Pride, Prejudice, and Zombies REWRITE

I would like to expand on the idea of pop culture and fiction with my post on Pride, Prejudice, and Zombies.

In my previous post, I wrote that I appreciated the idea of pop culture within Jane Austen's work, but I feel like that's an opinion I need to take back. While pop culture is a great way to give people something to grasp onto within a story to keep them from getting lost, it also takes away the timelessness of any novel, play, or movie. For example, there is a great debate among my classmates on Dreamworks versus Pixar. Dreamworks has always been second best in my eyes, and part of the reason for this is that they always use pop culture references, along with crude humor and adult jokes. Pixar, on the other hand, relies purely on the timelessness of the story they are telling and, usually, it's one that can last much longer than Dreamworks' films.

Pop culture is temporal. While we are indeed going through a zombie phase at the moment, that won't last. Sooner or later, Pride, Prejudice, and Zombies is going to end up forgotten, but Jane Austen's original work will still be around. I suppose that, in this aspect, I'm glad that Grahame-Smith chose something so modern to reshape this novel, because he wasn't trying to choose something that would really compete with Austen's work; he was making it purely for the present time, and nothing beyond that.

I would also like to say that this is the first mashup I've ever really experienced. I honestly didn't even know there was anything like it until I took this class. I thought that remolding something like Jane Austen would be illegal in at least a few ways, but I guess I was wrong. I can't say that the novel wasn't amusing, because I think it was. The humor just didn't appeal to me. This could also be my personal tastes alone coming into play. I think back about the novels where the humor really made me want to continue reading, like Equal Rites, or Oryx and Crake and I can see that I'm a fan of really dry, sarcastic humor. Maybe the idea of zombies and ninjas was just too ridiculous for me. But, going back to pop culture in timeless fiction, maybe a “ridiculous” idea like that is just what the general population needs to get back into reading. I certainly understand that reading is dying, and I wholeheartedly support any attempt to get it back on its feet. Even if the work in question doesn't appeal to me.

This is one of the only novels that I thought should be cut from the Required Readings list, but maybe I'm being a little closed-minded. Over the summer, I'd like to reread the novel, this time more willingly, and see if that was my only problem. If not, that's fine. I'm happy to say that I've experienced the crazily innovative idea that is the mashup.

Oryx and Crake

Oryx and Crake was such a fantastic way to finish off the semester of reading, especially because I was so burnt-out on everything. The first page alone was like cold water after a grueling day of gym class; it's intriguing, different, funny, and smart. Part of why I love this novel so much is because it completely shatters any of the prejudice views I have toward science fiction novels. It's true that new, unfamiliar technology plays a role in the piece, but it really takes a back seat to Margaret Atwood's character development and writing style. I also enjoyed how the world was new, and at the same time, I felt like I could relate it to things I already know about. When I was reading the first parts about the Snowman, there were so many references running through my mind, ranging from the film Cast Away staring Tom Hanks, to the beach near my house that I used to often visit during high school to watch the sun set. Though I'm sure that these references make no difference to others that have absolutely no clue what I'm going on about, they helped me feel like the book was part of me, even before I'd read it.

Being an art student, I also appreciated the clarity of the mental images that Atwood presented, starting, again, with the scene of the Snowman on the beach with the children. I imagined him as what many people would call the “typical” homeless man: bearded, with lanky limbs, tough hands, and a ragged wardrobe. Looking beyond that, I could see everything Atwood laid out to be seen. I could even feel the dampness of the water-soaked sand beneath bare feet.

Atwood also ties in something that I mentioned I really loved in Pratchett's work, and that's a sense of humor. In the second part of chapter 1, titled Flotsam, the children won't come very close to the Snowman, and he asks himself if it's out of respect, or because he stinks? Atwood doesn't make it crystal clear that Snowman is thinking this; she ties it into the descriptive passages, leaving out the typical quotation marks. This little change boosts humor, and adds personality to the already personality-saturated text. Overall, I think this book lives up to its author's incredible reputation.

Babel-17

Babel-17 by Samuel R. Delany is a novel that I was looking forward to reading. I had even planned out specific times where I could completely devote myself to pouring over the pages and absorbing all the little details, a luxury I haven't always had time for this semester. The reason why I was so anxious to start this novel was because I'm really interested in the concept of languages. The fact that we as a species, over the span of how many years, were able to create thousands of different dialects with which to communicate with is extremely fascinating to me. So, clearly, the choice novel for me was one about this fantastical “evil language”. I was prepared to be thrown head first into the world where Rydra Wong and the rest of the characters exist. Or, at least, I thought I was. I'll admit to stumbling over the first few chapters of the novel, trying desperately to grasp what was happening. It's strange, now that I think about it, that the novel was like another language to me. What I appreciated was Delanay's fairly simple, straightforward writing style. I think that, should he have tried to write in a more “typical sci-fi” style, where the author can go on for paragraphs at a time about a certain piece of equipment or machinery, along with the complex and thought-out world that we are so quickly brought into, then the novel would just be another two-dollar paperback in a bin somewhere. The familiar language of the text was the foothold I used to get a grasp on what I was reading, most of the time. I didn't finish the novel, but I did get about half-way through. I neither liked, nor disliked what I had read, and that's probably why I stopped. At some time later, I'd like to go back and reread it with the knowledge I have now. I definitely think that Babel-17 is something that is made to be read more than once. My favorite section that I read was the part about the “siren” woman, who cast her hypnotic spell over the male narrator. It was written with such a sophisticated style, with the lack of definite dialogue, that it stuck out in the back of my mind for weeks. Not to be a cliché animation student or anything, but I was reminded of the scene in Disney's Princess and the Frog, where Tiana sings in the sugar mill, and the style changes from the typical Disney to something much more flat, and highly stylized.

Equal Rites

Equal Rites by Terry Pratchett is a novel that I would love to go back and read slowly. Being a big fan of the Pratchett and Gaiman novel Good Omens, which is written in a style that reminds me very much of Equal Rites, all I wanted while reading this was more time to enjoy the dry, sarcastic humor and casual sentence structure, both of which are some of my favorite literary devices, especially the sentence structure. When a novel feels like someone's thoughts, or conversation, it connects with me much more than it would if it were written like a stuffy high school paper. This is pretty obvious; most people prefer casual writing to something stiff, but Pratchett's work is different in that it's both fluid and choppy, and I can't ignore that. His humor also gets to me right off the bat. For example, when he talks about the goats looking up at the wizard with mild interest. This sort of sentence could be found in anything, and we'd accept it because the whole “mild interest” phrase is used so frequently. But then, Pratchett adds that 'it doesn't take much to interest goats', and bam, you've gotten me to laugh. The entire novel is written this way, which, again, reminds me of Pratchett's co-authored Good Omens, one of my favorite lines from that book having to do with how the estimated date of the creation of Earth was off by nearly a quarter of an hour. While I greatly appreciate Pratchett's use of humor, I can see how it wouldn't appeal to everyone. For example, even during the more “serious” passages, Pratchett manages to sneak in a sentence about how “Esk nodded like a concerned rabbit”, and that mental picture alone is so ridiculous, that we end up smiling to ourselves again. Regardless, I thought that this novel was witty and interesting, and certainly something I'd like to reread in the future.

I Live With You

I Live With You, the short story by Carol Emshwiller, is possibly one of the most confusing things I've read all the way through this semester. The story itself talks about an unwelcome house guest of sorts that intrudes in a woman's life, wears her clothes, uses her shower, messes with her relationships, etc. Try as I might, I couldn't figure out what the narrator was supposed to represent, which is why I thought this story was so confusing. However, I loved the way it was written. I thought it was deep, complex, intriguing, and new. Typically, I prefer to read novels and stories that use past tense, but Emshwiller's use of present tense was clearly intentional, and made perfect sense. The reader really becomes the narrator, in a way. Probably because the entire passage is written in a sort of stream-of-consciousness style, or like a detailed diary, with its rhetorical questions and use of select details (“I nap in your bed when you're at work and leave it rumpled”). It also makes perfect sense that the story be written in chronological order. It feels much more like a diary, or like someone's thoughts. I tried to look up discussions of this story, to see if anyone knew what the narrator is supposed to represent, but I could barely find anything on the story itself, which was a little frustrating. Something this interesting and unusual should really be more well known. I suspected that the narrator had something to do with self-doubt. It keeps creeping up in the back of your mind, and you really can't do anything to keep it from coming back until you “set traps” for it. I speak from experience. The only way the woman in the story can get rid of this personified self consciousness is to take back her life and change. One of my favorite lines from the story itself is on the second to last page. “You've changed. You'll take back your life. Everybody will make way for you now.”

Bloodchild

Bloodchild is a short story by Octavia Butler about a group of humans that have become the hosts for a number of more powerful aliens. The story as a whole creeped me out a little, because one of my biggest fears is becoming a host for something foreign, like a tapeworm. But I loved how many underlying themes were there. Butler chose to portray the main alien creature as female, which I thought was interesting. The aliens were already higher than the humans, and Butler painted the society as being rather matriarchal. I was also intrigued by the theme of divorce, or unfaithfulness in a marriage. T'Gatoi specifically tells the main character, Gan, that “[she] won't leave [him] as Lomas was left”, Lomas being the man who was nearly killed because of the parasitic alien children left inside his body for too long. The story also talks, fairly obviously, about the concept of male pregnancy. Paired with this dominant role that the female aliens have over humans, I took this to be a complete reversal of the roles that most of us are used to. I'm not exactly a feminist, but, for years, it has always been the women that stay inside and have children, while the men go out and provide for them. Butler talks about how Gan's father was also “pregnant”, and three times at that. She also suggests that Gan was chosen to bear T'Gatoi's children from the start, and there is also Lomar, the abandoned pregnant man. To have every role that many of us are used to completely inverted is pretty eye-opening. Maybe even more so than the idea of parasitic worm-babies in our bodies.

Coraline

I did try to read Neil Gaiman's Anansi Boys, but soon realized that the novel wasn't for me. I was disappointed, because I really enjoyed Gaiman's and Prachett's novel, Good Omens. But there was something about Anansi Boys that didn't click with me. It might be because I couldn't develop a fast relationship with any of the characters like I had in Good Omens. Either way, I decided to let it go. A little lost as to where to go next, I chose to watch Coraline. It not only fit the theme of “fantasy in the real world”, but it's made so beautifully, I felt like a bad animator because I hadn't seen it yet. Stop motion in general is a little creepy, to me, but this was so smooth, it reminded me of Tim Burton's Corpse Bride. Coraline as a character was a little hard to love at first. She complained all the time, which, I guess, is not unlike myself. But the fact that she bugged me is what intrigued me. It wasn't like trying to read Anansi Boys, where I was completely neutral with the characters. Coraline had invoked an emotion from me, and that in itself got me hooked within the first five minutes.

The concept behind Coraline reminds me of a game I'd play as a kid, minus the creepiness of the button eyes and the scary mother. But the fact that you could escape in your own house and create your own perfect world is something that I think all of us did at some point, just by playing house. I loved the roles all the characters filled, including the scrawny old cat, and Mr. B. These characters weren't particularly eye candy, but that repulsiveness made them all the more lovable to me because I'm such a visual person. As far as the story goes, I wonder if the creators didn't get too wrapped up in the visual element. It was fairly predictable, to be critical, but at the same time, that made it easier to follow, and let me focus in on the art.

The Hobbit

I started The Hobbit with low expectations, which sounds like a really pessimistic thing to say, but it's true. A while ago, I had tried to just jump into the Lord of the Rings trilogy with the first book, but quickly lost interest when I realized that Tolkien's world was passing right over my head. So, when I picked up my copy of The Hobbit, I was a little nervous that I'd just be fumbling through paragraphs, skipping over important sentences that I couldn't understand, and feeling pretty pathetic because of the number of people who read this book in middle school while I still was ignorant of it. But I was pleasantly surprised that I slipped effortlessly into the first chapter. While I'm still not done with the book (because, really, it is long, and I have more work than I can handle already), I'd love to continue with it. I love the introduction into the world of Middle Earth, and I can see why so many people do as well.

Something that really gets to me is when details don't make sense, or, even worse, when they make so much sense that the novel feels more like a manual than a story. When I was really into Star Wars, I tried to read some of the novels by Timothy Zahn. I couldn't get into them, as much as I wanted to. The characters felt like they had taken a backseat to Zahn's descriptions of weapons, worlds, and technology. Tolkien made Middle Earth feel like I could step out my back door and be there in an instant. Everything in his work felt natural, and made sense without trying. That alone makes me want to keep reading.

Battle Royale

I admit that I've never had an interest for Japanese cinema, unless you count Miyazaki and Studio 4C films. But hey, I'm an animation student, give me a break. Either way, I decided to watch Battle Royale recently. It wasn't for class, but rather, I had heard good things about it and since it was right there in the library staring back at me, I thought I'd give it a try. The film as a whole was a really ambitious project, because the whole plot line revolves around killing a class. But, if that's going to phase the audience, we have to get attached to them at the same time. Getting emotionally attached to 20 or 30 kids in the span of two or two and a half hours is a daunting challenge, but I think that Battle Royale accomplished it to the best of its ability. I still admit that there were points nearing the end when I wanted everyone to just blow up so the movie would be over. It did get repetitive. On the other hand, I love how they mainly followed the story of Noriko and Shuya, because you know that only one person had to survive in the end. It made you keep watching to figure out how this couple that you had grown to love was going to either be split, or keep going. Either way, they'd never be the same after the competition. But that's probably just the theme of J-Horror showing: no hope.

After a bit of research, I saw a response to this movie that said that Fukasaku was making fun of the old Japanese war propaganda films. I hadn't thought about this before, but it's true. In fact, just last week I was learning about the cartoons made in Japan during World War II, and I now notice a few similarities between the two. In Battle Royale, there is a scene where a girl meant to resemble some sort of teenage icon stars in a video that tells the students that they'll be killing each other. She talks in a falsely happy voice, laughs, and wears a skimpy uniform. The sickening subject is made worse by the fact that she's just a robot, in a way: relaying information as blandly as if it were the day's lunch menu. In the Japanese wartime cartoons, fairy tales and age-old myths are twisted and bent into tools used by the military to assure the people of Japan that they are doing what's right.

A Wild Sheep Chase

I only recently began exploring Japan's culture as far as movies and literature, and I was really excited to start A Wild Sheep Chase. I started it while I was at work, in the library, and immediately fell in love with Murakami's style of writing. He really let me delve into his character's thoughts, and I didn't question any of it, because the way he writes is really how people think. The lack of names in the novel was both intriguing and almost difficult for me. It truly felt like the main character was just getting through his life without bothering to familiarize himself too much with any of it. Near the middle of the book, I started getting confused. I didn't know where the main character was a lot of the time, and it left me feeling on edge, and like I had accidently skipped over an important part of the puzzle, but when I went back to try and find out what that part might have been, I couldn't.

One of the most memorable parts of this novel to me had to do with the main character's girlfriend, and her ears. I actually laughed a little when I was reading it, but it occurred to me later that, hey, I never would've thought twice about it if the man had fallen in love with this girl's breasts, or butt, or something. But it was her ears, and that is so out of the ordinary, I loved it, and how, according to the man, this girl simply transformed whenever her ears were showing. I thought it was so bizarre. What could have possibly influenced Murakami into making a woman with seductive ears? I did a little online research regarding this subject, and was disappointed to turn up empty handed. I'll have to try another time; I'm still really curious.

Interview with the Vampire

I distinctly remember looking over the reading list on the first day of class and thinking to myself: “Oh jeez. We're reading about vampires.” I don't like vampires, and it's not because of the bad publicity they've gotten recently because of Twilight. I just don't like the idea of them. They're extremely romantic, and that bothers me on some weird level. Even if I'm looking at older vampire stories, such as Nosferatu and Dracula, I can't help but laugh a little. Call me prejudice. Nonetheless, I still tried to read Anne Rice's novel with an open mind. I want to like vampires, very much like I want to like pumpkin pie and Coca-Cola, but I can't make myself change that easily. Despite the blatant clue given off by the title that the entire novel was going to be written like an interview, I was surprised by the format, and not unpleasantly so. I could see almost at once why she became such a big hit in the world of fantasy novels. Although, I can't help but think that she owes some of that success to the amount of sexiness in her books. Right off the bat, I felt the undertones of homoeroticism between Louis and Lestat. That aside, I loved how Rice took the idea of a monster, and turned it into something that can have differences from being to being, like the distinctly different levels of savageness present in Louis and Lestat. It reminded me a lot of Frankenstein, as well as the concept of a monster outside with a soul inside that people simply have a hard time acknowledging. Regardless, I did not finish this novel. I don't have any plans to, either. I went in and gave it my all, but I'm sorry, Anne Rice, I still don't like vampires.

Pride, Prejudice, and Zombies

I started off being extremely excited about starting this book. I am a fan of Jane Austen, even if I haven't had a chance to read one of her books in its entity, and who doesn't like zombies? However, I quickly learned that some mashups are better left separate. Before reading the very first page, I decided to flip the novel over and read the summary. The section about the authors caught my eye first. It said something like “Jane Austen has written numerous classics and has forever shaped the world of literature. Seth Grahame-Smith once took an English class.” I didn't know whether to laugh, or to cringe. I returned to the front cover, then flipped through the entire novel to check out the illustrations, like any art student might do. I paused on one featuring the heroine, Elizabeth, and a ninja. Again, I had to hide a cringe.

So, I started reading. The farther along I got, the more ridiculous I found the entire thing to be. I know, the whole point of the novel mashup is to be ridiculous and hold the interest of a modern-day audience, but I couldn't find the humor, much like with the Princess Bride, which everyone but me seems to like. I didn't like how the zombies went from being “unmentionables” to “zombies” frequently, especially because I think of the word “zombie” as being very modern. The fact that Elizabeth and her sisters were trained zombie killers was also a bit too silly for my tastes. However, I think the idea of reshaping a novel to meet today's pop culture is a great idea. I know from the class discussion that a lot of people really enjoyed the read. I'm just not one of them. It did, however, make me want to read the real Pride and Prejudice, maybe with a side-dish of the Zombie Survival Guide.

Shelley's Frankenstein

Like most people, I've heard of Frankenstein referenced throughout pop culture my entire life. Unfortunately, also like most people, I've never actually read the book. I haven't even seen the movie. So, when I opened up to the letters, I was surprised. I was expecting immediate blood, gore, and convenient lightening bolts that would awaken a beast worthy of Hell. Imagine my surprise when I discovered that Frankenstein opened with barely a mention of any of those. I kept reading, a little disappointed, and couldn't believe how relatively calm a good portion of the novel was. However, what the book lacked in gore, it made up for in story. I loved the concept behind Shelley's Frankenstein: how it only wanted love, but couldn't get it.

After learning more about Mary Shelley's life, I wouldn't be surprised to realize that she projected her own personal conflicts into the novel. I was especially interested in how Dr. Frankenstein was projected as a bad father figure. This is such a common theme in modern stories (bad parenting, lack of love, etc.), that it made me wonder how many people have been influenced by Shelley's take on monsters. After a bit of online research, I discovered that Shelley's influence was so great, she has been noted as one of the founders of modern science fiction, and that, because Shelley was a writer, and not a scholar or a scientist herself, she was able to easily put the emotional impact of her story before the details that made the science the most important factor. Shelley Mcrae, of helium.com, says that “had [Shelley] been compelled to describe how the electricity was introduced into the monster, or for that matter, how the scientist was actually able to construct the monster, it's likely she would not have written a story with such emotional impact.”