Butchering Stories From Literature's Finest Authors

Deadpool Killustrated

by Cullen Bunn

Illustrated by Matteo Lolli

Published by Marvel

4 Out of 5 Stars

Scrooge Finds It's Time
to Pay Up

The Merc with a Mouth is distraught after the events of Deadpool Kills the Marvel Universe as his battle to rid the world of superhuman heroes and villains has failed. Deadpool understands that the world he inhabits is a fictional one and realizes that you can't get rid of present day characters as long as their archetypes exist. So what's a smart ass mercenary to do other than threaten people smarter than he is to build a time machine to the "Ideaverse" so he can rampage through the literary canon like some kind of berserker Marty McFly?

Deadpool Killustrated is a limited 4 issue storyline, which turns out to be a good call. While the first three issues were a lot of fun (and what I'm primarily basing the 4 stars on), the final issue fizzles with an anticlimactic ending (although, to be fair, the series will lead into the Deadpool Kills Deadpool story arc and may offer more resolution). The

Tom Sawyer Has Painted
His Last Fence

opening issues offer a wisecracking Deadpool gleefully slaughtering literary greats like Moby Dick, the Little Mermaid, Scrooge, the Little Women (who prove to be a tougher lot than one would think), Tom Sawyer, Scylla, Charybdis, and a host of other literary greats. Even the Senators who stabbed Julius Caesar have the tables turned in a single panel vignette. I have to admit, watching the carnage of literary greats who have plagued many a student with required reading was fun (although I got a little teary eyed when Bagheera bought it). The cover art alone is worth a depraved giggle or two. As Deadpool carves his way through the Ideaverse, the archetypal patterns begin to buckle and we see the characters shift between their traditional and modern incarnations, a trick author Cullen Bunn clearly has a lot of fun with.

It's not long, however, before Sherlock Holmes is on the case. Determined to track down Deadpool 

Can Holmes Solve the Case?

and put a stop to his mass murdering ways, he assembles a group of literary heroes: Natty Bumpo, Beowulf, Hua Mulan, and, of course, John Watson. Now that's a motley crew of literary misfits to rival The League of Extraordinary Gentlemen. And it's also a colossal letdown as these characters are limited in their actions other than showing up behind Holmes and looking menacing. If you're going to put together a group like that, for the sake of the multiverse, have them do something other than pose and lend literary street cred to the narrative.

Despite my disappointment with the final issue, it was still entertaining enough to be worthy of a 4 star.

You'll Never Leave Harlan Alive

Pronto

by Elmore Leonard

Published by HarperTorch

5 Out of 5 Stars

Why did I love this book? Two words: Raylan Givens, my favorite kick ass modern day cowboy with a fondness for ice cream.

Pronto, however, is not exclusively Raylan's story, though he figures as a prominent character once he does arrive on the scene. This is actually the story of Harry Arno, a bookie who has decided that in one more year he's going to retire and go to Italy. Italy holds a special place in Harry's heart because he once shot a deserter there during World War II and it was there that he saw Ezra Pound (not once, but twice). This leads to a peculiar obsession for a man like Harry--he's an expert on Ezra Pound (the English teacher in me loved this quirky little twist), can quote lines from memory and reads Pound biographies despite the fact that he doesn't really understand his poetry (does anyone, really? And if you thought to yourself, "Why, yes, yes I do", then I think you're a damn liar). It's also amusing how his fixation on Pound affects those around him (his girlfriend, Joyce, memorizes all of the terrible things about ol' Ezra and even Raylan, after being assigned to escort Harry, goes to the library and checks out some of Pound's poetry, though he's puzzled by everything he reads and soon gives up). But I digress.

Harry's plan seems simple and obtainable, but, in true Leonard fashion, things go caddiwompas. The police want to bring down Harry's boss, Jimmy Cap, a 350 lbs. mob boss with a penchant for butterflies and sun tanning. So what do they do? They indirectly inform Jimmy that Harry's been skimming from him. The problem is that Harry has been skimming--for years, in fact. Jimmy Cap puts out a hit on Harry and, ciao, baby, Harry decides to move up his retirement date and leave the country. Raylan Givens is the U.S. Marshal who decides to go to Italy and try to save Harry from himself and from the hitman he knows has followed Harry.

I will readily admit to knowing nothing about the character of Raylan until watching Justified on FX. On the series, Raylan is a BAMF in a Stetson. That's played down a bit in the book, but I enjoyed it just the same. In the novel Raylan comes off as being a few bricks shy of a load--a good ol' boy in over his head, until you begin to realize that's the persona he's trying to project. It catches people off-guard and gives him an edge. No one knows exactly how to take him, but, make no mistake, Raylan is smarter than your average bear and is capable of extreme violence if necessary. If Raylan has a flaw it's that his sense of justice is so old school black and white that it creates a type of naiveté. In a world where words mean little, Raylan still expects a promise to mean something (after all, it's his willingness to take Harry Arno's word that allows Harry to elude Raylan's grasp twice and thwart his hopes of a promotion with the Marshals service). With his Old West code of ethics and hardscrabble Kentucky coal mining background, Raylan is a complex and entertaining character who makes for an intriguing juxtaposition with the world of Miami's crime syndicate. I'll definitely be reading Riding the Rap and tracking down the Raylan Givens' short stories to sustain me until the next season of Justified.

Riding the Rap

by Elmore Leonard

Published by HarperTorch

5 Out of 5 Stars

For those unfamiliar with the television show Justified, this novel (along with Pronto) serves as the inspiration for the story of Raylan Givens, a U. S. Marshal from Harlan, Kentucky, who has a gun on his hip, a Stetson on his head, and a chip on his shoulder. Torn between coal country's familial "code of honor" and his own desire to be an Old West cowboy meting out justice based on a dogmatic understanding of right and wrong, Raylan often finds himself in the questionable middle ground of moral decisions. At least, that's the tv version. In the novels, Raylan is an interesting character, but not nearly as angry or hell-bent on a path of self-destruction. I prefer the television version, but the books are still well worth reading and it's interesting to see how Justified has molded Leonard's original concept of Raylan into the perfect anti-hero.

In the novel, Raylan is not banished to Harlan, Kentucky, after shooting a local Florida mobster, so we don't get to see him interact with his past or the culture he left behind when he joined the Marshal's service. Instead, Riding the Rap picks up where Pronto left off. Raylan is still seeing Harry Arno's ex-stripper ex-girlfriend, Joyce, but is beginning to realize that their relationship has become something of habit. They're both sticking around because they have nowhere else to go. The fact that Joyce is now acting as Harry's personal chauffeur isn't helping things. A retired bookie, Harry is making final collections when a former client decides to kidnap him Middle-Eastern-terrorist-style until Harry breaks and offers to pay his own ransom. In the meantime, Joyce demands that Raylan look into Harry's mysterious disappearance and Raylan grudgingly begins piecing things together with his own peculiar investigative methods (which usually depend upon throwing people off guard with his cowboy in a suit persona).

There are some twists here that aren't in the series, and I particularly enjoyed the inclusion of Reverend Dawn, a young psychic that readers suspect, despite some of her obvious scams, may be possessed of a limited psychic ability. The scenes where she and Raylan talk are full of Leonard's usual witty banter and sharp dialogue. (Suggestion for Justified producers: how 'bout let's kill Winona off and bring in Dawn? Just saying.)

In addition, there are some nice surprises for fans of the show when you see how key scenes in the novel have been translated to the television version. My favorite was the opening scene of the novel in which Raylan handcuffs Dale Crowe Junior to the steering wheel and has him drive himself (with Raylan riding shotgun) to jail. This was one of my favorite scenes in the television show. There were some slight modifications, such as he's now Dewey Crowe and a white supremacist from Harlan, but, for the most part, the dialogue was lifted directly from the book, proving how brilliantly Leonard's work translates to film.

A Review of People of the Book (Or, Why I Hate the Kindle)

People of the Book

by Geraldine Brooks

Published by Viking Adult

4 Out of 5 Stars  

Brooks's novel is a fictionalized account of the real Sarajevo Haggadah, a Jewish religious text noteworthy for its inclusion of an illuminated manuscript and for its survival through turmoil and the hostility towards Jews that has erupted time and again over the centuries in Europe and Eastern Europe. The novel is told from the perspective of Hanna Heath, an expert in book restoration, who is called in to restore the text for display. While working on the book, Hanna finds a few curiosities that she keeps and carefully labels: a butterfly wing, a small sample of some wine stained pages, salt crystals, a white hair, and the notation of some missing decorative clasps. As Hanna investigates each of these items and their origins to gain insight into the Haggadah's past, the reader is presented with the story of each noteworthy item in its own stand alone chapter (stories that Hanna herself can never learn as the evidence she finds only provides her with a basis for conjecture and hypothesis). Each story is unique and not necessarily connected to the others. While the novel has been compared to The Da Vinci Code, it's a far cry from Robert Langdon's action-adventure chase through Europe in pursuit of an explosive secret that might change religion as we know it. Instead, the pacing is slower--the pacing of a scholar motivated by the desire to simply know, even if definitive answers aren't available. And, though the novel explores the nature of Jewish/Muslim/Christian relationships throughout the ages, it doesn't seek to lecture about morality or about what one should (or should not) believe.

Despite enjoying it, I will admit that People of the Book has some flaws. The story of Hanna Heath and her strained relationship with her ultra-feminist, professional mother is cliched and not given enough room to become a realistic exploration of a such a complicated relationship. In addition, a few plot points are contrived, but I can forgive that simply because the book appealed to the book lover in me, which is a nice segue way into . . . WHY I HATE THE KINDLE (and all other eReader devices).

First off, don't lecture me about how this is the future and I need to embrace it. If you own a Kindle, fine. Enjoy. I'm not suggesting that the privilege be taken away from you. However, I'll not be tempted by the siren song of fashionable technology. I love books. I love the way they feel. I like physically seeing the progress I've made as I turn page after page. I love the cover art. I love how books look on a shelf (in home decorating magazines, I delight in trying to identify the books on the shelves of well-appointed dens and studies). I like to select which books are going on vacation with me, agonizing over which ones might suit my mood. And, when I see someone reading a book, I will often become a creepy Peeping Tom of sorts as I try to catch a glimpse of the book cover so I can see what they're reading. I judge you by what book you're reading--if you're reading Neil Gaiman, I want to know you; conversely, if you're reading Twilight, I may be silently hoping that you get to join the undead (but in a more permanent dead sort of way). So much of that is lost with an eReader. And, after reading People of the Book, I'm aware of how much history can be lost. Not just the tiny fragments that get wedged into the bindings and between the pages, but the history of the people who owned and cherished the book. A world where physical books become obsolete and everyone has an entire library on one portable reading device is also a frightening possibility. How easy then for the next dictator to destroy our beloved texts. Smash one eReader and hundreds, thousands of books are permanently lost--far more efficient than book burnings. It's the impermanence of it all that scares me. Not only that, I think that obsession with books, recognizing and identifying with others because you notice the Christopher Moore font on the book cover or the tell-tell cover art of a Tim O'Brien paperback, helps create a reading community that we're connected to and a part of. How many chance encounters, spontaneous conversations, or just the simple nod of respect to complete strangers with whom we briefly feel connected when we realize we're reading the same author on the same bus--how many of those moments are lost when we're all carrying around the same reading device that indicates no individuality or reading preference to those around us? Will we feel as open to asking a complete stranger, "What are you reading?" Obviously, not all books are as important as the Haggadah, but I like to think that we all cherish our own quaint libraries and someday perhaps they will tell the world about who we were.

Oh, What a Web He Weaves

Anansi Boys

by Neil Gaiman

Published by William Morrow

4 Out of 5 Stars

A Digression and a Review:

When I was a child who was much too prone to being serious for her own good, there was a catalpa tree in our backyard. Now, if you don't know what a catalpa tree is, it's worth a Google. Catalpas are beautiful and exotic, with giant leaves we used as "plates" to have fairy-like meals of mulberry and honeysuckle (with mimosa blossoms as a bit of garnish), giant bean pods that hung down like sylvan fingers ready to ensnare an unsuspecting child, white orchid-like flowers that would shower down while we swung on the tire swing below. In its boughs, I could pretend to be Pocahontas, a female Mowgli, or Jana of the Jungle. I would climb up and look down to the ground so far below, filled with delicious terror at how impossibly high I was. This tree seemed massive--big enough to hold all of my dreams and wildest flights of fancy. It, to paraphrase Zora Neale Hurston, seemed to hold dawn and doom in its branches.

As an adult, however, this tree that looms so gargantuan in my imaginary landscape seems small and shrunken, like a wizened grandparent, its limbs not so big, and I realize that, while I felt like I was climbing to the top of a skyscraper, I was barely 10 feet off the ground.

I bring this up because this is the closest approximation I can make to the difference between reading as a child and reading as an adult. As a child, there was a magic in stories, and I'm not talking about pixie dust and wands (although there was certainly some of that). There was a magic in not knowing (or caring) where a story was going. A magic to realizing why, hey, that main character is kind of like me. A magic to finding that you could read the same story over and over and over again and it would never get old and would never be the same story twice, not really. The colors were brighter. The emotions were palpable. There was nothing but possibility. And, yes, there's certainly still magic in the stories I read as an adult, but it's never quite the same, is it? I'm a little more jaded in that, as soon as I can predict where the story is going, I lose a little interest. There's a little more cynicism, a little more impatience with an "I've been here before" narrative, and a little more sadness in knowing that I can never immerse myself in adult stories with the same abandon as that 10 year old reading under the catalpa tree.

Now, I bring this up to explain that this is why I love Neil Gaiman. Gaiman can, more so than any other author, create that childlike awe of story within the adult me without telling a children's story. It's a peculiar and wonderful literary alchemy, this ability to take the adult world, the "real" world, and transform it into a place where one can find the same charm, humor, unpredictability, and enchantment found in the best children's narratives. And Anansi Boys is such a book.

A companion book to American Gods, Anansi Boys, follows the story of Fat Charlie, son of Mr. Nancy, a rascal of a man with a wicked sense of humor, an eye for the ladies, and a knack for purposely embarrassing his introverted, sensitive son. When Mr. Nancy dies, the now grown-up, soon to be married, and tenuously employed Fat Charlie is relieved that his father can never humiliate him again; however he soon finds out that life is not going to settle into a mundane, predictable pattern for him. He learns that his father was Anansi, the trickster spider god of African folklore, and he learns that he has a brother, Spider, who inherited his father's mischievous spirit and magical abilities. It's not long before the reunion between the two brothers breaks out into a serious (and frequently hilarious) case of sibling rivalry, with Spider usurping Fat Charlie's apartment, girlfriend, and life, and Fat Charlie going to extreme lengths to rid himself of his demigod brother.

Anansi Boys lacks the darkness of American Gods and is a much more whimsical, comedic read. Initially, this did cause a bit of a disconnect for me until I gave in to the story without trying to connect it with or hold it up to my expectations of American Gods. While following the adventures of Fat Charlie, I found myself laughing aloud and relishing each twist and turn in the story (as well as looking forward to the humorous "in which" chapter titles). Gaiman's love of story is evident and, as we learn through his depiction of Anansi folktales, the stories we tell and the stories we live are important not just for entertainment, but for creating the world as it should be. And the world as it should be is something as close as possible to a catalpa tree as seen through the eyes of a child--a place where anything and everything is possible, because that's where real magic resides.

Things Aren't Always Better With Will Smith

I Am Legend

by Richard Matheson

Published by Orb Books

4 Out of 5 Stars

Two points I want to make: A) the movie was crap, especially when compared to the book, and B) this is so much more than just a vampire novel.

First, the whole movie thing. In both, Robert Neville is the last human on Earth--and that is where all similarities end. If you've seen the movie, it won't ruin the book for you as the two are nothing alike. The setting is different, the protagonist is different (except for a shared name), the creatures are different (vampires in the book and nocturnal zombie-like creatures in the movie), and the plot points--don't even get me started on the plot points. I can understand why diehard fans of the novel were upset by the movie. This is a case of film ruining a superior narrative. Robert Neville's pain, perfectly captured by Matheson, just doesn't translate to the screen.

Second, sure it can be classified as a vampire book, but the vampires are somewhat in the background. What takes center stage in the book is Robert Neville's aching loneliness as he confronts the reality that he is destined to live the rest of his life without the hope of human contact or companionship--what's outside his door at night isn't nearly as terrifying as that prospect. The portrayal of his progression through the stages of acceptance is heartbreaking (the dog chapter was almost more than I could bear). Moral issues abound: what's the point in trying to survive if you know you're the last of your kind? Does it matter if you live to see another day? There are no easy answers, especially as his situation is given complexity by human nature's innate tenacity and stubborness. There's a lot to think about here, which makes it more satisfying than your run of the mill horror novel.

Fables and I Break Up

Redemption in Indigo

by Karen Lord

Published by Small Beer Press

3 out of 5 Stars

What a lukewarm cup of "meh." After all of the stellar reviews, I just knew this was going to be ah-may-zing, but, alas, it's basically a fable. Ever since Paulo Coelho's New Agey-craptastic The Alchemist, me + fables = nervous twitch. Because I start to develop a Community's Jeff Winger like aversion to the feeling that someone's trying to teach me something--and I never learn anything! This didn't turn out to be as didactic as The Alchemist because it's more focused on the storytelling than on the lesson, but just waiting for that other moral-of-the-story shoe to fall was mentally exhausting.

The basic premise of the story is that the deity known as Chance has become hardened toward mankind. Over the years, he has watched as men have squandered second chances and made a mockery/waste of the gift that is life. For this reason, the other gods no longer trust him with the Chaos Stick, the instrument of chance to nudge events toward a certain probability. The Chaos Stick is stolen from Chance and given to a woman named Paama who has proven herself to be kind, patient, and impervious to the suggestions of the minor Trickster deities who sometimes inhabit the bodies of insects and stir up mischief whenever possible. When Chance discovers Paama has his power, he sets about trying to get it back.

The story was marginally entertaining and it was at least a quick read, but even at that the plot seemed to drag on. This is not necessarily a criticism of Lord as the book does what it's intended to do: mimic the narrative style of a traditional storyteller who is in no hurry to get to the end of the tale and is even eager to follow parallel narratives to their endings before bringing the main story to a close. I suppose this storytelling style had a certain charm when villagers gathered around the campfire each night to listen to the newest installment of the tale (it's not like there was tv to watch or books to read, so I guess sitting in the dark and listening to an old man ramble on was the cat's pajamas after a long day of running from lions and whatnot). However, this meandering quality did not translate well into written form for me as I expected it to be more cohesive and more to the point. The plot itself was like a dog chasing rabbits in the middle of a hunt, and the characters were fairly uninteresting and one-dimensional (except for Paama, but even she was bland). Again, all of this is as it should be for a fable. What I've really learned from this reading experience is that fables and I need to break up and maybe see other people. Don't look at me like that, fables--it's not me, it's you.

The Only Terror Was Knowing I Had to Finish It

The Terror

by Dan Simmons

Published by Little, Brown and Company

1 Out of 5 Stars

September 7, 2010: I don't want to talk about it right now. It's too soon and the pain is still too fresh. I shall review on another day.

September 17, 2010: It's been well over a week since my encounter with The Terror and the thought of writing a review still exhausts me, but here it goes.

I have read many glowing reviews of The Terror. That is, in fact, why I bought it. I mean, check out this kick ass plot:

Two British ships, the Terror and the Erebus, are frozen in the polar sea for years, waiting in vain for a summer thaw. This is, of course, based upon the doomed Franklin expedition, so we have some serious history going on here. Now, add to that a dash of the supernatural--something is out there on the ice. It terrorizes the men, seeming to materialize from nowhere. It's three times the size of a polar bear and has the vicious, bloodthirsty nature of a predator, as well as the keen intelligence of a man. It's like a giant cat toying with the two ships as if they were terrified mice in a corner. There's nowhere to go, guns don't faze the the thing the men dub "The Terror", and, now, the food supply is running out.

That's some frightening shit. It's the arctic. That alone is frightening. It can drive a man insane. It's the nothingness. The whiteness. The endless-ness. Howard Moon and Vince Noir knew not to take the tundra lightly.

And that's part of what ruined the book in the beginning. All I could think as I read the first few chapters was "ice floe, nowhere to go." I think that might have taken away from the tone a bit.

But here are some other more text-based reasons for the seething black pit of hatred that I have for this book:

a) History or supernatural, Simmons needs to pick a side because the two storylines always seemed to run parallel to one another and never quite came together. It was like, "Okay, for 100 pages, I'm going to have the men fearing for their lives as this thing attacks them. I'm going to build tension and suspense and have my readers empathetically shitting down both legs! And then I'm going to flashback for 50 pages to boring nautical talk amongst stuffy British types before the expedition and then spend 150 pages talking about Welsh Wigs and Goldner food tins and building sledges and maybe I'll even talk about buggering, but no mention whatsoever of the monster for another 50 pages!" Simmons was at his best when describing the encounters between the men and the thing on the ice, but these moments were so few and far between that I just got to the point where I didn't care anymore.

b) Too much historical minutiae. The book should have been 300 pages shorter. There were entire sections that didn't add anything to the narrative. I like my history like I like my men: short and concise.

c) Scurvy is some wicked bad shite. A slow death by scurvy is undoubtedly one of the worst ways to die. But do you know what's worse? A slow death by reading endless accounts of the symptoms of scurvy.

d) There are no likeable characters. In fact, there is little to differentiate one man from another. If you left out the dialogue tags, it would have sounded like one man having a conversation with himself. The only character I like is Pangle, who, alas, appears in just a chapter or two of this 766 page behemoth.

e) I was really pissed when I finally found out what the thing was. The main reason? THAT'S what I wanted to read more about. And it took roughly 700 pages to get to a point where I was actually interested and intrigued and it cut me off.

There were some bright spots. When Simmons wrote about the thing attacking the men, leaving bait for them and taunting them, he evoked moments that were truly terrifying and suspenseful. However, there just weren't enough of them. Sure, the attempts to survive against cold, hunger, and disease should have been compelling stuff, but they made for anemic reading when pitted against a terrifying adversary without name or shape. Also, the chapter in which the men throw a carnivale and erect tents that mirror the rooms in Edgar Allan Poe's The Masque of the Red Death is admittedly brilliant.

When it comes right down to it, though, The Mighty Boosh did a far superior job of capturing the terror of the arctic. When Howard admonishes Vince that "The arctic is no respecter of fashion," I still get chills. The same cannot be said of my reaction to The Terror.