon. But between expository captions and fairly bland art, it never comes alive. I gave a positive review once to The Essential Ant-Man because Jack Kirby showed in that book how to make a shrinking super-hero work: you make the world around him strange, something entirely new. That didn't happen here. Some of the fault belongs to Simone; her description of the Atom's awe doesn't work as sparking the imagination or as a deptiction of the thoughts of a young genius (which this character is supposed to be). And Byrne's depiction of the battle with the rat is uninspiring -- especially since the rat looks a lot like a mouse.
Overall, neat ideas, bland execution. I've got no plans to pick up another issue of this one. Grade: C-, 72/100.
Uncanny X-Men #475
Simple, but effective. Well, as simple as an X-men comic can get.
Lorna Dane, or Polaris, gets chased through an Egyptian bazaar while Charles Xavier gathers a group of X-men for a dangerous mission. Said group end up rescuing Polaris in the book's major fight scene. Now, I don't understand who it was who was chasing Polaris, or what it has to with Apocalypse, or what's going on with her powers. So the exposition could have been handled better, because I don't think all of these things were intended to be mysteries. But given the complexity of X-men history, some confusion is a given. The structure here is solid, andmost of the characters are brought in nicely enough (though one, Havok, doens't get his own page of set-up); also, the story ends on a nice line.
The point is, it's a clear introduction to a new team of X-men, with a clearly-defined mission. Writer Ed Brubaker is almost invisible, in a stylistic sense; he's not reinventing anything, he's not bringing in any particular quirks of structure or dialogue; he's just crafting a strong X-men story. Billy Tan's art is clear, but nothing especially attractive. His characters are stiff; their emotions are clear, but lacking in nuance, and their poses and proportions seem sometimes clunky. Tan also uses photoshop blur effects to emphasise action, and of all the tricks artists use to try to get across motion in a still image, that's one of least effective when used consistently.
(Somewhere, there's a comic-book limbo full of all kinds of neat comics effects which are criminally underused in mainstream books these days. Thought balloons, sound effects, and above all, speed lines. Although, saying that, I notice that there are sound effects in this books; Nightcrawler "bamf"s when he teleports, Warpath's knives "thunk" home. But big robot-suits get demolished with no sfx comment, and a bazaar gets trashed soundlessly. There's something inconsistent about that, if only at some subliminal level.)
It's a promising start to a long storyline. Grade B, 85/100.
Wednesday, May 31, 2006
Good news, good news
Through the Asking the Wrong Questions blog I find an interview in which I read that the last book of John Crowley's Ægypt quartet is finally going to be published next year. This is great news, as I've been waiting anxiously for this book to come out. I've been happy to pick up the books Crowley's published in the meanwhile, but puzzled why he didn't finish the Ægypt books. Turns out he's had the complete manuscript ready for three years. Three flipping years, and no publisher was interested.
There are some things about this world that I just don't understand.
But at least I'll have the Ægypt books to read while I puzzle over it.
There are some things about this world that I just don't understand.
But at least I'll have the Ægypt books to read while I puzzle over it.
Saturday, February 18, 2006
Upsetting
In one day at the Olympics, Canada's women' s curling team lost to Japan, Canada's men's curling team lost to Italy, and Canada's men's hockey team lost to Switzerland.
Mark my words: This ... is Stephen Harper's fault.
Mark my words: This ... is Stephen Harper's fault.
Monday, January 9, 2006
A comics thought
An awful lot of people have spent an awful lot of time over the past several years talking about how different American mainstream comics are from the way they used to be, say, twenty or thirty or forty years ago. This is often done with a stated or implied preference for older comics (more rarely, the preference is for the new stuff). But without making a value judgment, it seems to me that one significant difference between current and past Marvel and DC comics has not been mentioned.
That is this: in the Silver Age, and through to probably the eighties, superhero comics were seen as belonging to or at least coming out of a certain kind of subculture. Specifically, the science fiction/fantasy/horror subculture. These comics were heirs to the old pulps, and they knew it. An extended run on Doctor Strange could be an homage to H.P Lovecraft, complete with some issues scripted by pulp and comics veteran Gardner Fox. Comics writers were steeped in the lore of the pulps, and of their fandom — look through any comic written by Roy Thomas to see what I mean. It was as though a lot of the writers accepted that they had a large juvenile audience, but also a strong (if secondary) audience of sf fans. They were probably right.
On the other hand, starting with the rise of Image and the artists involved, comics began to re-imagine their audience and their relation to the culture at large. Rob Liefeld appeared in a jeans commercial. Todd MacFarlane bought into a hockey team. These creators had no interest in the worlds of science fiction and fantasy fiction. They marketed their comics in Hollywood, looking to score movie deals, TV deals, animation deals. By definition, comics were no longer looking to the subculture. They were developing a more mainstream orientation.
Nowadays, Marvel and DC still hire fantasy, sf and horror writers when they can: Stephen King, Orson Scott Card, Michael Moorcock. But they're not advertised as fantasy writers; they're advertised as prose writers. Real writers. Like mystery writers, or the TV writers. The sf subculture no longer seems to register. There are good reasons for that.
When DC comics tried to launch an imprint for sf comics to sit alongside their Vertigo imprint of (then) dark fantasy and (now) crime and horror comics, the line didn't last. Science fiction readers were not turning to comics. Personally, I used to shop at a sadly now nonexistent store which stocked both sf/fantasy novels and a wide range of comics. I bought both. Most other customers stuck to one or the other. There was no easy crossover of readership.
With all the discussion of the audiences comics have lost — and there's no doubt that mainstream sales are down considerably from the pre-Image era — it may be that the most significant is the sf/fantasy readership. Lacking them, superhero comics lack something of their identity. Who are you writing for when you write a superhero book? Superhero fans, yes. But there aren't that many of them. Who else? The logical answer would be: people who have a similar interest in big ideas, in adventure stories, in non-realist stories. People who like to see real characters, but in very unreal situations.
Without that audience, not only does the superhero market shrink, but it becomes more homogenous. Cosmic heroes can't attract a readership. Neither can fantasy-oriented characters, even old standbys like Doctor Strange or Thor.
On the other hand, this trend arguably began at the height of the collector-driven craze of the early 90s. Gerard Jones and Will Jacobs, in The Comics Book Heroes, note that at this time DC in particular seemed to be trying to make all of their characters fit the same basic template: lone angry white male in his early twenties. It didn't really work. But in retrospect, it might represent the first time the comics market began to turn its back squarely on one traditional part of its reader base (and thus of its creator base) and look to the wider world beyond.
For better or worse. The question remains: is there a mainstream readership for traditional, or even reinvented, superhero comics? If there is, they've been very slow at comign forward.
That is this: in the Silver Age, and through to probably the eighties, superhero comics were seen as belonging to or at least coming out of a certain kind of subculture. Specifically, the science fiction/fantasy/horror subculture. These comics were heirs to the old pulps, and they knew it. An extended run on Doctor Strange could be an homage to H.P Lovecraft, complete with some issues scripted by pulp and comics veteran Gardner Fox. Comics writers were steeped in the lore of the pulps, and of their fandom — look through any comic written by Roy Thomas to see what I mean. It was as though a lot of the writers accepted that they had a large juvenile audience, but also a strong (if secondary) audience of sf fans. They were probably right.
On the other hand, starting with the rise of Image and the artists involved, comics began to re-imagine their audience and their relation to the culture at large. Rob Liefeld appeared in a jeans commercial. Todd MacFarlane bought into a hockey team. These creators had no interest in the worlds of science fiction and fantasy fiction. They marketed their comics in Hollywood, looking to score movie deals, TV deals, animation deals. By definition, comics were no longer looking to the subculture. They were developing a more mainstream orientation.
Nowadays, Marvel and DC still hire fantasy, sf and horror writers when they can: Stephen King, Orson Scott Card, Michael Moorcock. But they're not advertised as fantasy writers; they're advertised as prose writers. Real writers. Like mystery writers, or the TV writers. The sf subculture no longer seems to register. There are good reasons for that.
When DC comics tried to launch an imprint for sf comics to sit alongside their Vertigo imprint of (then) dark fantasy and (now) crime and horror comics, the line didn't last. Science fiction readers were not turning to comics. Personally, I used to shop at a sadly now nonexistent store which stocked both sf/fantasy novels and a wide range of comics. I bought both. Most other customers stuck to one or the other. There was no easy crossover of readership.
With all the discussion of the audiences comics have lost — and there's no doubt that mainstream sales are down considerably from the pre-Image era — it may be that the most significant is the sf/fantasy readership. Lacking them, superhero comics lack something of their identity. Who are you writing for when you write a superhero book? Superhero fans, yes. But there aren't that many of them. Who else? The logical answer would be: people who have a similar interest in big ideas, in adventure stories, in non-realist stories. People who like to see real characters, but in very unreal situations.
Without that audience, not only does the superhero market shrink, but it becomes more homogenous. Cosmic heroes can't attract a readership. Neither can fantasy-oriented characters, even old standbys like Doctor Strange or Thor.
On the other hand, this trend arguably began at the height of the collector-driven craze of the early 90s. Gerard Jones and Will Jacobs, in The Comics Book Heroes, note that at this time DC in particular seemed to be trying to make all of their characters fit the same basic template: lone angry white male in his early twenties. It didn't really work. But in retrospect, it might represent the first time the comics market began to turn its back squarely on one traditional part of its reader base (and thus of its creator base) and look to the wider world beyond.
For better or worse. The question remains: is there a mainstream readership for traditional, or even reinvented, superhero comics? If there is, they've been very slow at comign forward.
Tuesday, January 3, 2006
The irreducible experience
The same day that I started seriously reading Plato, I found myself involved in a not-so-purely-philosophical dilemma. I don't want to go into detail about that, but I do want to say this: I understand now both why the rationalistic approach of Greek philosophy was so valuable, and also why so many people find it unsatisfactory.
There may be some people for whom instinct is a sure guide to behaviour. But for everyone else, what happens when your instincts freeze up? When they're unclear? What happens if your instincts are based on some defect in your own nature? If your instincts are telling you to take the easier path, are they giving you good advice, or are you just looking for an excuse? Most importantly, and, in my experience, most commonly: what happens if two instincts are at war? What do you do when faced with the paralysis of emotion and intellect which results?
Rationality is great tool in these situations. It makes things clearer. It can guide you to what is right. Then it's just a question of doing it. Rationality is, in the end, calming.
On the other hand, consider this premise from Protagoras: "[E]verything has one opposite and not more than one[.]" Now, it's not clear that this had actually been proven during the preceding dialogue. Nevertheless, it's a dictum that Plato uses as essentially axiomatic: to everything its opposite, and only one opposite. It's a binary approach to the world. A backslash approach. On/off. Good/evil. Pain/pleasure.
Real life doesn't operate in this way. It can't be reduced to this simple a level. The axiom is false; not an absolute falsehood, but a reductio ad absurdem of lived experience.
So the positive virtue of rationality, its ability to clear away clutter and present incisive solutions to muddled problems, becomes a vice when taken too far: the tendency to reduce reality to simple and unreal abstractions. One might conclude that rationality's main characteristic, then, is its tendency to concentrate, to distill all things to their essence — even if the essence does not exist, or if the essence resides in precisely what is inessential.
That ability to reduce by means of the intellect is something tremendously useful. Also tremendously dangerous; people go to war over abstractions. But they also go to war over their instincts. Reason's ability to clarify represents a tremendous leap forward for human cognition; even, perhaps, a movement to something more purely human. That is, if what humans do better than any other known animal is think, then the means of focussing thought enhance one's ability to be characteristically human. But that's a great "if"; what about the ability to act in accord with a moral nature? Or to create art? In both cases the intellect is involved, but in both cases something else, some other faculty, appears involved as well. Reason, in other words, has its limits.
There have been times in history — many of them — where more rationality would have considerably helped the world. But it is possible that too much rationality may be as dangerous as too little.
There may be some people for whom instinct is a sure guide to behaviour. But for everyone else, what happens when your instincts freeze up? When they're unclear? What happens if your instincts are based on some defect in your own nature? If your instincts are telling you to take the easier path, are they giving you good advice, or are you just looking for an excuse? Most importantly, and, in my experience, most commonly: what happens if two instincts are at war? What do you do when faced with the paralysis of emotion and intellect which results?
Rationality is great tool in these situations. It makes things clearer. It can guide you to what is right. Then it's just a question of doing it. Rationality is, in the end, calming.
On the other hand, consider this premise from Protagoras: "[E]verything has one opposite and not more than one[.]" Now, it's not clear that this had actually been proven during the preceding dialogue. Nevertheless, it's a dictum that Plato uses as essentially axiomatic: to everything its opposite, and only one opposite. It's a binary approach to the world. A backslash approach. On/off. Good/evil. Pain/pleasure.
Real life doesn't operate in this way. It can't be reduced to this simple a level. The axiom is false; not an absolute falsehood, but a reductio ad absurdem of lived experience.
So the positive virtue of rationality, its ability to clear away clutter and present incisive solutions to muddled problems, becomes a vice when taken too far: the tendency to reduce reality to simple and unreal abstractions. One might conclude that rationality's main characteristic, then, is its tendency to concentrate, to distill all things to their essence — even if the essence does not exist, or if the essence resides in precisely what is inessential.
That ability to reduce by means of the intellect is something tremendously useful. Also tremendously dangerous; people go to war over abstractions. But they also go to war over their instincts. Reason's ability to clarify represents a tremendous leap forward for human cognition; even, perhaps, a movement to something more purely human. That is, if what humans do better than any other known animal is think, then the means of focussing thought enhance one's ability to be characteristically human. But that's a great "if"; what about the ability to act in accord with a moral nature? Or to create art? In both cases the intellect is involved, but in both cases something else, some other faculty, appears involved as well. Reason, in other words, has its limits.
There have been times in history — many of them — where more rationality would have considerably helped the world. But it is possible that too much rationality may be as dangerous as too little.
Sunday, January 1, 2006
X and Y
It's often assumed that the best stories are those which focus the most closely on their theme and/or plot. All things not central should be edited out. Every element must tend toward a single end. Even style ought to be disciplined, ought to be pruned of all nonesential verbiage.
Yet any number of writers have produced great work which defies the above guidelines. Melville, Tolkien, John Cowper Powys, Iain Sinclair — these writers produce fascinating, powerful work which refuses the centripetal urge. What I mean by that is that in Moby Dick or The Lord of the Rings there are any number of long passages, about whaling or the history of Middle-Earth, which seem to have nothing to do with what the book is ostensibly about. These are novels which resist the urge to cohere; which do not have a single centre of gravity giving unity to their text. A centre of gravity, in this context, might be a story or a conscious theme; it is some idea which is developed, and which gives obvious form to a novel.
Yet even books which resist the pressure of gravity still very clearly have a form, have some kind of coherency and structure which gives them a unity. The Lord of the Rings would not be what it is if the long passages on landscape or history were excised. Moby Dick would not be what it is without the long passages on whaling. A Glastonbury Romance would not be what it is without the shifting, multiple points-of-view which extend even to the cosmic forces of the universe. There is not necessarily a conscious attempt to pull all this material into a shape. It's just there. Part of the world the writer presents. Something the writer felt compelled to include, something which works in defiance of accepted critical strictures.
In fact, if you look at the underlying principle of said accepted critical strictures, you quickly realise that they don't make much sense. There was a Peanuts cartoon once where Linus bugged Lucy to tell him a story until she finally gave in and snapped out: "A man was born. He lived and died. The end." And that was the story. And the truth is this: If you really wanted to cut down a story as far as possible, there's really not much more to say.
So, let's consider the possibility that while it is true that what gives a story its shape is what you leave out, it is also true that what gives a story its meaning, its importance, is what you leave in.
Think of it like a graph. The horizontal axis is a measure of plot; the drive forward, the development of story or theme. The vertical axis, on the other hand, is a measure of the material the author brings to the story. The didactic material. The connections, the atmosphere, all the things which aren't logically relevant but which are artistically necessary.
Traditional critical thought, then, would suggest that a straight line across the horizontal axis is the ideal shape for a story. But I suspect that stories of that kind are at some level unsatisfying. Certainly a lot of cleverness in the construction of, say, a mainstream film story goes into disgusing necessary elements, making them seem like interesting side bits until the story reaches the point where they stand revealed as vital to the forward momentum of the plot. The result is something smooth, clever, and fundamentally empty. There's a lack of healthy eccentricity.
So if not a straight line, what? A straight line up the vertical axis would be at least as unsatisfying, in a narrative sense. Perhaps that's the line of nonfiction; of an encyclopedia. Narrative entirely forsaken, information finding its own order.
Likely the old image of a narrative arc is most apt. A story begins, slowly moves forward, accreting images and facts and background, then at a certain point begins to really rush toward its climax, with less extraneous material being thrown in. But the amount of vertical detail given earlier lends the arc a steepness, a velocity, as it races toward the finish.
Then again, perhaps some stories don't have a single line, a single equation, to them at all. Perhaps just as some cosmological theories suggest that the universe is closed, finite, and some sugest it's open and endless, so some stories are closed (horizonally-oriented) and some are open (vertically-oriented).
The point is mainly that there are a lot of different ways to think about stories and story structure; sometimes conventional wisdom is best ignored, opening oneself up to a potentially useful point of view.
Yet any number of writers have produced great work which defies the above guidelines. Melville, Tolkien, John Cowper Powys, Iain Sinclair — these writers produce fascinating, powerful work which refuses the centripetal urge. What I mean by that is that in Moby Dick or The Lord of the Rings there are any number of long passages, about whaling or the history of Middle-Earth, which seem to have nothing to do with what the book is ostensibly about. These are novels which resist the urge to cohere; which do not have a single centre of gravity giving unity to their text. A centre of gravity, in this context, might be a story or a conscious theme; it is some idea which is developed, and which gives obvious form to a novel.
Yet even books which resist the pressure of gravity still very clearly have a form, have some kind of coherency and structure which gives them a unity. The Lord of the Rings would not be what it is if the long passages on landscape or history were excised. Moby Dick would not be what it is without the long passages on whaling. A Glastonbury Romance would not be what it is without the shifting, multiple points-of-view which extend even to the cosmic forces of the universe. There is not necessarily a conscious attempt to pull all this material into a shape. It's just there. Part of the world the writer presents. Something the writer felt compelled to include, something which works in defiance of accepted critical strictures.
In fact, if you look at the underlying principle of said accepted critical strictures, you quickly realise that they don't make much sense. There was a Peanuts cartoon once where Linus bugged Lucy to tell him a story until she finally gave in and snapped out: "A man was born. He lived and died. The end." And that was the story. And the truth is this: If you really wanted to cut down a story as far as possible, there's really not much more to say.
So, let's consider the possibility that while it is true that what gives a story its shape is what you leave out, it is also true that what gives a story its meaning, its importance, is what you leave in.
Think of it like a graph. The horizontal axis is a measure of plot; the drive forward, the development of story or theme. The vertical axis, on the other hand, is a measure of the material the author brings to the story. The didactic material. The connections, the atmosphere, all the things which aren't logically relevant but which are artistically necessary.
Traditional critical thought, then, would suggest that a straight line across the horizontal axis is the ideal shape for a story. But I suspect that stories of that kind are at some level unsatisfying. Certainly a lot of cleverness in the construction of, say, a mainstream film story goes into disgusing necessary elements, making them seem like interesting side bits until the story reaches the point where they stand revealed as vital to the forward momentum of the plot. The result is something smooth, clever, and fundamentally empty. There's a lack of healthy eccentricity.
So if not a straight line, what? A straight line up the vertical axis would be at least as unsatisfying, in a narrative sense. Perhaps that's the line of nonfiction; of an encyclopedia. Narrative entirely forsaken, information finding its own order.
Likely the old image of a narrative arc is most apt. A story begins, slowly moves forward, accreting images and facts and background, then at a certain point begins to really rush toward its climax, with less extraneous material being thrown in. But the amount of vertical detail given earlier lends the arc a steepness, a velocity, as it races toward the finish.
Then again, perhaps some stories don't have a single line, a single equation, to them at all. Perhaps just as some cosmological theories suggest that the universe is closed, finite, and some sugest it's open and endless, so some stories are closed (horizonally-oriented) and some are open (vertically-oriented).
The point is mainly that there are a lot of different ways to think about stories and story structure; sometimes conventional wisdom is best ignored, opening oneself up to a potentially useful point of view.
Wednesday, October 12, 2005
Reported without comment
[Books]
From an article about a dispute over last year's Nobel Prize for literature:
"The choice of Nobel laureates is often dismissed as obscure when the winner comes from outside the publishing mainstream of Anglophone authors translated into dozens of languages."
From an article about a dispute over last year's Nobel Prize for literature:
"The choice of Nobel laureates is often dismissed as obscure when the winner comes from outside the publishing mainstream of Anglophone authors translated into dozens of languages."
Sunday, September 25, 2005
Les Canadiens sont la, encore (finalement)
[Hockey]
Last night's exhibition game between the Canadiens and Leafs (won by the Canadiens 3-2) made it real. The NHL really is back. There really will be hockey again all this fall winter and spring.
It's a good feeling.
More than that, the Canadiens right now are faced with an interesting puzzle: they've got a lot of young kids coming up, most at forward, and how do you fit them all into the line-up? Just trying to work out a 23-man roster, never mind figuring out your starters, becomes tough when you balance open roster spots versus waiver vulnerability versus who's outplaying who. It's like one of those Chinese finger-traps; a fun game, except sooner or later you've got to get your damn fingers free, and whichever way you pull you can't figure out how to make it work.
For the record, my guess for the moment is that Alex Perezhogin gets sent down to Hamilton, Guillaume Latendresse returns to junior, and in a couple months we see somebody like Pierre Dagenais traded. I also suspect we'll see one or more of the forward prospects (Perezhogin, Tomas Plekanec, Marcel Hossa, and Chris Higgins) dealt for a defenceman around the time of the trading deadline. If Josef Balej and a draft pick got the Habs Kovalev, maybe one of the aforementioned players can get some much-needed help on the blue line.
In the long run, with even more players likely to come up and fight their way onto the roster at forward over the next two to four years, more moves will likely be made. It's shaping up like a Darwinian battle for positions over the next little while, and it's anybody's guess at this point what kind of a beast will result. All the players mentioned in the paragraph above impressed me. All of them look like they can play in the NHL right now. The Canadiens have some interesting decisions to make as a team about how they intend to develop themselves going forward, and what strengths they want to develop.
(And one other thing about the forwards I really want to say: after a fashion, the player who most impressed me was Jonathan Ferland. His play wasn't at the level of the other four, but he didn't look like he was that far away from the NHL. I remember when the kid was drafted, and the quick summary was 'good size, could be a power forward, can't skate, will likely never make it'. But he's developed himself well, constantly moved forward, and it's not impossible now that he could fight his way onto a fourth line spot in a year or two. More power to him.)
Meanwhile, watching the game last night I found it impossible to make up my mind whether I preferred Ron Hainsey or Mark Streit as a 6th or 7th defenceman. So many penalties are being called it's become very clear that the NHL is trying to really change the way the game is played. More specifically, they're trying to change the way defence is played, and not just by defencemen. If this keeps up, every player in the league is going to have to be re-evaluated with respect to their defensive ability. Some players formerly regarded as solid players may not have the careers they used to (people are already looking nervously at Philadelphia's defence corps, especially Derian Hatcher and Chris Therrien). In the meanwhile, I don't really know how you evaluate defence prospects. This will be an interesting battle to watch.
Anyway, we know the Canadiens will be good. Aragorn hath decreed it.
Last night's exhibition game between the Canadiens and Leafs (won by the Canadiens 3-2) made it real. The NHL really is back. There really will be hockey again all this fall winter and spring.
It's a good feeling.
More than that, the Canadiens right now are faced with an interesting puzzle: they've got a lot of young kids coming up, most at forward, and how do you fit them all into the line-up? Just trying to work out a 23-man roster, never mind figuring out your starters, becomes tough when you balance open roster spots versus waiver vulnerability versus who's outplaying who. It's like one of those Chinese finger-traps; a fun game, except sooner or later you've got to get your damn fingers free, and whichever way you pull you can't figure out how to make it work.
For the record, my guess for the moment is that Alex Perezhogin gets sent down to Hamilton, Guillaume Latendresse returns to junior, and in a couple months we see somebody like Pierre Dagenais traded. I also suspect we'll see one or more of the forward prospects (Perezhogin, Tomas Plekanec, Marcel Hossa, and Chris Higgins) dealt for a defenceman around the time of the trading deadline. If Josef Balej and a draft pick got the Habs Kovalev, maybe one of the aforementioned players can get some much-needed help on the blue line.
In the long run, with even more players likely to come up and fight their way onto the roster at forward over the next two to four years, more moves will likely be made. It's shaping up like a Darwinian battle for positions over the next little while, and it's anybody's guess at this point what kind of a beast will result. All the players mentioned in the paragraph above impressed me. All of them look like they can play in the NHL right now. The Canadiens have some interesting decisions to make as a team about how they intend to develop themselves going forward, and what strengths they want to develop.
(And one other thing about the forwards I really want to say: after a fashion, the player who most impressed me was Jonathan Ferland. His play wasn't at the level of the other four, but he didn't look like he was that far away from the NHL. I remember when the kid was drafted, and the quick summary was 'good size, could be a power forward, can't skate, will likely never make it'. But he's developed himself well, constantly moved forward, and it's not impossible now that he could fight his way onto a fourth line spot in a year or two. More power to him.)
Meanwhile, watching the game last night I found it impossible to make up my mind whether I preferred Ron Hainsey or Mark Streit as a 6th or 7th defenceman. So many penalties are being called it's become very clear that the NHL is trying to really change the way the game is played. More specifically, they're trying to change the way defence is played, and not just by defencemen. If this keeps up, every player in the league is going to have to be re-evaluated with respect to their defensive ability. Some players formerly regarded as solid players may not have the careers they used to (people are already looking nervously at Philadelphia's defence corps, especially Derian Hatcher and Chris Therrien). In the meanwhile, I don't really know how you evaluate defence prospects. This will be an interesting battle to watch.
Anyway, we know the Canadiens will be good. Aragorn hath decreed it.
Friday, September 23, 2005
Quote of the Day
"So long as you can read good books in the languages they effect, that's enough for education: but it adds greatly to your pleasure if you have memory enough to remember the why and wherefore of the waxing and waning of peoples, and to trace the slow washing up and down of event upon event. In that way I think history is the only knowledge of the easy man."
— T.E. Lawrence
— T.E. Lawrence
Tuesday, September 13, 2005
Media and communication
This could be interesting: Brian Mulroney's upset because Peter Newman's written a tell-all book revealing some conversations Newman and Mulroney once had. It's not terribly surprising that Mulroney dislikes Trudeau, but hearing him trash-talk Kim Campbell, if not surprising, at least should be somewhat revealing. So are Mulroney's thoughts on his place in history; he compares himself to Sin John A. MacDonald. Now, in the sense of 'corrupt drunkard', there's probably some truth to that. Otherwise — no.
Meanwhile, Bono continues to win more flies with honey than with vinegar, reassuring Canadians that Paul Martin listens to us and calling him a "great leader for Canada" who can "lead the world out of poverty". According to the CBC. This continues the trend noticeable before the Live 8 event, when Bono and company consciously tried not to offend the politicians who lead the wealthy countries of the world. I can see their logic; confrontation hasn't really worked, maybe praise will. If you make them aware of their power, and phrase the eradication of poverty as a challenge to that power, maybe they'll take action.
The link between these two stories is simply the handling of the media. And the need for an awareness of how to communicate through the media in order to succeed in politics. The need to watch one's words in a forum even slightly public.
Um, not entirely unlike blogs.
Meanwhile, Bono continues to win more flies with honey than with vinegar, reassuring Canadians that Paul Martin listens to us and calling him a "great leader for Canada" who can "lead the world out of poverty". According to the CBC. This continues the trend noticeable before the Live 8 event, when Bono and company consciously tried not to offend the politicians who lead the wealthy countries of the world. I can see their logic; confrontation hasn't really worked, maybe praise will. If you make them aware of their power, and phrase the eradication of poverty as a challenge to that power, maybe they'll take action.
The link between these two stories is simply the handling of the media. And the need for an awareness of how to communicate through the media in order to succeed in politics. The need to watch one's words in a forum even slightly public.
Um, not entirely unlike blogs.
Wednesday, September 7, 2005
Mainstream drying up
[Comics]
There's an interesting interview here with Devin Grayson about the mainstream comics industry. It's a solid run-down of what toiling in the trenches is like. In other words, horrifying. Control over your story is, of course, impossible. Basic rights given to writers in all other fields are routinely denied comics writers (even the right to pull your name from a script you didn't write is taken away from you).
But what's really interesting about the piece, to me, is the way it calls up memories of debates from the late 80s. The way I recall it, there used to be an argument that the mainstream comics companies — Marvel and DC — could be 'reformed', with respect to their publishing practices, and become viable venues for a wide range of artistically-ambitious material. The more extreme versions of this theory held that the super-hero genre would evolve to accomodate this sort of work, but most sane thinkers felt that the companies could or would move away from a strict super-hero focus, branch out into other genres, and perhaps even begin publishing 'literary' fiction on the order of Maus or Love & Rockets. All of this, of course, could only happen when creators in the mainstream won greater rights from the big publishers. A Creator's Bill of Rights was drafted. Work-for-hire was denounced.
As I recall, and I may only be projecting my perceptions of the time on to the comics field in general, 1986 and the years after were key. Maus showed the sophistication comics were capable of, not only in technique, but in intellectual approach. Watchmen showed that even a superhero comic was capable of great structural complexity and formal daring. But: did it represent a new way forward, or the far limit of what could be done? Alan Moore left DC not long afterwards, faced with the same creative restriction Grayson lists. Other creators, like Frank Miller, went as well.
But a new wave of writers, Neil Gaiman and Grant Morrison prominent among them, created a range of titles which ultimately went on to be grouped in its own imprint, Vertigo, distantly related to the mainstream DC universe yet tengential to it; it was where the superhero books went to grow up. People tend to forget now that many of the original Vertigo books were based on old DC concepts — Doom Patrol, Kid Eternity, Shade the Changing Man, even Sandman started out as a reworking of the DC character and featured other DC heroes and villains in its first issues. Some of these creators became highly acclaimed, leading to them winning new rights from DC. The fights for creators' rights that Moore and Miller could resolve only be leaving what they felt to be a corrupt system looked like it might be winnable after all.
Now, what happened to change all this, in my view, was the rise of star artists at Marvel which in turn led to the phenomenon of the early Image Comics. Art was all. Stories became simplistic. The ideal of more complex stories told within the mainstream began to dwindle, as Vertigo moved further away from what was considered 'mainstream', and got lost in the collectors' frenzy. Speculation led to an emphasis on the comic as consumer item: on the simple, the easily graspable. This book was worth money because of x artist working on y character.
The mainstream, in other words, gave up the ghost. Rather than reform itself, the mainstream industry took the easy way out — as it usually does. Creators' rights in the mainstream industry faded as a topic for general debate, and never quite returned. There have been some flash-point incidents in the years since, but no movement, no general call for the formation of a union. There have been fine comics coming out of the mainstream — 1994's Marvels being a case in point — but none have had the artistic cachet or daring of Watchmen or even Sandman. Vertigo has had its horizons narrowed; it published sf, crime fiction, fantasy, decent genre stuff but nothing earthbreaking even in these fields. Alternative comics ended up carrying the banner for what comics could be, and so the graphic novels making it into libraries and the New York Times book reviews are all published by Fantagraphics, Drawn & Quarterly, and the usual suspects. In retrospect it all seems inevitable.
But I sometimes wonder ...
There's an interesting interview here with Devin Grayson about the mainstream comics industry. It's a solid run-down of what toiling in the trenches is like. In other words, horrifying. Control over your story is, of course, impossible. Basic rights given to writers in all other fields are routinely denied comics writers (even the right to pull your name from a script you didn't write is taken away from you).
But what's really interesting about the piece, to me, is the way it calls up memories of debates from the late 80s. The way I recall it, there used to be an argument that the mainstream comics companies — Marvel and DC — could be 'reformed', with respect to their publishing practices, and become viable venues for a wide range of artistically-ambitious material. The more extreme versions of this theory held that the super-hero genre would evolve to accomodate this sort of work, but most sane thinkers felt that the companies could or would move away from a strict super-hero focus, branch out into other genres, and perhaps even begin publishing 'literary' fiction on the order of Maus or Love & Rockets. All of this, of course, could only happen when creators in the mainstream won greater rights from the big publishers. A Creator's Bill of Rights was drafted. Work-for-hire was denounced.
As I recall, and I may only be projecting my perceptions of the time on to the comics field in general, 1986 and the years after were key. Maus showed the sophistication comics were capable of, not only in technique, but in intellectual approach. Watchmen showed that even a superhero comic was capable of great structural complexity and formal daring. But: did it represent a new way forward, or the far limit of what could be done? Alan Moore left DC not long afterwards, faced with the same creative restriction Grayson lists. Other creators, like Frank Miller, went as well.
But a new wave of writers, Neil Gaiman and Grant Morrison prominent among them, created a range of titles which ultimately went on to be grouped in its own imprint, Vertigo, distantly related to the mainstream DC universe yet tengential to it; it was where the superhero books went to grow up. People tend to forget now that many of the original Vertigo books were based on old DC concepts — Doom Patrol, Kid Eternity, Shade the Changing Man, even Sandman started out as a reworking of the DC character and featured other DC heroes and villains in its first issues. Some of these creators became highly acclaimed, leading to them winning new rights from DC. The fights for creators' rights that Moore and Miller could resolve only be leaving what they felt to be a corrupt system looked like it might be winnable after all.
Now, what happened to change all this, in my view, was the rise of star artists at Marvel which in turn led to the phenomenon of the early Image Comics. Art was all. Stories became simplistic. The ideal of more complex stories told within the mainstream began to dwindle, as Vertigo moved further away from what was considered 'mainstream', and got lost in the collectors' frenzy. Speculation led to an emphasis on the comic as consumer item: on the simple, the easily graspable. This book was worth money because of x artist working on y character.
The mainstream, in other words, gave up the ghost. Rather than reform itself, the mainstream industry took the easy way out — as it usually does. Creators' rights in the mainstream industry faded as a topic for general debate, and never quite returned. There have been some flash-point incidents in the years since, but no movement, no general call for the formation of a union. There have been fine comics coming out of the mainstream — 1994's Marvels being a case in point — but none have had the artistic cachet or daring of Watchmen or even Sandman. Vertigo has had its horizons narrowed; it published sf, crime fiction, fantasy, decent genre stuff but nothing earthbreaking even in these fields. Alternative comics ended up carrying the banner for what comics could be, and so the graphic novels making it into libraries and the New York Times book reviews are all published by Fantagraphics, Drawn & Quarterly, and the usual suspects. In retrospect it all seems inevitable.
But I sometimes wonder ...
Wednesday, August 3, 2005
More Books
The Last Hurrah of the Golden Horde, by Norman Spinrad, is a collection of short stories from over thirty years ago. Spinrad's one of the odder new-wave sf writers I know of. At his best he mixes gutter idealism with fucked-up humour and radical politics. No wonder he's one of Warren Ellis' favourites. Anyway, this isn't Spinrad at his best; you can see him working through standard sf tropes, conventional short stories with Twilight Zone-style twists. That said, the collection gets better as it goes along, including the weirdest Superman story I've ever read ("It's a bird! It's a plane!"), until it reaches the final and title story. It's a sample of Spinrad's "mature" style, starring Michael Moorcock's multiversal assassin, Jerry Cornelius.
Still, the weirdest sensation I got reading the book came during an otherwise-unremarkable story named "The Equalizer", in which a doveish Israeli scientist invents an easily portable, easily concealed, doomsday bomb which any country in the world would be capable of building. He wants to destroy the device. A hawkish Israeli army colonel insists that he turn it over to the government of Israel, believing that of course it's pefectly okay for Israel to have the ability to destroy everybody else on the planet.
The colonel's name? Ariah Sharet.
I have no idea if Spinrad was thinking of Ariel Sharon when he named this character; the story would have been written in the 60s, when Sharon was still in the army. It's possible, I guess. But it gives an odd resonance to an otherwise workmanlike tale.
The Monsters of Morley Manor, by Bruce Coville, is a wild ride of a children's book in which a boy buys a box at a garage sale held in a supposedly-haunted house, discovers a group of half-foot high monsters in said box, and accidentally brings said monsters to life. Turns out they're friendly. In fact, they're a family, a group of adventurers shrunk by an evil genius who is also their greatest enemy. If this sounds familiar to you, it's because you've read the same issues of Fantastic Four as I have (the leader of the monsters, who is — no lie — a genius-level scientist who was once attracted to a woman several years younger than himself, shouts out at one point during the story "Family Morleskievich! Assemble!" — which is one of those other Marvel super-team, but, you know, close enough for government work). Anyway, the resemblance to classic Marvel comics follows through nicely, resulting in a wild ride full of ghosts and aliens and sorcery and super-science. Not classic stuff, maybe, but a fun fast read.
Still, the weirdest sensation I got reading the book came during an otherwise-unremarkable story named "The Equalizer", in which a doveish Israeli scientist invents an easily portable, easily concealed, doomsday bomb which any country in the world would be capable of building. He wants to destroy the device. A hawkish Israeli army colonel insists that he turn it over to the government of Israel, believing that of course it's pefectly okay for Israel to have the ability to destroy everybody else on the planet.
The colonel's name? Ariah Sharet.
I have no idea if Spinrad was thinking of Ariel Sharon when he named this character; the story would have been written in the 60s, when Sharon was still in the army. It's possible, I guess. But it gives an odd resonance to an otherwise workmanlike tale.
The Monsters of Morley Manor, by Bruce Coville, is a wild ride of a children's book in which a boy buys a box at a garage sale held in a supposedly-haunted house, discovers a group of half-foot high monsters in said box, and accidentally brings said monsters to life. Turns out they're friendly. In fact, they're a family, a group of adventurers shrunk by an evil genius who is also their greatest enemy. If this sounds familiar to you, it's because you've read the same issues of Fantastic Four as I have (the leader of the monsters, who is — no lie — a genius-level scientist who was once attracted to a woman several years younger than himself, shouts out at one point during the story "Family Morleskievich! Assemble!" — which is one of those other Marvel super-team, but, you know, close enough for government work). Anyway, the resemblance to classic Marvel comics follows through nicely, resulting in a wild ride full of ghosts and aliens and sorcery and super-science. Not classic stuff, maybe, but a fun fast read.
Tuesday, August 2, 2005
Briefly Noted ...
[Books]
Three books completed today.
The Ill-Made Mute, by Cecilia Dart-Thornton, is the first book of a fantasy-adventure trilogy. It's not bad. The characters are very broad, and the action bits aren't terribly thrilling, but there's a better-than-average sense of reality to the world brought on by the judicious use of an extensive vocabulary. On the other hand, there's also the occasional use of modern scientific terminology in the narration, which is somewhat jarring. Dart-Thornton uses Celtic myth and fairy lore a lot in this book, and while the story themselves are fine things, it does tend to undermine the feel of a true original fantasy world. That is, the myths and tales of this world don't seem integrated into the fantasy world; they're not re-imagined strongly enough. Still, it does make the book stand out from the hosts of other fantasy trilogies out there.
The Revenge of the Rose, by Michael Moorcock, is one of the later-day Elric books, an insertion into the original run of stories. It works well enough; Moorcock brings in characters from other series and books of his, connecting up his works in one great multiversal crossover. The writing's not terribly sharp or well-honed, as is often the case with Moorcock's fantasy fiction, and the philosophy the characters spout really isn't very well-integrated into the action. That is, the philosophies are in character, but I find that the fantastic elements don't go far enough towards reflecting or synthesising them into a meaningful myth. But the characters do come across as convincingly intelligent, too intelligent for the story in which they find themselves; as to compensate they become knowingly melodramatic. It's a lot of fun, in its way.
Last Chance to See... , by Douglas Adams and Mark Carwardine, was published back in 1990. I hadn't read it in fifteen years. It's a survey of some of the most endangered species on the planet. It's interesting in its own right, but also interesting as an example of how Adams could make anything interesting. His style was incredibly well-honed and easy to read, extremely funny and incredibly informative at the same time. In a way, it seems that Adams missed his calling. He could have made a mint as a non-fiction writer, making difficult topics accessible and amusing. Mind you, the Hitchhiker's books are nothing to sneeze at, either.
Three books completed today.
The Ill-Made Mute, by Cecilia Dart-Thornton, is the first book of a fantasy-adventure trilogy. It's not bad. The characters are very broad, and the action bits aren't terribly thrilling, but there's a better-than-average sense of reality to the world brought on by the judicious use of an extensive vocabulary. On the other hand, there's also the occasional use of modern scientific terminology in the narration, which is somewhat jarring. Dart-Thornton uses Celtic myth and fairy lore a lot in this book, and while the story themselves are fine things, it does tend to undermine the feel of a true original fantasy world. That is, the myths and tales of this world don't seem integrated into the fantasy world; they're not re-imagined strongly enough. Still, it does make the book stand out from the hosts of other fantasy trilogies out there.
The Revenge of the Rose, by Michael Moorcock, is one of the later-day Elric books, an insertion into the original run of stories. It works well enough; Moorcock brings in characters from other series and books of his, connecting up his works in one great multiversal crossover. The writing's not terribly sharp or well-honed, as is often the case with Moorcock's fantasy fiction, and the philosophy the characters spout really isn't very well-integrated into the action. That is, the philosophies are in character, but I find that the fantastic elements don't go far enough towards reflecting or synthesising them into a meaningful myth. But the characters do come across as convincingly intelligent, too intelligent for the story in which they find themselves; as to compensate they become knowingly melodramatic. It's a lot of fun, in its way.
Last Chance to See... , by Douglas Adams and Mark Carwardine, was published back in 1990. I hadn't read it in fifteen years. It's a survey of some of the most endangered species on the planet. It's interesting in its own right, but also interesting as an example of how Adams could make anything interesting. His style was incredibly well-honed and easy to read, extremely funny and incredibly informative at the same time. In a way, it seems that Adams missed his calling. He could have made a mint as a non-fiction writer, making difficult topics accessible and amusing. Mind you, the Hitchhiker's books are nothing to sneeze at, either.
Wednesday, July 27, 2005
Some Hockey Thoughts
[Hockey]
Trying out a new idea here: keywords to highlight the content of a post. We'll see how it works.
So ... the Canadiens have the fifth pick in the NHL draft this Saturday. Bob Gainey's said he's going to talk with the Penguins about getting the first overall pick, hence Sidney Crosby. It ain't gonna happen. The Penguins need Crosby for short-term survival. Just as they needed Mario Lemieux twenty years ago. The Canadiens don't have anything they can offer which would make up for the PR hit the Penguins would take if they let Crosby go. Maybe if somebody came to the Penguins with a ridiculously lopsided deal similar to what Philadelphia gave Québec for Eric Lindros. Maybe if somebody came to them with a deal which would guarantee them a Stanley Cup this year and next. But such deals do not exist, and should not.
The bigger question: should the Penguins continue to exist in the league, or at least in Pittsburgh, if the only thing that keeps them going are once-in-a-generation talents like Lemieux or Crosby? Isn't this effectively an admission that hockey, regular NHL-calibre hockey, is not sustainable in Pittsburgh? A lot of people are happy that because of Sindey Crosby Pittsburgh's probably going to be able to keep their team for the next little while. I'm not, necessarily. Instead, I'm a little sad that because of Sidney Crosby, a real hockey market (say, Winnipeg) is going to be deprived of a franchise they deserve more than the fairweather fans of Pittsburgh.
Trying out a new idea here: keywords to highlight the content of a post. We'll see how it works.
So ... the Canadiens have the fifth pick in the NHL draft this Saturday. Bob Gainey's said he's going to talk with the Penguins about getting the first overall pick, hence Sidney Crosby. It ain't gonna happen. The Penguins need Crosby for short-term survival. Just as they needed Mario Lemieux twenty years ago. The Canadiens don't have anything they can offer which would make up for the PR hit the Penguins would take if they let Crosby go. Maybe if somebody came to the Penguins with a ridiculously lopsided deal similar to what Philadelphia gave Québec for Eric Lindros. Maybe if somebody came to them with a deal which would guarantee them a Stanley Cup this year and next. But such deals do not exist, and should not.
The bigger question: should the Penguins continue to exist in the league, or at least in Pittsburgh, if the only thing that keeps them going are once-in-a-generation talents like Lemieux or Crosby? Isn't this effectively an admission that hockey, regular NHL-calibre hockey, is not sustainable in Pittsburgh? A lot of people are happy that because of Sindey Crosby Pittsburgh's probably going to be able to keep their team for the next little while. I'm not, necessarily. Instead, I'm a little sad that because of Sidney Crosby, a real hockey market (say, Winnipeg) is going to be deprived of a franchise they deserve more than the fairweather fans of Pittsburgh.
Thursday, July 14, 2005
Back in action
So the NHL is back in business.
What does the new CBA mean? It looks like the owners won handily. But then it looked like they won back in 1995. In fact the CBA that resulted then benefited the players tremendously. So, essentially, time will tell who won this deal.
But because the owners were perceived as winning, because they seem to have gotten what they wanted, the pressure is on them to do well by the deal. What I mean is this: Gary Bettman's negotiated two CBAs for the NHL owners. The last one ... well, it kept them in business, but it didn't do much for their bottom line. This one's going to have to do better. Bettman's always had a vision of the NHL as a truly national league in the US; expansion to places like Nashville, Dallas, and Florida was meant to pave the way for a national TV deal, to eliminate the notion that hockey was a 'regional' sport. Instead, the popularity of the league's dropped, and TV ratings never hit the heights Bettman envisioned. Will this CBA allow things to be changed? Or will it at least allow all the franchises to keep going while the popularity of the sport increases?
Essentially, Bettman has to start realising his dreams. He's got the CBA he dreamed of. There's no excuse, nobody else to blame. It's time to put up or shut up. We'll see what happens, but something to consider: the cost certainties of the new CBA reopen the possibility of putting NHL teams in markets formerly considered too small to host a franchise. Say, for example, Winnipeg or (gah) Québec City. Pittsburgh's been talking about moving for a while. What happens to Bettman's great dream of American national popularity if teams move from the States up to Canada?
(And, of course, what about other dreams for the sport which won't come true while Bettman pursues his own? Expansion to Europe, for example. Risky — but is it any more risky than scattering franchises south of the Mason-Dixon Line, and cancelling a whole season of play?)
What does the new CBA mean? It looks like the owners won handily. But then it looked like they won back in 1995. In fact the CBA that resulted then benefited the players tremendously. So, essentially, time will tell who won this deal.
But because the owners were perceived as winning, because they seem to have gotten what they wanted, the pressure is on them to do well by the deal. What I mean is this: Gary Bettman's negotiated two CBAs for the NHL owners. The last one ... well, it kept them in business, but it didn't do much for their bottom line. This one's going to have to do better. Bettman's always had a vision of the NHL as a truly national league in the US; expansion to places like Nashville, Dallas, and Florida was meant to pave the way for a national TV deal, to eliminate the notion that hockey was a 'regional' sport. Instead, the popularity of the league's dropped, and TV ratings never hit the heights Bettman envisioned. Will this CBA allow things to be changed? Or will it at least allow all the franchises to keep going while the popularity of the sport increases?
Essentially, Bettman has to start realising his dreams. He's got the CBA he dreamed of. There's no excuse, nobody else to blame. It's time to put up or shut up. We'll see what happens, but something to consider: the cost certainties of the new CBA reopen the possibility of putting NHL teams in markets formerly considered too small to host a franchise. Say, for example, Winnipeg or (gah) Québec City. Pittsburgh's been talking about moving for a while. What happens to Bettman's great dream of American national popularity if teams move from the States up to Canada?
(And, of course, what about other dreams for the sport which won't come true while Bettman pursues his own? Expansion to Europe, for example. Risky — but is it any more risky than scattering franchises south of the Mason-Dixon Line, and cancelling a whole season of play?)
Tuesday, July 12, 2005
Curiously Fine Writing
Mark Haddon's book The Curious Incident of the Dog in the Night-time is a real interesting read.
To begin with, it's good. It's the first-person account of a fifteen-year-old with severe autism who sets out to figure out who killed the dog owned by the woman across the street. Christopher Boone's detective story is broken up by his personal reflections, his take on the world, which both let the reader into his way of seeing and are fine bravura pieces of writing. The story doesn't suffer; it's increasingly compelling, and takes a radical shift halfway through. It does read a bit like a screenplay in terms of structure, complete with a slightly aimless third act. That aside, it's well worth the read.
What's most interesting to me, though, is the way in which Haddon (probably unintentionally) sends up modernist and post-modernist notions of 'good writing'. His prose is bare of metaphor and (intentional) emotional content, because Christopher understands neither. The fact that the book is so gripping follows from Christopher saying more than he understands; which is theoretically where the punch in most modern literary fiction comes from. But look again: the narrator here is autistic, suffering from neurological impairment. If that's what it takes to produce the ideal literary protagonist, what does it say about literary fictoin? Christopher's story is punctuated with sharp observation of people around him, concrete tactile details such as are suppposed to be the hallmark of good writing. How does he know to include them? Because his creative writing teacher told him that details make for good writing, and because one of the symptoms of his autism is an acute Holmes-like power of observation.
So: what we learn from The Curious Incident is that literary fiction's ideal narrator suffers from autism. If this is so, what can we conclude about literary fiction's ideal readers, writers, and critics?
To begin with, it's good. It's the first-person account of a fifteen-year-old with severe autism who sets out to figure out who killed the dog owned by the woman across the street. Christopher Boone's detective story is broken up by his personal reflections, his take on the world, which both let the reader into his way of seeing and are fine bravura pieces of writing. The story doesn't suffer; it's increasingly compelling, and takes a radical shift halfway through. It does read a bit like a screenplay in terms of structure, complete with a slightly aimless third act. That aside, it's well worth the read.
What's most interesting to me, though, is the way in which Haddon (probably unintentionally) sends up modernist and post-modernist notions of 'good writing'. His prose is bare of metaphor and (intentional) emotional content, because Christopher understands neither. The fact that the book is so gripping follows from Christopher saying more than he understands; which is theoretically where the punch in most modern literary fiction comes from. But look again: the narrator here is autistic, suffering from neurological impairment. If that's what it takes to produce the ideal literary protagonist, what does it say about literary fictoin? Christopher's story is punctuated with sharp observation of people around him, concrete tactile details such as are suppposed to be the hallmark of good writing. How does he know to include them? Because his creative writing teacher told him that details make for good writing, and because one of the symptoms of his autism is an acute Holmes-like power of observation.
So: what we learn from The Curious Incident is that literary fiction's ideal narrator suffers from autism. If this is so, what can we conclude about literary fiction's ideal readers, writers, and critics?
Friday, July 8, 2005
Collapse
Recently read: Collapse, by Jared Diamond. It's an interesting book, with a weighty theme, but it has to be the worst-written important nonfiction bestseller I've ever read. Misplaced adjectives, dull text, creaky attempts to personalise vast issues ... but the ideas and the information are so intriguing, it just about makes up for it. Diamond looks at how and why societies collapse., and sometimes why they don't. He makes a strong case for the environment, and a society's management or mismanagement of the environment, as a key reason. He looks at a number of societies quickjly, and a couple in depth, including the Greenland Norse. The problem is that most of the societies he examines — the Maya, the Anasazi, Easter Island — have left little or no written records behind them, meaning that there's little to be gleaned on an individual level. It's not surprising that when he examines modern societies the book becomes much more interesting. It's too simple to say that the book provides a warning or a wake-up to the modern-day First World; rather, it demonstrates some ways in which the First World interacts with the rest of the world, and puts that in a historical context, implying certain patterns of societal development. It's a worthwhile effort, and worth reading, but the prose really does get in the way.
Sunday, June 19, 2005
Sunday Morning Thoughts
Well, that took longer than I thought.
It is Sunday, June 19; as I write it is 7:52 AM. I'm in Philipsburg, Québec, and it is a beautiful day out with the sky clearing after several dull cloudy days. I'm looking out on morning sun shining on green trees, a field of mowed hay in the foreground before me, low blue and purple mountains off on the horizon. It is eleven degrees celsius, with no wind but very many birds chittering away at each other.
What better way to mark a return to blogging than by taking on the bloggers' natural prey, the So-Called Liberal (American) Media? Herewith, thoughts on some of the Sunday morning chat shows from south of the border.
(Incidentally, has anybody in the States ever commented on the juxtaposition of Saturday morning cartoons and Sunday morning political talk shows? I get the sense some TV programmer way back when was trying to make a point. Mind you, with Saturday morning cartoons now all but gone, the point's no longer quite so trenchant. All we can do is be lucky that Bob Novak is there to take the place of Gargamel and Cobra Commander.)
Okay, let's begin with the warm-up act: Sunday Today.
A lot of coverage about missing or kidnapped kids, including a long story (the lead) about a girl who went missing in Aruba. Also, a boy scout's gone missing in Utah. Meanwhile, a suicide bomber kills 8 people in Iraq and Bush rejects the idea of an exit strategy in Iraq. 60 percent of Americans believe the war's going poorly. Lots of pictures of people protesting, with a lingering shot through the White House fence of a sign reading ‘impeach Bush'.
Then a couple stories about airplane mishaps.
During the report on Iraq, there was an audio clip of Bush essentially promoting the flytrap theory of American operations in Iraq. Still missing: any connection between this theory and reality.
Segment about a family with fifteen kids. Segment about a classical music child prodigy. It's Father's Day.
This is such a slow Sunday the hosts can't even be bothered with awkward banter.
Big interview with "the runaway bride" on Wednesday. Apparently, some people in the media are still trying to claim this was a real story.
Now some guy's playing ‘Ordinary People' on piano. This show is increasingly surreal.
A big report on the Downing Street Memo's coming up ... on MSNBC (that's Monday). Evidently it's not a big enough story for the full network.
On the other hand, now there's a segment with two writers from Seinfeld about how to deal with life's embarrassing moments, like showing up overdressed to a cocktail party or forgetting somebody's name. So ... well, there's that. Oh look: the next segment is a mini-fashion show. And then there's a piece about what to serve at brunch.
Screw this, I'm going out to trim the lilacs until 9.
Okay, now the main event begins. Meet the Press, featuring a full hour with John McCain. This could get nutty.
Russert's stunned that 6 of 10 Americans think things are going poorly in Iraq. McCain is one of the 4 in10, no big surprise, but he's honest enough to say that mistakes have been made in the war and in the way the US government's talked about the war. Also to say that the war will be a long, hard struggle. Fair enough, and he goes on the record as seeing the war continuing for at least another couple of years at best.
Russert asks about recruitment, and McCain admits there'll be trouble if the army consistently falls short of its goals. He suggests increasing rewards, shortening terms of service. Also suggests talking about patriotism and the need to serve. On the one hand, it's difficult to imagine Americans talking even more about patriotism. On the other hand, McCain's correct in noting that the need to serve one's country isn't really talked about — perhaps because it's implicitly a left-wing idea (the individual giving of oneself to serve the community; compare Kennedy and Trudeau). McCain does reject the idea of a draft out of hand.
Then he makes some dark comments about Syria. Syria may well deserve having a few dark comments lobbed its way, to say the least, but if the American military effort in Iraq is meeting with such problems, I'm not sure pointed threats muttered in anybody's general direction are really going to do much.
McCain calls for adjudication for prisoners in Guantanamo — noting that even Eichmann got a trial, which is a good line. He agrees with Ross Perot that American troops taken prisoner now and in the future are or will be at risk due to the way the current administration allows its own prisoners to be treated. I agree with Ross Perot on something. I am suddenly very afraid.
McCain thinks that Dick Durbin was out of line (he wasn't) in his comments in the Senate in re: Guantanamo Bay prison, resemblances therein to Hitler, Stalin, Pol Pot. McCain then claims that Americans in Guantanamo are doing their jobs in a humane way. So there's the predicted nuttiness. It makes an interesting slogan, though: ‘humane torture, conducted on prisoners humanely deprived of their right to a fair trial.'
In response to a question from Russert about the Schiavo episode, McCain does a delicate side-step, calling the whole thing an "American tragedy". What else can he do? Decent political performance, and Russert (unsurprisingly) doesn't push him.
McCain comes out in favour of stem cell research. Evidently he's changed his mind on this. Good for him.
Russert's got some howls of outrage from conservative commentators over the deal McCain helped broker on Bush's last round of outrageous judicial nominees. God knows why. The deal wasn't exactly ... well, put it like this. Somebody puts a knife to your throat, demands your wallet, and then tells you that rather than kill you and take your wallet he'll be happy to take two thirds of everything in said wallet. Are you gonna say you got a good deal?
Anyway, McCain points out that Republicans have filibustered judicial nominees themselves. He positions himself as bipartisan, and talks about how the deal sets the stage for a probable upcoming Supreme Court nomination. He's likely right. Then he claims that the standard of "extraordinary circumstances" is clear, that he's convinced that the President's Supreme Court nominee won't touch "extraordinary circumstances", and that Justice Scalia shouldn't be filibustered. So that's one "likely right" versus three "what the hell is he thinking"s.
Next, McCain is gently critical of the administration's environmental stance, or lack thereof. He takes a serious stand on climate change; nice to see. Then he has to "clarify" previous criticism of the administration he made in another interview. Note that Men's Journal asks tougher questions than Tim Russert.
Russert goes back to Men's Journal interview (do they do all his reporting?) to bring up the fact that Kerry talked about the vice-presidency with McCain. McCain claims he was happy with Bush's record in the "war on terror" and is therefore happy that Bush is still President. Russert pushes McCain on whether he's going to run in 2008, thus bringing up memories of an old Saturday Night Live skit. Which McCain himself later points out, making me wonder if he took part in that skit specifically so he'd have a gentle way of deflecting questions about his running in 2008. Anyway, McCain refuses to commit himself one way or another. (Also, McCain claims not to have thought about his results from the 2000 primary. With a straight face, even.)
McCain claims to agree with Bush more than he disagrees with him, lists off a number of issues he says he sees eye-to-eye with the President on — and one of them is "fiscal discipline".
McCain closes by noting that he's a Republican, and proud to be of the party of Abraham Lincoln and Theodore Roosevelt. I really have no idea how much resemblance or continuity there is between the contemporary Republican party and the party of those gentlemen, but it does occur to me to wonder why I have never heard a Canadian politician ever talk about belonging to the party of either MacDonald or Laurier. Although I did once hear one of the post-Broadbent pre-Layton NDP leaders say "Tommy Douglas was right about a lot of things." I believe that was just after she'd led the NDP to a new low in Parliamentary representation.
Okay, time for the Chris Matthews Show.
First up, Matthews and panel talk about new signs of resurgence from the middle of the political spectrum. The middle of the American spectrum, that is. From the perspective of almost any other industrialised Western country, the "middle" looks an awful lot like the "right". I've got nothing against Howard Dean, but if he's considered a leftist, you really don't know what the left is. Oddly, other than Dean, nobody specifies who on the left is being extreme and inflexible.
There's a constant whine from south of the border about the need for moderation, and how "both left and right" are being unreasonable over this issue or that. And how important it is to find middle ground. Even when, as in the Schiavo case, there was no middle ground. Then when somebody does demonstrate bipartisanship, they get punished for it by the voters who find them ‘indecisive' or ‘weak'. The fact is, Americans (like everyone) don't want moderates, as such — they want people who are capable of real, free, and independent thought. Not many people like that in politics.
Discussion about the negative view of the Iraq war. Now the media people on the panel talk about the importance of the "goals" of the war, and how can America draw its troops out without betraying its goals? The goals, in case you didn't know (I can't keep track, myself), involve establishing freedom in the middle east. In other words, the neoconserative plan of building a representative democracy in Iraq and using that to transform the region has now been adopted as gospel by media insiders. Just not by the American people at large. So the media insiders wonder how the American people can be so weak-willed as to imperil the great and noble mission in Iraq.
Then people told Chris Matthews things he didn't know. According to one of the panellists, despite the allege desire for moderation and bipartisanship calls to the DNC were running four-to-one in favour of Howard Dean's recent outspoken comments on the Republican party. Aha, the panel says, Dean's firing up the base. And they move on. Who knows? Maybe they're right.
Then Matthews showed some of his family pictures. No, I don't get it either.
10:30, and time for Face the Nation. A discussion with Joe Biden. Could be worse.
Biden's back from Iraq with a bleak view. Bad elements are creeping across the border. Iraq's turning into a training ground for terrorists. So: big gap between administration rhetoric and reality. Biden sez: better for the President to level with people, or else (and he's pretty sharp on this) people are going to presume that the reason the administration's afraid to be honest is that there is no hope of success.
Biden's still hopeful; sees a sixty percent chance of success if policies change. Without that change, no chance.
Biden mentions that he's not allowed to be present when the bodies of American soldiers are flown back home from overseas. Absent approval from above, the Department of Defense will not allow him on military bases to, for example, accompany his constituents to pick up the body of their son. This ruling was made by civilians in the DoD, not the military hierarchy.
More outrage over the Durbin comments. Biden claims Durbin said in a letter that he wishes he hadn't made the comments, which have proven distracting. Biden turns the conversation to Guantanamo, and what to do with it. The idea of giving everyone in there a free trial is, as usual, conspicuously unmentioned.
Asked about John Bolton, and the possibility of the President making a recess appointment to unilaterally appoint Bolton for a year and a half, Biden pointed out, correctly, that this would seriously undercut Bolton's ability to represent the US to the world. He's more of a defeatist with regard to the Supreme Court, admitting that Scalia probably would get confirmed as the Chief Justice of the Court if Bush picked him for the job, but hoping that Bush would refrain to avoid setting off another political firestorm. Fat chance, says I.
Asked about Dean, Biden tries to present himself as the moderate alternative. He states that he intends to seek the Democratic nomination of 2008. Evidently, he intends to run from the centre. Which is to say, the right.
One of the local PBS channels broadcasts the McLaughlin Group at 11. Discussion here of the "Homeward Bound" resolution, calling for withdrawal of American troops by October 2006, which unaccountably was not discussed by Chris Matthews when he was talking about bipartisan politics.
But again: discussion of how important it is to win the war in Iraq. Even by people on the (relative) left. Also: much comparison of Iraq to Viet Nam. And the need for a viable exit strategy, currently nowhere in evidence.
1700 dead Americans, over 40 000 wounded, more than 110 000 dead Iraqis. Panellists on the McLaughlin Group and the Chris Matthews Show both think the President's "strong enough" to stick it out in Iraq. Katty Kay, on the Matthews Show, came closest to getting it right, saying that Bush has to keep going because he's staked his presidency on the war. In fact, Bush will stick around in Iraq firstly because there's no way to pull out without causing a massive disaster which would be forever linked to his name, and secondly because he's too weak to admit he's wrong. I'm afraid Biden's hopes for Iraq will go unfulfilled because Bush hasn't got enough strength to accept that he and his administration have made a series of mistakes. Bush is a weak man, and a weak leader — and the messes at home and abroad currently bedevilling the US are the result of many people desperately trying to convince themselves that weakness is actually strength. In my opinion.
Much discussion of Iran then followed, with nothing terribly outrageous said that I caught. Either John McLaughlin is mellowing with age, or Pat Buchanan's making him look soft.
George Stephanopoulos talks with Condoleeza Rice. Condoleeza Rice continues to impress me as having two facial expressions: sinister, and help-me-I'm-out-of-my-depth. She has one tone of voice, and it's the latter. In a way, she makes a good match with Bush; Bush has the nervous smile of a schoolboy who thinks he's getting away with selling his teacher a line about why he wasn't in class last week, while Rice has the agonised awkward tone of a schoolmarm who knows she knows her material (even when her facts are wrong, as here when she claims that real progress is being made in Iraq) and can't figure out why everybody's snickering at her and nobody takes her seriously, darn it, and why do people insist on asking questions about whether the Iraq insurgency is really in its last throes when she's already given them an answer and that answer has facts in it and why isn't that good enough and what else does she have to say?
Later in the show, during a panel discussion, Katrina Vanden Heuven from the Nation became the first person I saw today to correctly analyse the significance of the reaction to Dick Durbin's comments — namely, that the right wing was trying to whip up a furor over some of his phrasing to distract people from the point. More importantly, she noted that outrage ought to be involved in the debate over Guantanamo, but it would be proper to aim it at the prison itself. Then Michael Duffy from Timemagazine noted that the government's begun hinting that they just might keep people at Guantanamo "in perpetuity". So that'll end that sort of talk.
Oh, and apparently Antonio Gonzales is talking again about taking the US out of the Geneva Conventions so that it can't be accused of war crimes.
Some discussion of whether Congressional Republican dissent from the Bush program represents something more than Bush's second-term lame-duckiness. Answer: probably. Congressional Republicans have to worry about 2006, and it's difficult to blame everything on Democrats when they don't have the numbers in government to affect much.
Then a poll came up saying that about 60 percent of Americans believe that global warming is inevitable, but about the same number don't think it'll affect their lives and don't favour immediate government action. George Will responded by digging up press clips from thirty years ago claiming that global cooling was inevitable. Everybody else laughed at him. Politely.
And that was pretty much all I found to write about.
So what does it all come out to? Well, it was easier to take than the same set of shows a year ago. I get the sense that the American people are beginning to see the reality of at least a few things, and the American media will have little choice but to follow along. On a more specific note, it was nice to see Vanden Heuven on the Stephanopoulos show; that's one person I'd feel confident describing as a leftist on the mainstream American media. Hey, it's a start.
Let's see where we go from here.
It is Sunday, June 19; as I write it is 7:52 AM. I'm in Philipsburg, Québec, and it is a beautiful day out with the sky clearing after several dull cloudy days. I'm looking out on morning sun shining on green trees, a field of mowed hay in the foreground before me, low blue and purple mountains off on the horizon. It is eleven degrees celsius, with no wind but very many birds chittering away at each other.
What better way to mark a return to blogging than by taking on the bloggers' natural prey, the So-Called Liberal (American) Media? Herewith, thoughts on some of the Sunday morning chat shows from south of the border.
(Incidentally, has anybody in the States ever commented on the juxtaposition of Saturday morning cartoons and Sunday morning political talk shows? I get the sense some TV programmer way back when was trying to make a point. Mind you, with Saturday morning cartoons now all but gone, the point's no longer quite so trenchant. All we can do is be lucky that Bob Novak is there to take the place of Gargamel and Cobra Commander.)
Okay, let's begin with the warm-up act: Sunday Today.
A lot of coverage about missing or kidnapped kids, including a long story (the lead) about a girl who went missing in Aruba. Also, a boy scout's gone missing in Utah. Meanwhile, a suicide bomber kills 8 people in Iraq and Bush rejects the idea of an exit strategy in Iraq. 60 percent of Americans believe the war's going poorly. Lots of pictures of people protesting, with a lingering shot through the White House fence of a sign reading ‘impeach Bush'.
Then a couple stories about airplane mishaps.
During the report on Iraq, there was an audio clip of Bush essentially promoting the flytrap theory of American operations in Iraq. Still missing: any connection between this theory and reality.
Segment about a family with fifteen kids. Segment about a classical music child prodigy. It's Father's Day.
This is such a slow Sunday the hosts can't even be bothered with awkward banter.
Big interview with "the runaway bride" on Wednesday. Apparently, some people in the media are still trying to claim this was a real story.
Now some guy's playing ‘Ordinary People' on piano. This show is increasingly surreal.
A big report on the Downing Street Memo's coming up ... on MSNBC (that's Monday). Evidently it's not a big enough story for the full network.
On the other hand, now there's a segment with two writers from Seinfeld about how to deal with life's embarrassing moments, like showing up overdressed to a cocktail party or forgetting somebody's name. So ... well, there's that. Oh look: the next segment is a mini-fashion show. And then there's a piece about what to serve at brunch.
Screw this, I'm going out to trim the lilacs until 9.
Okay, now the main event begins. Meet the Press, featuring a full hour with John McCain. This could get nutty.
Russert's stunned that 6 of 10 Americans think things are going poorly in Iraq. McCain is one of the 4 in10, no big surprise, but he's honest enough to say that mistakes have been made in the war and in the way the US government's talked about the war. Also to say that the war will be a long, hard struggle. Fair enough, and he goes on the record as seeing the war continuing for at least another couple of years at best.
Russert asks about recruitment, and McCain admits there'll be trouble if the army consistently falls short of its goals. He suggests increasing rewards, shortening terms of service. Also suggests talking about patriotism and the need to serve. On the one hand, it's difficult to imagine Americans talking even more about patriotism. On the other hand, McCain's correct in noting that the need to serve one's country isn't really talked about — perhaps because it's implicitly a left-wing idea (the individual giving of oneself to serve the community; compare Kennedy and Trudeau). McCain does reject the idea of a draft out of hand.
Then he makes some dark comments about Syria. Syria may well deserve having a few dark comments lobbed its way, to say the least, but if the American military effort in Iraq is meeting with such problems, I'm not sure pointed threats muttered in anybody's general direction are really going to do much.
McCain calls for adjudication for prisoners in Guantanamo — noting that even Eichmann got a trial, which is a good line. He agrees with Ross Perot that American troops taken prisoner now and in the future are or will be at risk due to the way the current administration allows its own prisoners to be treated. I agree with Ross Perot on something. I am suddenly very afraid.
McCain thinks that Dick Durbin was out of line (he wasn't) in his comments in the Senate in re: Guantanamo Bay prison, resemblances therein to Hitler, Stalin, Pol Pot. McCain then claims that Americans in Guantanamo are doing their jobs in a humane way. So there's the predicted nuttiness. It makes an interesting slogan, though: ‘humane torture, conducted on prisoners humanely deprived of their right to a fair trial.'
In response to a question from Russert about the Schiavo episode, McCain does a delicate side-step, calling the whole thing an "American tragedy". What else can he do? Decent political performance, and Russert (unsurprisingly) doesn't push him.
McCain comes out in favour of stem cell research. Evidently he's changed his mind on this. Good for him.
Russert's got some howls of outrage from conservative commentators over the deal McCain helped broker on Bush's last round of outrageous judicial nominees. God knows why. The deal wasn't exactly ... well, put it like this. Somebody puts a knife to your throat, demands your wallet, and then tells you that rather than kill you and take your wallet he'll be happy to take two thirds of everything in said wallet. Are you gonna say you got a good deal?
Anyway, McCain points out that Republicans have filibustered judicial nominees themselves. He positions himself as bipartisan, and talks about how the deal sets the stage for a probable upcoming Supreme Court nomination. He's likely right. Then he claims that the standard of "extraordinary circumstances" is clear, that he's convinced that the President's Supreme Court nominee won't touch "extraordinary circumstances", and that Justice Scalia shouldn't be filibustered. So that's one "likely right" versus three "what the hell is he thinking"s.
Next, McCain is gently critical of the administration's environmental stance, or lack thereof. He takes a serious stand on climate change; nice to see. Then he has to "clarify" previous criticism of the administration he made in another interview. Note that Men's Journal asks tougher questions than Tim Russert.
Russert goes back to Men's Journal interview (do they do all his reporting?) to bring up the fact that Kerry talked about the vice-presidency with McCain. McCain claims he was happy with Bush's record in the "war on terror" and is therefore happy that Bush is still President. Russert pushes McCain on whether he's going to run in 2008, thus bringing up memories of an old Saturday Night Live skit. Which McCain himself later points out, making me wonder if he took part in that skit specifically so he'd have a gentle way of deflecting questions about his running in 2008. Anyway, McCain refuses to commit himself one way or another. (Also, McCain claims not to have thought about his results from the 2000 primary. With a straight face, even.)
McCain claims to agree with Bush more than he disagrees with him, lists off a number of issues he says he sees eye-to-eye with the President on — and one of them is "fiscal discipline".
McCain closes by noting that he's a Republican, and proud to be of the party of Abraham Lincoln and Theodore Roosevelt. I really have no idea how much resemblance or continuity there is between the contemporary Republican party and the party of those gentlemen, but it does occur to me to wonder why I have never heard a Canadian politician ever talk about belonging to the party of either MacDonald or Laurier. Although I did once hear one of the post-Broadbent pre-Layton NDP leaders say "Tommy Douglas was right about a lot of things." I believe that was just after she'd led the NDP to a new low in Parliamentary representation.
Okay, time for the Chris Matthews Show.
First up, Matthews and panel talk about new signs of resurgence from the middle of the political spectrum. The middle of the American spectrum, that is. From the perspective of almost any other industrialised Western country, the "middle" looks an awful lot like the "right". I've got nothing against Howard Dean, but if he's considered a leftist, you really don't know what the left is. Oddly, other than Dean, nobody specifies who on the left is being extreme and inflexible.
There's a constant whine from south of the border about the need for moderation, and how "both left and right" are being unreasonable over this issue or that. And how important it is to find middle ground. Even when, as in the Schiavo case, there was no middle ground. Then when somebody does demonstrate bipartisanship, they get punished for it by the voters who find them ‘indecisive' or ‘weak'. The fact is, Americans (like everyone) don't want moderates, as such — they want people who are capable of real, free, and independent thought. Not many people like that in politics.
Discussion about the negative view of the Iraq war. Now the media people on the panel talk about the importance of the "goals" of the war, and how can America draw its troops out without betraying its goals? The goals, in case you didn't know (I can't keep track, myself), involve establishing freedom in the middle east. In other words, the neoconserative plan of building a representative democracy in Iraq and using that to transform the region has now been adopted as gospel by media insiders. Just not by the American people at large. So the media insiders wonder how the American people can be so weak-willed as to imperil the great and noble mission in Iraq.
Then people told Chris Matthews things he didn't know. According to one of the panellists, despite the allege desire for moderation and bipartisanship calls to the DNC were running four-to-one in favour of Howard Dean's recent outspoken comments on the Republican party. Aha, the panel says, Dean's firing up the base. And they move on. Who knows? Maybe they're right.
Then Matthews showed some of his family pictures. No, I don't get it either.
10:30, and time for Face the Nation. A discussion with Joe Biden. Could be worse.
Biden's back from Iraq with a bleak view. Bad elements are creeping across the border. Iraq's turning into a training ground for terrorists. So: big gap between administration rhetoric and reality. Biden sez: better for the President to level with people, or else (and he's pretty sharp on this) people are going to presume that the reason the administration's afraid to be honest is that there is no hope of success.
Biden's still hopeful; sees a sixty percent chance of success if policies change. Without that change, no chance.
Biden mentions that he's not allowed to be present when the bodies of American soldiers are flown back home from overseas. Absent approval from above, the Department of Defense will not allow him on military bases to, for example, accompany his constituents to pick up the body of their son. This ruling was made by civilians in the DoD, not the military hierarchy.
More outrage over the Durbin comments. Biden claims Durbin said in a letter that he wishes he hadn't made the comments, which have proven distracting. Biden turns the conversation to Guantanamo, and what to do with it. The idea of giving everyone in there a free trial is, as usual, conspicuously unmentioned.
Asked about John Bolton, and the possibility of the President making a recess appointment to unilaterally appoint Bolton for a year and a half, Biden pointed out, correctly, that this would seriously undercut Bolton's ability to represent the US to the world. He's more of a defeatist with regard to the Supreme Court, admitting that Scalia probably would get confirmed as the Chief Justice of the Court if Bush picked him for the job, but hoping that Bush would refrain to avoid setting off another political firestorm. Fat chance, says I.
Asked about Dean, Biden tries to present himself as the moderate alternative. He states that he intends to seek the Democratic nomination of 2008. Evidently, he intends to run from the centre. Which is to say, the right.
One of the local PBS channels broadcasts the McLaughlin Group at 11. Discussion here of the "Homeward Bound" resolution, calling for withdrawal of American troops by October 2006, which unaccountably was not discussed by Chris Matthews when he was talking about bipartisan politics.
But again: discussion of how important it is to win the war in Iraq. Even by people on the (relative) left. Also: much comparison of Iraq to Viet Nam. And the need for a viable exit strategy, currently nowhere in evidence.
1700 dead Americans, over 40 000 wounded, more than 110 000 dead Iraqis. Panellists on the McLaughlin Group and the Chris Matthews Show both think the President's "strong enough" to stick it out in Iraq. Katty Kay, on the Matthews Show, came closest to getting it right, saying that Bush has to keep going because he's staked his presidency on the war. In fact, Bush will stick around in Iraq firstly because there's no way to pull out without causing a massive disaster which would be forever linked to his name, and secondly because he's too weak to admit he's wrong. I'm afraid Biden's hopes for Iraq will go unfulfilled because Bush hasn't got enough strength to accept that he and his administration have made a series of mistakes. Bush is a weak man, and a weak leader — and the messes at home and abroad currently bedevilling the US are the result of many people desperately trying to convince themselves that weakness is actually strength. In my opinion.
Much discussion of Iran then followed, with nothing terribly outrageous said that I caught. Either John McLaughlin is mellowing with age, or Pat Buchanan's making him look soft.
George Stephanopoulos talks with Condoleeza Rice. Condoleeza Rice continues to impress me as having two facial expressions: sinister, and help-me-I'm-out-of-my-depth. She has one tone of voice, and it's the latter. In a way, she makes a good match with Bush; Bush has the nervous smile of a schoolboy who thinks he's getting away with selling his teacher a line about why he wasn't in class last week, while Rice has the agonised awkward tone of a schoolmarm who knows she knows her material (even when her facts are wrong, as here when she claims that real progress is being made in Iraq) and can't figure out why everybody's snickering at her and nobody takes her seriously, darn it, and why do people insist on asking questions about whether the Iraq insurgency is really in its last throes when she's already given them an answer and that answer has facts in it and why isn't that good enough and what else does she have to say?
Later in the show, during a panel discussion, Katrina Vanden Heuven from the Nation became the first person I saw today to correctly analyse the significance of the reaction to Dick Durbin's comments — namely, that the right wing was trying to whip up a furor over some of his phrasing to distract people from the point. More importantly, she noted that outrage ought to be involved in the debate over Guantanamo, but it would be proper to aim it at the prison itself. Then Michael Duffy from Timemagazine noted that the government's begun hinting that they just might keep people at Guantanamo "in perpetuity". So that'll end that sort of talk.
Oh, and apparently Antonio Gonzales is talking again about taking the US out of the Geneva Conventions so that it can't be accused of war crimes.
Some discussion of whether Congressional Republican dissent from the Bush program represents something more than Bush's second-term lame-duckiness. Answer: probably. Congressional Republicans have to worry about 2006, and it's difficult to blame everything on Democrats when they don't have the numbers in government to affect much.
Then a poll came up saying that about 60 percent of Americans believe that global warming is inevitable, but about the same number don't think it'll affect their lives and don't favour immediate government action. George Will responded by digging up press clips from thirty years ago claiming that global cooling was inevitable. Everybody else laughed at him. Politely.
And that was pretty much all I found to write about.
So what does it all come out to? Well, it was easier to take than the same set of shows a year ago. I get the sense that the American people are beginning to see the reality of at least a few things, and the American media will have little choice but to follow along. On a more specific note, it was nice to see Vanden Heuven on the Stephanopoulos show; that's one person I'd feel confident describing as a leftist on the mainstream American media. Hey, it's a start.
Let's see where we go from here.
Tuesday, March 15, 2005
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